Theresa Monsour (17 page)

“No, no.” That faraway voice again. “She reminds me of someone is all. Not her looks. Her position. How she's on her back, with her knees up. Any minute you expect she's gonna pluck those coins off her eyeballs, get right up, dust herself off, walk away. Like nothing happened.”

His pa was acting weirder and weirder. Trip tried to dismiss it. Time to get down to business. Trip stepped in front of him and reached for the cold water handle to turn on the shower, rinse off the rest of the blood. His pa touched his arm. “Don't bother,” he said. “Getting it wet again will make a bigger mess. We'll wrap her neck up real good as is. Clean up the stall later.”

Trip stood still for a moment, not sure how to proceed.

“Go ahead, son. She won't bite. Not no more.” His pa laughed.

Trip kneeled on the lip of the shower. He set the garbage bags and roll of tape on the floor. He studied her neck for a minute. Her throat was still bloody, although the oozing seemed to have slowed. The shower floor remained wet with water and blood. The plastic and duct tape would work regardless. He grabbed each end of a garbage bag and slid it under her neck. He wrapped it around a couple of times and tied the ends in a knot under her chin. He picked up another bag, wrapped it around, knotted it on the
side of her neck closest to him. “I d . . . don't think she n . . . needs the other two.”

“Good,” said Frank. “Damn bags are expensive.”

His pa hovered over his shoulder while he continued. Trip wasn't sure what he could and couldn't see. He unraveled two feet of tape from the roll and ripped it off with his teeth. He stuck one end of the tape on the far side of her neck facing the shower wall. Working toward himself, he slowly wrapped the tape around the bags, flattening it against the plastic as he went. He lifted her head up by the hair on top of her head with his left hand and with his right, brought the tape around the back of her neck. He sealed the end, set the tape back down on the floor, sat back on his heels to admire his handiwork. Trip thought she resembled someone who'd been in a car accident and was wearing a whiplash brace.

Frank patted him on the back. “Good job. Couldn't have done better myself and that's a fact.” He handed Trip the bedsheet. “I'll get out of here. Give you more elbow room.” He went into the hall and stood in the doorway to supervise. He pointed to the floor with his cane. “Spread it out and drag her onto it. Don't lift her. You'll throw out your back. One cripple in the family's enough.”

Trip nodded. He spread the sheet out as much as possible in the cramped space. He stepped into the shower, bent over the body, hooked the inside of his elbows under her armpits and lifted her a few inches off the ground. He stepped out of the stall with his left foot and then his right, dragging her over the shower lip. Her buttocks hit the floor with a soft thud. Trip slipped his arms out of her pits and let her head drop. Another thud. The coins popped off. He picked them up and put them back on her lids. Her legs were still in the shower, knees bent at the stall lip. He stood up straight; his back was aching from all the bending. He noticed the inside of his arms. Streaks of shave cream on his sweatshirt, from her pits. It repulsed him. He yanked off the shirt and threw it in the sink.

Frank: “What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” Trip mumbled. He didn't want to touch her anymore, especially with his chest bare. Didn't want to feel a dead woman's skin against his. He bent over and picked up the corners of the sheet. Pulled straight out until her legs made it over the hump. Then he pivoted a bit and backed out toward the door. He scrutinized the bathroom floor as he went. Was relieved to see no blood. His pa stepped out of the way as he dragged her into the hallway. Another pivot and he walked backward toward the spare bedroom. The sheet was a little more difficult to pull across the carpet than the bathroom tile. “Pa!” he yelled.

“What?” His old man was behind him, walking toward the bedroom.

“The freezer empty?”

“Shit. Didn't think of that. Keep going. I'll give it a look-see.”

“And make sure the blinds are shut in there.”

He heard his pa thump toward the bedroom at the end of the hall. Again, he was amazed at how quickly he was moving. A man with a mission. Trip looked over his shoulder as he walked backward. Saw his pa open the door for him at the end of the hall. Trip pulled her through the doorway and into the bedroom. He let go of the sheet and wiped his forehead with his right hand; he'd worked up a good sweat. He leaned his back against the wall.

