Never Happened (4 page)

Her thoughts whirling, she grappled to recall the approximate time he'd called last night. After Marg had come home.
Sweating to the Oldies.
Alex had considered having another beer.

Eight-fifteen, eight-thirty maybe. Nine at the latest.

Jesus.

He could have died only a few minutes after they'd talked. Why hadn't she said…something…like how good it had been to see him that day? Why hadn't she just said yes to dinner?

Henson was dead.

“Thanks, Professor.”

Alex didn't notice when he left the room, but he was gone the next time she glanced around her office. She blinked, trying to reconcile herself to what she'd just read.

Henson was really dead.

She forced herself to read the entire article. It
didn't specify the details, but it did mention that the one-car accident was under investigation.

When he'd called he'd said he was going to see the computer whiz kid who'd unofficially analyzed the contact lens.

Had he made it to the guy's house?

Did the police even know where he'd been headed?

Alex sagged in her chair, let the cold, harsh reality wash over her.

Henson was dead.

She was repeating herself but she just couldn't get past it. She'd liked him. Now she'd never get to tell him that if she'd been the type for commitment, he could maybe have been the guy. She should have told him that. But she hadn't. She'd let him believe that he didn't have the “it” she was looking for. That had been a lot easier than explaining what she really felt. She didn't even know what she really felt. She only knew what she didn't want—she didn't want long-term.

No man ever understood that.

Hell, she didn't even understand it, she simply accepted it.

Enough,
she ordered. She couldn't sit around here feeling sorry for herself. She had spoken with Henson last night, possibly only minutes before he died. Any
information she could offer that might help the investigation was not only her civic duty, it was her obligation as a friend.

Alex finished her latte, grabbed her bag and put thought into action.

The Professor and Brown had this morning's schedule under control. Unless something new came up, she could spare a couple of hours. The final reports she'd been meaning to type and the other paperwork she needed to review could wait.

Her friend was dead.

That wouldn't wait.

 

The Miami Beach Police station was located at 1100 Washington Avenue in a building that defined the Art Deco style. The Criminal Investigations Unit called the third floor home. The division was laid out in a grid pattern with dozens of metal desks floating amid a sea of beige carpeting. The walls were a matching shade of beige. The only interruption in the beigedom was the stacks of red and blue folders atop the desks. Kind of reminded Alex of her own office.

She waved to a couple of the female detectives she'd worked with on occasion and basically ignored the guys who openly leered. Not that she minded
when a man showed his appreciation for her hard work and good genes, but these guys were just being jerks. Most had wives and kids at home.

Yet another reason to stay unattached. You didn't have to worry about a cheating husband if you didn't have one. Didn't have to worry about mismatched socks. Dirty boxers or dishes piled in the sink. Life was just less complicated when one stayed unattached.

She wove through the maze of desks until she reached the one belonging to Detective Jimmy Patton. He and Henson hadn't been partners that long, only since Henson's longtime partner had retired and moved to Maine about six months ago.

When Patton looked up Alex recognized the exhaustion and the pain in his eyes. He'd likely been up all night.

“Jackson,” he said, acknowledging her presence but immediately returning his attention to the file in front of him. She was pretty sure his reluctance to maintain eye contact was about keeping his emotions to himself.

“Hey, Patton.” She sat down in the chair next to his desk. “I heard about Henson. Man, I can't believe it. Do you know what happened?”

He shook his head, spared her another brief glance. “Techs are…ah…checking out his car for
mechanical failures, but it looks like he fell asleep at the wheel. Just ran off the road. He'd been putting in way too many hours lately. I tried to tell him.” The sigh that punctuated that final statement as well as his emphatic attempts to refocus his attention on the file gave away just how badly Henson's death had shaken him.

But his words were what hit Alex the hardest. Henson hadn't sounded the least bit sleepy or even tired when she'd spoken to him. In fact, he'd sounded hyped. She couldn't say why, but her intuition was humming like crazy. She'd at first thought that she was merely in denial about Henson's death, but it was more than that.

Stay calm. Take it slow. Hysterics won't get you anywhere. “That's why I came by,” she said, unsure whether what she had to say held any relevance but certain she didn't want to keep it to herself in case it proved somehow significant. “Henson called me last night at around eight-thirty, maybe nine.”

