The Evidence Room: A Mystery (20 page)

Not exactly the ideal getup for a covert operation, but this was as understated as Samba got. Josh appreciated the effort.

“Ready?”

“Showtime!” Samba gave Josh a thumbs-up and followed him to the Jeep. With some difficulty, Samba wedged himself into the front seat. Beau welcomed the intrusion, jumping into the back. Samba gave Beau an affectionate scratch behind the ears. From his pocket, Samba produced a yellow bandanna, which he proceeded to tie around his head, further securing the flashlight. He lowered his voice to a dramatic whisper.

“So what’s the plan?”

This question reminded Josh of his dad, who had always told him and his brother and sister that you needed three plans: a plan, a backup plan, and an emergency plan. Probably a good rule of thumb when you were running a criminal enterprise, but Josh decided early on that, for him, that was three plans too many. Tonight was really no different. He had basic digging tools, flashlights, and a vague idea of where the potter’s field was located. They were probably in trouble.

“Once we get out there,” Josh informed Samba, “we’ll just look for the right number and start digging.”

Samba turned and stared at him. “What do you mean?”

“We’ve got the vic’s ID number from the system.” Josh indicated a crumpled piece of notebook paper stuffed into one of the drink holders between the two front seats. “They’ve got to have it organized somehow.”

Samba let out a laugh punctuated by a snort. “It ain’t the supermarket,” he said. “You see how organized the evidence division is. And that’s stuff that’s supposed to be important!”

Josh reddened. Samba had a point. There weren’t going to be red arrows steering them towards the correct gravesite. Still, he reasoned, it was a limited amount of space, so it had to be somewhat organized.

Didn’t it?

Samba noticed his reaction and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “We’ll figure it out. It’s gonna be great! It’s been a long time since I’ve done something like this.”

Josh wondered how a do-it-yourself exhumation compared with Samba’s other escapades and decided not to ask.

The sun had long set by the time Josh eased the Jeep off the causeway and the headlights swept over Aurora standing next to her rental car on the shoreline. He felt a little rush at the sight of her; they were in this together. Coming here was crazy, but seeing her, he was convinced that it had been the right decision.

Josh got out of the car.

“Hey, Aurora.” He joined her, and together they looked down at the concrete slip. Tiny waves licked the shoreline, but farther out in the bay, the obsidian water stretched smooth as cream.

“So we’re ready to go?” She stood there expectantly.

“Yep.” Josh removed the folded map from his back pocket and pointed in the direction of where Weir Island was supposed to be. A dim yellow light winked back at him from the dock. “It’s right out there. Should be an easy trip. Time to hit the water,” Josh announced, opening the door. Samba and Aurora both gave Josh a similar apprehensive look.

Josh crossed his arms and pulled his T-shirt over his head in one smooth motion, relishing the surprised stares.

“What, you’re both born on the bayou,” Josh teased. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how to swim.”

Samba looked at him in abject terror, and Aurora laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding,” she said.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve got a dinghy in the back.” Josh popped the trunk and watched as Samba’s expression melted into a relieved smile.

“You had me going there, Josh.”

Josh grinned and hooked the pump up to the dinghy. With each burst of air, the white lettering on the boat’s side came more into focus. Samba peered at it above his glasses.

“Police,” he read. “Did you steal this?”

Josh shrugged. “Borrowed it. You’re telling me you never nabbed any office supplies from work?”

Samba, honest to a fault, probably hadn’t.

“Don’t worry, Samba. I promise I’ll return it when we’re done.” Samba shook his head, and he helped Josh and Aurora drag the inflated boat down to the water.

“Hop in,” Josh invited, extending a hand to Aurora.

“Hang on, guys,” Samba said. “If we’re bringing back—um—a friend from Weir Island, this boat’s gonna be too heavy.”

“He’s right,” Aurora agreed. “I can stay behind. I’ll keep an eye on the water, let you know if anybody’s coming.” She must have seen the trepidation on Josh’s face, because she touched his arm. “Really. It’s fine.”

“Okay. Be safe.”

She helped them push off, and Josh watched her slip back into the shadows.