The window blinds were shut. The top to the chest freezer was open and his old man was feeling around with one hand. “Ice cream. Peas. Chicken patties. Couple tuna pot pies. Tater Tots. Something wrapped in aluminum foil.”

“Guess what we're having for d . . . dinner?”

His old man laughed and started taking things out of the freezer. Trip helped. They piled the frozen food onto a card table sitting next to the freezer. Trip had traded the freezer for some work on somebody's truck engine. Frank held up one of the ice cream cartons and squinted. “What flavor?”

“Spumoni.”

“When the hell did we buy that? Hate that shit. Dried fruit and nuts and such.”

Trip smiled sadly. “Keri b . . . brought that for Italian night. Remember, a few weeks ago?”

His pa kept pulling stuff out of the chest and setting it on the table. “Yeah. I remember. Frozen pizza and spaghetti made with sauce from a jar.” His old man stopped taking stuff out. Pointed to a sticker on the inside of the freezer door that was big enough for even him to see. “Which one is she?” The sticker was in the shape of a triangle. The top of the triangle showed which items could be kept frozen for three months: fish, ice cream, pork. Below that was six months: bread, duck, lamb. Nine months: beef and deer. At the bottom of the pyramid, what could stay frozen for a year: chicken, corn, peas.

His old man was laughing so hard he was bent in half. “Since she's a cow, I guess we can keep her in here nine months. What do you think, Sweet? We could cook her up next Fourth of July.”

Trip didn't think it was funny. “What the hell is wrong with you? You b . . . been acting like a c . . . crazy old b . . . bastard.”

His pa stopped laughing and straightened up. “I wouldn't talk, boy. Who sliced up a woman in the shower? Huh? Wasn't me.” Trip didn't answer. He looked down at her body and then at the freezer. His pa read his mind. “You're right, Sweet. She'll fit without alterations. Good thing, too. That'd be a mess and a half to clean up. How we gonna lift her in, though? She's gotta weigh in at two bills.”

More than the bridesmaid, Trip thought. “Let's g . . . get her right against the chest. I'll s . . . slide her up and hike her in.” He pulled the sheet closer to the chest. Stood over her, a foot on each side of her. He adjusted his grip on the corners of the sheet and pulled her through his legs. Kept tugging and lifting until her head touched the chest. He stepped back and grabbed the bottom of the sheet and pivoted her body so she was resting against the chest, parallel with it. The coins fell out of her eyes, rolled onto the sheet. Trip bent over and picked them up.

His pa held out his right hand. “We'll put them back on after she's all tucked in.” Trip gave them to his old man and he dropped them in his pants pocket. Frank looked down at her body. “I hate to say it, but you're gonna have to get under that fat ass of hers.”

The idea made Trip shudder. He ran his eyes around the bedroom. The freezer was huge and took up most of the space. Besides the chest and the card table next to it, the room contained a set of folding chairs leaning against a wall. Car battery with a charger next to it, both sitting on a hunk of cardboard on the floor. A case of beer next to that. Two sets of busted stereo speakers stacked on top of each other. The closet door was open. Inside, down coats and jackets hanging from a rod. Snow boots and old shoes on the floor. Trip walked to the closet and pulled a winter coat off a hanger. Slipped it on over his bare chest, zipped it up. Pulled on the hood, tightened it around his head with the drawstring. Found some gloves in the pockets and slipped them on. “Now I'm r . . . ready.”

He went back to the body. Kneeled at her side. Bent over like a man kissing the ground. Rammed his shoulder under her lower back. He slipped his right arm under her thighs and his left under her shoulders. He slowly stood up while sliding her against the chest. He felt her roll into the freezer. Heard a thud. Was never more grateful to hear a sound. Stood up straight and looked into the freezer while he pulled off the gloves and stuffed them back in the jacket pockets. Perfect landing. Right on her back. Her left arm was jammed against the side of the freezer and the right one was flopped over her chest, covering her breasts. A modesty in death she never had in life, Trip thought. Her left leg was bent at the knee but her right leg was sticking up over the top of the freezer. His pa grabbed her ankle, bent the leg at the knee and tucked it down. Then the old man walked around to her head. Took the coins out of his pocket. Handed them to his son. He reached down and set one each on her eyes.