Patton picked up a small spiral notepad and shuffled through the pages until he'd found what he was looking for. “Yeah, we got that from his cell phone. I know you did a cleanup on an unattended suicide he'd covered. I was going to touch base with
you and see if the call he made to you had anything to do with that.” His gaze connected with hers then. “Or if maybe the two of you…”

He let the sentence trail off. Alex didn't have to say anything; he read the truth in her eyes. She and Henson hadn't started going out again. Patton looked away as if he'd rather she'd lied to him. Partners talked about their personal lives. She wouldn't have expected any less.

Turning her attention back to the real problem, she asked, “He didn't talk to you last night?” Alex found that possibility unreasonably disturbing considering she'd passed along a piece of possible evidence that Henson had obviously been excited about. Wouldn't he tell his partner that?

Patton scrubbed his hand over his face. “I was at the hospital until I heard about the accident. My wife went into labor a little early.”

A new baby. She'd forgotten his wife was expecting. Well that explained his being left out of the loop last night. “Is everything okay?”

He grinned but the effort was a little dim under the circumstances. “Yeah. A girl. Eight pounds one ounce. She's a doll.”

Something far too similar to longing pierced a
tender place deep inside Alex. She evicted the sentimental ache and gave herself a swift mental kick for even allowing the senseless emotion to rear its pointless head. She'd made her decisions about husbands and kids long ago. Hearing about other people's kids didn't usually bother her…the emotional roller coaster this morning was about Henson.

She still couldn't believe he was dead. She kept expecting to turn around and hear him tossing some silly joke at her or asking her if she had plans this weekend.

His death had rattled her. This wasn't really about the nonrelationship they'd shared…he was a friend, of course she'd be unsettled by his death. She didn't allow regrets. She preferred her independence. She liked taking care of herself and not having to rely on anyone else for anything. This was just a normal reaction to losing a friend.

Shaking off the disturbing thoughts, she rejoined the conversation and did what she'd come here to do. “I don't know if this makes any difference,” she began, unsure exactly how to explain the situation, “but I gave Henson a piece of what may have been evidence from the Crane suicide scene.”

Patton sat up a little straighter, his attention sharpening a bit. “What sort of evidence? Henson's
report says the incident was cut-and-dried. No questions on his end. I haven't seen the autopsy report yet—they're a little backed up over at the morgue—but the M.E. didn't mention expecting anything unusual, according to Henson's notes.”

She nodded. He was right on all counts. Henson hadn't said anything different to her. “I gave him a peculiar…” God, how did she say this? “It looked like some sort of contact lens, except different.” Well that surely explained what she meant. Frustration brimmed. “Henson took it to a friend for unofficial analysis,” she offered in lieu of a better explanation. “When he called me last night he was wound up about it. He said he was going over to pick the lens up and that he'd be taking it to the state lab this morning. He sounded pretty excited.”

Patton's gaze narrowed with keener interest. “Do you know who he was going to see?”

Alex shook her head. “Not a clue. Some computer whiz. Like I said, he sounded excited. I can't see him falling asleep at the wheel when he'd sounded fully alert when we spoke.”

Patton glanced at his watch and swore. “I have a meeting.” He stood. “Listen, if you think of anything else Henson said that might sound relevant, give me
a call.” He passed Alex a business card that included his mobile as well as his home number. “I'll let you know as soon as I hear anything about the memorial service.”

Alex tucked the card into her bag, thanked him and made her way through the maze of cold metal desks and warm bodies without stopping to chat with anyone. She wanted to get out of here and to some place where she could think. The idea that just yesterday Henson had been hanging out here had her on the verge of hyperventilating.

A detective who looked vaguely familiar almost bowled her over as he bounded past her. Alex felt like slugging him but didn't want the hassle. She needed out of here. She couldn't breathe.

“Patton,” she heard the cop who'd been in such a hurry say, “I've got the preliminary on that house explosion on Morningside.”

Alex's feet slowed. Maybe it was oxygen deprivation. Morningside? Wasn't that where Henson had said the whiz kid lived? She lingered, wanted to hear the rest of what the detective had to say.

“They found a body, but it was burned so badly it'll take some time to ID it.”

Alex told herself she was probably overreacting.
A lot of people lived in Morningside—this explosion could have nothing to do with Henson's friend who lived there. It could be anything from a meth lab to a gas leak.

“You take a ride over there,” Patton suggested. “I'll join you after my meeting.”

Alex turned around, waited for Patton and the other detective to catch up to her. There was one more thing she had to know. “By the way, where was the scene of Henson's crash?” The paper hadn't given the location.