The crossing to Weir Island seemed to take forever, and Josh’s arms ached from rowing by the time they reached the splintered old dock.

Josh helped Samba out of the boat and secured the dinghy, unable to shake the feeling that they were being watched. There was no cool breeze; the air was stagnant and thick with insects. There was none of the peacefulness found at a churchyard here. Weeds strangled and smothered every stone surface. Nobody had bothered to clear a path to where the rows of white markers began. The markers poked out of the ground at unnatural angles. Even though it was already late spring, nothing was budding or blooming. It was like a human landfill.

Samba took a step towards the first row of markers and squatted down, pushing his glasses up on his forehead to stare at the numbers.

“Well, what do you know,” he remarked. “It is like the supermarket! They’ve got the numbers right on there.” He moved farther down the row. “They’re in order! I can’t believe it.”

Trying to share Samba’s enthusiasm, Josh followed him, Beau trotting close behind. Josh was still unsettled by the careless upkeep of the place. The graveyard by the state prison was manicured and well-kept, but these people—people whose greatest crime was dying anonymously—were spending eternity in an overgrown dump. Unbelievable. Josh gazed down the rows that stretched all the way to the other shore of the island. He was seized by the urge to dig up every coffin, unravel every story, send every person home.

They had walked up and down rows for what seemed like hours, following the numbers.

Josh’s eyes smarted from peering at the tiny numbers in the darkness. Samba skipped a few rows and gave a low whistle.

“Jackpot!”

In his haste to get to the spot, Josh almost tripped over his own feet. Wiping sweat from his eyes, he stared down at a marker that read
JOHN DOE
, #82-659709.

Everything in Josh’s body told him this was it, the missing piece. One of Raylene’s ex-boyfriends, or a hit man Wade had hired. He was going to find out who.

“Let’s get you out of here,” Josh muttered as he produced the shovel and sank it into the marshy earth.

He paused for a second. Josh was certainly not religious, but something tugged at him. It wasn’t right, disturbing the dead like this. Josh looked up at the sky and hoped that if there was a God, he understood that they were doing this for a bigger purpose.

Samba noticed Josh’s hesitation and awkwardly made the sign of the cross over the grave. Josh looked at him. Glasses askew, tie-dye shirt riding up over his belly, gray ringlets heavy with sweat, with Beau looking up at him adoringly, he looked like some absurd hippie preacher. Samba nodded, as though he had received permission from some higher authority.

And then Josh began to dig.

CHAPTER THIRTY

She was the lookout.

Aurora wasn’t sure what that meant for her criminal liability, but she was too involved to worry about that now. She stood on the edge of the boat slip, holding a flashlight in each hand, casting a ghostlike glow over the black silken water.

She could see the dinghy about two hundred yards out, dipping and twisting its way towards her. Part of her had wanted to be there for the actual exhumation, the curiosity overwhelming her. Whose body was it in the ground?

And how was he connected to her father? She remembered fishing with her dad, sitting next to him at the camp, giggling at the tiny worms squirming on the line. He’d always carried a little bag of herbs tied together with a ribbon. His lucky charm. She remembered his fishing hat. She had gotten a sticker at a birthday party—could it have been at Baboon Jack’s? Her dad had put the sticker on his hat even though it looked goofy. It was a tiny gesture, but all these years later, she still remembered.

It’s done
. Josh’s text lit up her phone. They had dug him up. All this time, could it be that Mother’s killer had been tucked underground in a nameless grave? She should have felt relief, but she was still gripped by dread. This man was dead, but her father was still alive.

The boat was getting closer; she could hear the cough of the engine. Josh had said this was the only way, and she believed him. The court order for an exhumation would take months, and they needed answers now.

She only hoped they could convince Dr. Mason.

“Hey, Aurora!” Samba waved to her, his round eyeglasses two glinting orbs in the darkness, some kind of flashlight affixed to his head. Beau splashed out of the boat and galloped towards her, almost knocking her down with his enthusiastic greeting.

“How’d it go?” She caught the rope Josh tossed her and helped pull them ashore, trying not to notice the chipped wooden box resting in the bottom of the boat.