Trip glanced at the floor. “No spills. Sheet's c . . . clean.”

“I think we can wash it up and use it again,” said his pa. Trip shuddered at the thought of having the sheet on his bed but didn't say anything. His pa patted him on the arm. “Good job, Sweet. Let's find any personal shit she left around the house. Clothes. Whatever. Throw it all in with her.”

“What are we gonna do with her d . . . down the road? Can't keep her in the d . . . deep freeze forever.”

“I'll give it some thought. Got some friends in the foundry business.” Frank gave her one last look. “That is one big freezer. Swear to God we could still fit another body in if we had to.”

“We w . . . won't have to,” Trip muttered.

“Good,” said his pa. He reached down and pressed the coins flat to make sure they'd stay. He withdrew his hands, reached up for the lid. “Night, bitch. Sleep tight.” He slammed it shut.

SHE WOKE UP Wednesday morning with the taste of her mother's garlic sauce still coating the inside of her mouth. Garlic hangover, her brothers called it. She loved the stuff but as a rule, she avoided eating it during the workweek. It usually took at least two days to get rid of the bad breath. She slid off the couch and went into the guest bathroom to gargle with Listerine.

Erik sat up and yelled after her. “Hey, garlic breath! Where you going so fast?”

She spit into the sink. “Thought I'd spare you.” She took another swig right out of the bottle, swished it around her mouth until it burned.

“Too late,” he said. “I smelled it all night. Next time bring some home for me so we can make each other suffer. Or maybe you should have your folks invite me to dinner.”

She spit into the sink again. “I don't think I'm ready for that scene quite yet, and neither are you. Trust me on this.” She looked into the bathroom mirror. Ran her fingers through her hair to work out the tangles. She took a brush
off the counter and gave her mane a few strokes. She'd left her parents' house Tuesday night after a tense meal punctuated by shouting matches between herself and her mother. It would have been worse without her brothers' mediating commentary:
She hasn't been happy for a long time, Ma. They can't even agree on whether to have kids. She needs to find someone else
. Her father concentrated on eating, but occasionally came up for air long enough to throw gas on the fire:
Remember what happened to that divorced cousin of yours in Lebanon? Remind her she can't remarry in the Catholic Church unless she gets an annulment
. She got home and Erik called, begged to come over. He brought a bottle of wine. They sat on her couch talking and drinking wine until well past midnight. She started crying when she talked about Jack leaving. Erik held her until her shoulders stopped shaking. They fell asleep, both dressed in their sweats. Arms around each other. Didn't even make love. That was fine with her; she wasn't ready to sleep with him again. She needed a friend more than a lover.

She set down the brush, walked back into the front room. She leaned over and puffed a breath of air into his face. “Is that better?”

“Oh yeah.” He pulled her down onto the couch. Kissed her hard. His tongue darted into her mouth, scraping past her teeth. He pulled it out. Lifted his mouth off of hers. “I didn't know Listerine made a garlic-flavored mouthwash.”

She gently pushed him off of her and stood up. “Let me get the coffee going.”

He grabbed her left wrist with his right hand. “It's early. We could still go upstairs.” He smiled. “Get a little more sleep. Or no sleep.”

Ringing from a cell phone on the kitchen counter.

She tried to pull her hand away but he wouldn't let go. “Erik.”

“Ignore it,” he said. More ringing.

“No problem,” she said. “It's your phone.”

“Shit.”

She pulled her wrist out of his hand and went to the
counter. Picked up his cell phone and tossed it to him. He caught it and flipped it open. Put his stocking feet on her coffee table. She turned around and started filling the coffeepot with water. Poured the water into the coffeemaker. Pulled a filter down from the cupboard, set it into the basket and scooped some coffee into it. Set the pot under the filter and turned on the coffeemaker. The smell alone made her feel more awake. She leaned her back against the counter and listened to Erik's end of the phone conversation. It sounded like work.

“Yeah.” A pause. “Really? Where exactly?”

She turned around and took two coffee mugs down from the cupboard. Ringing from the other cell phone on the counter. She set down the mugs, picked up the phone and walked across the front room. Opened the sliding glass doors and stepped out onto the deck in her stocking feet. Closed the door behind her, in case it was Jack. She inhaled the cold river air before answering. “Murphy.”