Patton looked mildly annoyed that she had waylaid him or maybe the exhaustion was making him testy. “Over on I-95 near Hallandale. Why?”

She shrugged. “Just wondered.”

Patton eyed her suspiciously. “If you have other information, Jackson, I need to know. He was my partner.”

She shook her head. “It's nothing like that.” The white lie felt bitter on her tongue. She should just tell him. “I was just curious that's all.” But she couldn't. He already didn't really believe her. What was it he'd said?
If you think of anything else Henson said that might sound relevant…?
Until she could make sense of this herself, she was wasting her time trying to clarify it to anyone else.

“See ya around,” he muttered.

Watching Patton go, she realized what she had to do next. She had to know why Henson's vehicle had been found way north of where he'd told her he was going. But first she wanted to know if a computer genius had lived in the Morningside residence where the explosion had occurred.

She also wanted to know if the crime scene techs had found the contact lens in Henson's car. Or if they'd found anything at all that suggested the accident wasn't an accident.

She wanted to know a lot. She needed enough to give Patton reason to consider Henson's death suspicious. And since she wasn't a cop, the chances of Patton telling her were slim to none.

But she had her own sources and methods. Patton wouldn't like it if he found out. She'd never let a man stand in her way before. She wasn't about to now. She owed it to Henson to look into this. Patton wasn't taking her seriously. He was preoccupied, she understood that, but he clearly thought what she'd told him was nothing of consequence. Convincing him might just be impossible, but she had to follow through, either way.

She might not be a detective, but she definitely knew her way around the scene of the crime.

All she needed was access.

Alex
called her office as she climbed into her 4Runner. Shannon answered on the first ring. Alex waited patiently while she went through her Never-Happened-we-can-make-anything-go-away spiel. “Hey, do me a favor, will ya?”

“I was just about to call you.”

Damn. Alex didn't have time to respond to a call right now. Not that she resented plenty of business, but this just wasn't a good time. Looking at it from the other side of the scenario, was there ever a good time to die? Who was she to complain? She made her living off the dead. That put her and morticians in the same boat. No death and dying, no income.

Evicting the idea that she had anything at all in common with anyone she knew who worked behind the authorized personnel doors of a funeral home, she asked, “What's up?”

“There was a strange call for you this morning. Some really odd guy.”

A frown scrunched its way across Alex's forehead. She opted not to point out to Shannon that there were a lot of odd guys in a city the size of Miami. “Did this odd man have a name?” She hadn't dated anyone since the freak who got off on peeking whenever she used the bathroom. Surely it wouldn't be him. Alex was pretty certain she'd made herself crystal clear as to how she felt about hearing from him again.

Three whole weeks without a date. Had to be a record. Cutting herself some slack she had to admit she had been busy. People didn't stop dying just because her dating life was in the toilet. Which was, as she'd just noted a few seconds ago, a good thing for business.

“He wouldn't leave his name. It was very strange. He wanted to know if you were here. When I said no, he asked where he could find you. I offered him your cell number but he hung up on me.”

Shannon was right, that was a little weird. Alex couldn't think of anyone she'd ticked off lately. “I suppose if it's important he'll call back. Next time, if he's a jerk, hang up on him.” Alex started the engine
and backed out of the parking slot. Every business had its share of cranks and jerks. “Did Marg ever come in?”

“Eventually,” Shannon said covertly. Alex imagined her craning her neck to make sure Marg wasn't listening. She didn't like that Shannon and Alex kept such close tabs on her.

“Keep an eye on her.” Alex thought back to how her mom had forgone her usual third-date sex last night. Maybe sweating to the oldies had only put off the inevitable. She and Robert could have rendezvoused this morning. “We may have to stage another intervention.”

“Will do. What's the favor you needed?” Shannon asked, returning her attention to the reason for Alex's call.

“How about checking the
Herald
for anything on an explosion over in Morningside. Happened sometime last night.”

Another call came in and Shannon promised to get back to her as soon as she took care of the call and checked the paper.

Alex pulled out onto the street, her mind rolling over and over the idea that Henson was dead. She would miss him. There was no way to deny that. She
couldn't help wondering now if she'd made a mistake walking away.

“Enough, Alex.” What was she doing? Just because the guy was dead she was going all freaky. Henson was not
the one.
No one was the one. She was happy with her life just the way it was. No one was sorrier than her that he was dead, but she had to get past this obsession with what she hadn't said or done.