Josh exited the boat in one leap, as surefooted as a sea captain. His white T-shirt was drenched and covered in dirt, and his sneakers made a squelching noise when he landed. Her fellow criminal. Ruby was right; he was a good man.

“We found him,” he said. He fished the keys to the Jeep out of his pocket and put them in her palm, holding her hand in his own for an extra moment. “It’s hot as hell out here, Aurora. Why don’t you and Beau wait in the car, and we’ll get loaded up.”

Aurora nodded and whistled for Beau, who trotted towards her. Together they approached the Jeep. Aurora opened the trunk and then clambered into the backseat, Beau beside her. She stroked his fur, comforted by the dog’s warm hulk. She’d come back for the rental car later.

Aurora glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Josh and Samba trudging up the embankment, the box on their shoulders. She thought of the contents. What could possibly be left? Science had come a long way since the eighties, she reminded herself. The tiniest strand of hair could help them identify this person.

“All roads lead to the morgue,” Samba said, as Josh turned the key in the ignition. He said it with his usual cheer, but the words were somehow sinister. Samba twirled one of the buttons on the radio, and a country singer’s melancholy voice filled the car, singing about something being just beyond his reach.

“We’ll get this figured out.” There was confidence in his voice, a quiet strength that she needed to hear. When they pulled into the morgue lot, she was ready.

Aurora wasn’t surprised to see the lights on, but once inside, she was shocked to see that Ruby was behind the reception desk, casually flipping through a magazine as though it was two in the afternoon instead of two in the morning.

Ruby bounced out of the chair when the three of them entered the room, her eyes expectant. “Well? How did it go? Can’t believe I missed all the fun.”

“We did it,” Samba said, holding up his hands in victory.

“Wow,” she said, “I wasn’t sure you had it in you, but you proved me wrong. And now I’m guessing you want to see Doc. Head on back. But he’s in some mood tonight, let me tell you. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She pressed a buzzer under her desk, and the door to the back swung open for them to go inside.

Doc Mason was bent over the crumpled body of a man, his face twisted into a scowl. He brightened when he saw Aurora.

“Hey, look who it is,” he said. “I’m glad you’re here. We got the full report on the John Doe. The next step is requesting an exhumation. It won’t be easy, but since Aurora is a family member of the victim and we have the DNA link…” Mason stopped midsentence and looked at each of them. “All right, what’s going on here? Is there something I need to know about?” He was like the questioning parent confronting his three disobedient children.

Samba broke first. “We did it already,” he blurted out.

Mason looked puzzled. “You did what already?”

“We went through, um … unofficial channels,” Josh explained. “We were able to … umm … to recover the remains ourselves. Actually, we have them with us if you’d like to take a look.”

Mason looked at Aurora, then Samba, then Josh, his mouth set in a scowl. “Are you telling me what I think you’re telling me? You three went to Weir Island, dug up an unidentified body, put it in your car, and drove it over here for me to take a look?”

Aurora and Josh were shamed into silence, but of course Samba was unfazed. “Sometimes you have to go outside the law,” he confided to Dr. Mason.

To Aurora’s surprise, Doc Mason’s mouth widened into a broad smile, and he erupted into a fit of laughter. “Bless your hearts.” There was something else in his expression, something that looked to Aurora very much like admiration. “Well, I guess you’d better bring our friend in the back entrance, so I can take a look.”

“I’ll pull the car around,” Josh said quickly, as if trying to escape before Mason changed his mind. He hightailed it out of the room, leaving Samba and Aurora frozen in surprise.

Mason put an arm around Aurora. “Looks like we’re on our way to getting some answers for you,” he said. She nodded and followed him to the rear entry, where Josh had backed the car all the way up to the door so they could unload their cargo.

Aurora watched as Dr. Mason, surprisingly strong, wielded what looked like a tire iron. With one pull, he pried off the coffin’s lid. Aurora braced herself for the sight, but when she looked down, there was nothing but a black abyss. Mason reached into the coffin and pulled out a sweatshirt wrapped in a black trash bag.

“Well,” he said, rising to his feet and looking squarely at Josh. “Looks like somebody beat you to it.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

They stood in silence, a familiar chill in Josh’s side. They had been right; someone else was out there, someone who didn’t want them to find this body.