Duncan: “You sound chipper for a change.”

She walked across the deck. Held the phone with her right hand and with her left, leaned against the railing. A flock of geese honked overhead. “What's up?”

“They found Bunny Pederson.”

She took her hand off the railing and stood straight. “In the park?”

“In some woods near the campground. Wrapped in a tarp and buried in a shallow grave. Real half-assed effort at hiding her.”

“An obvious cause of death?” Erik was probably doing the autopsy. She guessed he was on the phone at that moment talking about getting the body down to St. Paul.

“Wasn't gunfire. Winter says some kind of massive trauma. Ramsey County ME is doing the workup.”

“Sexual assault?”

“Nope. She was fully clothed and all that.”

“Except for the shoe they found on the ranger,” Murphy reminded him.

“Except for both shoes.”

“The other is missing?”

“Yup. Purse, too. Robbery gone bad maybe. Who knows?”

Through the patio door, she saw Erik grab the remote and turn on the television. She asked Duncan, “On the news yet?”

“That's how I knew.”

She walked back to the patio door, slid it open with her left hand, stepped inside and shut it behind her. In the front room, Erik was pacing while talking on the phone and channel surfing with the remote. The sound was off. She didn't see any images from the woods, only a weatherman standing in front of a map. “So Winter didn't call you?”

“Hell no. I called him,” Duncan said. “Bastard didn't give me anything more than he gave the media. Told me since we don't have a piece of the case anymore, we'll have to read the papers along with the rest of the world. Fuck him.”

She switched the phone to her left hand, walked to the galley, picked up the pot and poured coffee into the two mugs. “Actually, we might have an interest after all.” She set down the pot.

That intrigued him. “Your wild idea? Let's hear it.”

She went to her refrigerator. Under a magnet was the invitation for the all-class reunion Saturday. “Let me pull myself together and come in with it.” She heard Erik tell his office he'd be there in an hour and she followed his lead. “Give me an hour.”

“I can hardly wait.” A pause. Then: “Hey. Who's there with you? That good ol' Jack I hear?”

She wondered how the hell Duncan could be so nosy. “See you in a bit,” she said, and set the phone on the counter. Erik had already hung up his phone and was in the bathroom; she heard him peeing. She set his coffee mug on the kitchen table. “Coffee's ready,” she yelled to the bathroom door. “I'm running upstairs to shower.”

 

HER eyes were closed and her face was turned into the spray when she heard him push back the curtain. “Hey,” she said. “I don't remember inviting you.”

“I'm not going to do anything. Just want to share the shower.” He stood behind her and squirted shampoo in her hair. Massaged her scalp while working it into a lather. He took a step closer so she could feel his erection.

“Erik. I'm not—”

“I know, I know. You're not ready for this. I just wanted you to know I am.” He backed away and squeezed the soap out of her hair. Suddenly the water turned cold. He laughed. “That's one way to get rid of me.” He stepped out, grabbed a towel and left the bathroom to get dressed. She silently thanked the defective hot water heater and quickly finished rinsing off in the icy spray.

 

ERIK stood behind her while she locked up the houseboat. He had a travel mug of coffee in his right hand; she'd set her cup down on the dock while she fiddled with her keys. In the background, the sound of Tripod barking. “When will he get used to seeing me?”

“He still barks at Jack.” She bent over, picked up her coffee cup, stood up. Took a sip; it was already cold. She jiggled her keys, remembered her spare. “Where's the key I gave you?” He patted his pockets. “Don't tell me you lost it.”

“No. Left it at home.”

“I want it back.”

“Will I ever get a set of my own?”

Murphy studied his face. Wondered if the wounded puppy was about to make another appearance. “Don't push it, okay?”

He didn't say anything. They walked down the dock together and to the parking lot. Their cars were next to each other; she thought her red Jeep seemed dumpy sitting next to his sapphire Jag. They stood behind the two cars, each with car keys in hand. The sky was gray and it was cold
enough for gloves. Murphy scanned the clouds and wondered if they'd get their first snowfall in October.