It was that stupid contact lens. If she hadn't found it and called him about it, maybe he'd still be alive. That was the part that really bothered her. Whether Patton wanted to take what she said seriously or not, there was something to it. The part that really disturbed her was the call she'd gotten from Henson last night. He'd sounded so excited. The guy who did the analysis had to have given him some pretty juicy feedback to get Henson that pumped. And why had he driven toward Hallandale after picking up the analysis? He didn't live in that direction and hadn't mentioned letting anyone else look at the evidence last night. It didn't make sense. Maybe he had intended to let someone else have a look-see. Another cop who kept the same kind of hours he did.

But wouldn't that have been his partner?

She supposed not, since Patton had been at the
hospital welcoming his new daughter into the world. Maybe Henson and his partner hadn't bonded closely enough in the past six months for Henson to share his obsession with all things electronic.

The idea that something was wrong with the scenario just kept nagging at her.

Alex drove, her destination uncertain. She couldn't go to the scene of the explosion in Morningside until Shannon called her back with an exact location. No point in checking out the crash site where Henson's car had been found; the cops had already been over it and the car was in the hands of forensics.

There was just one thing she could do right now.

Go to the morgue.

The concept was a fairly simple one that had only just occurred to her. The old guy who'd blown off half his head had two eyes—or at least he did before he opted to discharge a .45 into his skull. Most folks who chose contacts over eyeglasses wore two. Maybe there was still one attached to the guy's intact eye.

Anticipation fired through her.

Only one way to find out.

It wasn't that she didn't trust the cops to do their
job. She did, usually. But she'd been doing this job long enough to know she didn't have anything to prompt their attention, to make them look beyond the obvious. Cops operated under the rule of probable cause. Unless something at the scene of Henson's crash looked suspicious or some foul play involving his car was discovered, the case would be ruled accidental. End of story.

Henson had been a damned good cop. Not only was he good at his job, he truly cared. That was exactly why he'd chosen to run the contact lens through some preliminary analysis when any other cop would have dismissed it. There really wasn't any reason to suspect the contact lens was anything relevant. It was just weird looking. But, because the lens was so unusual and Henson had a thing for the odd, he had wanted to be sure. That was just the kind of cop he was. Thorough. Dedicated. Maybe even a little hopeful that he'd be the detective who busted some big spy ring or something.

Damn she was going to miss that guy.

 

The Morgue Bureau was part of an imposing three-building complex nestled amid a couple of lushly landscaped acres on the perimeter of the Uni
versity of Miami Medical School Center. South Florida tropical trees, shrubs and bushes indigenous to the area highlighted the meticulously cared for landscape.

Inside, the elegant furnishings, potted palms, soft lighting and smiling receptionist would almost make one think of a ritzy resort hotel. At least until you read the mission statement above the front desk:

To provide accurate, timely, dignified, compassionate and professional death investigative services for the citizens of Miami-Dade County.

That stopped any warm, fuzzy feelings dead in their tracks.

As far as Alex was concerned the luxurious details were wasted on most visitors to the Joseph H. Davis Center for Forensics Pathology considering they were dead. But, hey, the place looked great. Didn't even smell like a morgue. Special electronic air filters erased the unmistakable odors of formaldehyde and decomposing bodies.

Alex waved to the receptionist but didn't bother checking in. She'd been here enough times to know her way around and headed straight for the work area of an old friend, Cody Feldman, an evidence courier. If he wasn't in she'd just have to try her luck
with an assistant medical examiner she'd dated a couple of times. But Cody would be far easier to…coax into doing what she wanted. He had a thing for Alex.

A smile stretched across her lips as she recalled the last time they'd gone out. A couple of months ago. Friday night. Dinner and a movie had been on the agenda but they'd never made it out of her house.

What could she say?

Cody was totally cute. Really young with amazing stamina.

He'd been fun.

She pretty much blew him off after a couple more dates. Not that she wouldn't have enjoyed more but he was one of those young guys who got too attached. In every other way he'd been totally unlike Henson. Cody had been a good change for her until, like Henson, he'd started to get clingy. Why did her every thought have to lead back to Henson.

Dammit.

Although they hadn't dated in a while she and Cody were still friends. She ran into him now and again since they frequented the same night spots.

It was good to have friends in all kinds of places. It was also good to know how to use those assets to
one's advantage when the cause was right. She felt certain Henson would appreciate her efforts.