“Will I see you tonight?” he asked, zipping his jacket up to his neck. “How about eating at my place? Let me do the slicing and dicing for a change.”

“Sure you won't be running late with this Pederson workup on top of the ranger autopsy? I could grab some stuff after work and get dinner going.” She felt safer on her own turf, although the shower visit showed her that even there, she had to work to keep him at bay.

“I'll let you know.” He bent down and kissed her on the mouth. “Whoever does the cooking, no garlic. Deal?”

“Don't know if it's possible for me to come up with a garlic-free menu.”

“Then for sure leave the cooking to me.” He kissed her again and walked to his car door. Opened it. Turned and smiled. “I love you,” he said. He didn't wait for a response. He got behind the wheel and shut the door. She stood still for a few seconds, feeling guilty she didn't say it back. She wasn't ready. Couldn't force the words out of her mouth until she was.

She turned and walked to her car while digging in her purse for a pack of gum. She couldn't find any. The guys at the cop shop were not going to appreciate her breath. She opened her car door, threw her purse inside, got in, shut the door. In her rearview mirror, she watched Erik pull away. She reached over and opened the glove compartment. Rummaged around. Felt something promising. Pulled out a roll of Tums. Better than nothing, she thought, and popped a couple into her mouth. She started the Jeep, pulled out of the lot while sucking on the antacid tablet.

 

SHE walked into Homicide, hung her jacket on the back of her chair. She'd tucked the reunion invitation into her purse before she left home. She wanted to show it to Duncan. She pulled it out of her purse and tossed it on her desk. Threw her purse in her desk drawer. Dubrowski and
Castro were out on a call. She saw Duncan in his office with his feet up. His customary working position. He was on the phone. Evans Bergen, the night guy, was hunkered over his desk with a pile of paperwork in front of him. Short. Thinning blond hair. The youngest detective in Homicide and the biggest whiner. He looked up and nodded a greeting. Put his head down again. Murphy checked her watch. Amazing. His shift was over and he was still at the shop, finishing paperwork. Duncan must have gotten on his lazy ass.

She saw Sandeen at the watercooler. Tall. In his early fifties. Thick head of white hair. Longtime union activist. He'd guided her through the internal affairs investigation that followed the surgeon's suicide. He was wearing a Homicide sweatshirt. She walked over to ask him if he could spare one for the deputy she'd met at the state park. He finished his drink, crumpled the paper cup, threw it in the wastebasket. “How ya doing, Murphy?” She knew it wasn't a casual question. He was still concerned about her emotional state, especially since Gabriel Nash, the detective who'd worked with her on the surgeon's case, retired early over the summer. He'd been her mentor and on occasion, her partner.

She resisted the urge to brush her bangs and make sure they were covering her scar. “Fine. I'm fine.”

He nodded. “How was Moose Lake? See any moose?”

“Moose head in the hotel lobby.” She pulled a cup from the dispenser and poured herself a drink. “Hey. Got any more of those sweatshirts?”

He smiled. “Step into my office.”

She followed him to his desk. “Met this deputy up in Moose Lake. Sean Mahoney. Real nice guy. Broken up about the ranger's murder. He liked the shirt. Told him I'd send him one.”

Sandeen sat down and started opening and closing his desk drawers. “You wore the shirt on a case?”

She took a sip from the cup. “Sure.”

“Great. Good PR for us.” He pulled a sweatshirt from
the bottom of a file drawer and handed it to her. “Extra large is all we got left.”

She tossed the empty cup in a wastebasket and took the shirt. Held it up. “It'll work. Thanks.”

“Hear anything from Gabe these days? He still seeing that nurse?”

She draped the shirt over her arm and sat on the edge of Sandeen's desk. “They've been spending a lot of time up at the cabin.”

“Cabin? You mean that fishing shack of his in Hayward? That ain't no cabin.”

“She made him put curtains on the windows.”

“You shittin' me?”

“I shit you not.”

Sandeen suddenly wrinkled his nose and looked around the room. “Hey, Bergen. You eating those damn garlic bagel chips again?” Murphy covered her mouth, hiding a grin and bad breath behind her hand. Bergen didn't even bother looking up from his paperwork. Flipped Sandeen the bird.