Alex poked her head through the open door to his tiny office. “Hey, Cody.” At least someone had an office smaller than hers.

He glanced up from his computer, then did a double take. “Alex.” A couple of medical journals and an empty foam cup hit the floor as he shot up out of his chair. “What're you doing here?” He blushed. “I mean…”

Her smile made the transition into a full-blown grin. The guy was adorable when he was all embarrassed and looking flustered. Only a man under the age of twenty-five could still do that and look so sweet. “Good to see you, too.”

He pushed his desk chair toward her. “Have a seat.” Glancing around his cluttered space he couldn't seem to decide what to say next. Inspiration belatedly struck. “You want some coffee? Nancy just made a fresh pot.” He hitched his thumb toward the end of the hall where the lounge could be found. “She makes the best.” He licked his lips and blinked as if he'd abruptly drawn a big old blank.

Alex shook her head. “No thanks. I'm good.” She moved a little farther into his territory, pushing the
chair out of her way as she went. “I need to ask a favor,” she offered humbly.

He opened his arms wide. “Sure. Anything.”

His face had gone from pink to red. Alex was pretty sure he'd just remembered one night in particular when she'd made him beg for mercy.

That was the thing about being a mature woman and dating a younger guy. They were so easily amused.

Alex took a moment to appreciate her friend's casually sexy appearance. His trousers were navy, one of her favorite colors, his shirt was striped in a paler blue, yellow and green. The shirttail was untucked on one side. Not a fashion statement, simply a result of his slightly nerdish predisposition. The brown loafers were polished. His face clean shaven. His dark hair tousled and his gray eyes clear and bright. Maybe they'd go out again sometime, when he'd gotten over the whole I-want-to-be-with-you-forever syndrome.

“You got a stiff last night—”

His eyes suddenly widened and his face paled as if he'd been caught doing something that would get him seriously grounded.

Alex laughed softly. “Not that kind of stiff, Cody, the other kind.” She'd been hanging around with too many cops and was picking up all their slang.

“Oh.” The pink started to creep up from his collar again. “We got five last night.”

She nodded. “Detective Rich Henson worked this case. Caucasian, in his late fifties or early sixties, took a .45 to his head.”

“Yeah.” Recognition flared in his expression. “I imagine that was a real mess.”

She shook her head. “I'll never understand why these guys don't consider the mess they're going to leave when they opt for the suicide route.”

Cody was nodding in agreement.

“You think it'd be a problem if I took another look at the body?”

A flicker of hesitation had her hastily adding, “The guy doesn't have any family. And the cops have pretty much closed the case. There's just something I'm curious about.”

Still looking a little unsure, he said, “He's scheduled for the full treatment tomorrow morning. Letting you look at him wouldn't really be—”

He was on the verge of saying no. “I swear I won't do anything that'll get you in trouble. I just need to check one little thing.” She held her breath, then quickly added in hopes of alleviating any final reservations he might have, “It's not like I haven't already
seen him.” The full treatment was a no holds barred complete autopsy. Everyone got the full treatment unless the family requested otherwise.

He checked his watch. “I don't guess there'd be any harm. Like you said you've already seen him…been in the same room with him.” Their eyes locked. “Just let me make sure the cooler is…ah…clear.”

“I really appreciate it.” She gave him her best you're-my-hero look of gratitude.

“I'll be back in thirty seconds,” he promised as he backed out of his office.

She couldn't be certain whether he backed out because he was afraid she'd follow him or if he feared she'd disappear before he got back. A quick peek out the door confirmed her conclusion that he would probably run the whole distance to the cooler.

Leaning against the door frame to watch for his return she couldn't help thinking that men were like puppies—she adored them but she didn't want to have to clean up after one on a regular basis. She liked her total independence. She didn't have to answer to anyone. How many women her age could say that? How many others looked back on their lives and considered all they would change if given the opportunity.

Not Alex. She wouldn't change a thing. Sure, being alone hadn't always been rosy, but she felt completely satisfied with who she was, where she'd been and where she was going. That was an accomplishment in and of itself.

That big ol' grin Henson liked to flash at her popped into her head and suddenly she didn't feel so sure of all she'd just affirmed. She blinked away the image. She had to be hormonal. She never had this much trouble with self-doubt.

True to his word, Cody was back in about half a minute. “This way.” He gestured in the direction from which he'd just returned.