Already Gone (8 page)

The coroner leads us back into the office. He takes a white binder off the shelf and starts flipping through pages. Nolan leans against the doorway, and I sit on a wooden chair in front of the desk.

The coroner reads the names of two funeral homes close to my house. “Do you have a preference?”

I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter.”

He writes one of the names on a piece of paper and tells me he’ll have Diane’s body transferred down in the next twenty-four hours. Then he says, “Have you decided on burial or cremation?”

“He doesn’t have to do this now,” Nolan says.

“No,” the coroner says. “But state law requires a body be buried, embalmed, or cremated within seventy-two hours of death, so he needs to decide soon.”

“Right,” Nolan says. “But we can still give him some goddamn time before he—”

“Cremation,” I say. “Diane wanted to be cremated.”

The coroner nods and makes a note in the file. “I’ll take care of it.”

Nolan walks out into the hallway.

Before we can leave, the coroner lays out several papers for me to sign. I don’t know what they are, and I don’t ask. All I want is to go home.

I sign the papers.

The coroner takes a small envelope from his pocket and slides it to me across the desk. “Her personal items.”

I pick it up and open the flap.

Diane’s wedding ring is inside.

I feel my throat close. I swallow hard, then fold the envelope and slide it into my pocket.

I don’t want to look at it, not here.

“Are we done?” I ask.

The coroner closes Diane’s file and says, “We’re done.” Then he gets up and leads us out of the office and down the hall toward the metal door at the back of the building. “Detective, I’ll have my report sent to you within the next forty-eight hours.”

Nolan starts to say something, but the coroner ignores him and opens the back door. He stands to the side and waits for us to walk out. Nolan thanks him for meeting us so late.

The coroner nods and closes the door.

Nolan turns away and mumbles, “Nice fucking guy.”

I pretend I didn’t hear, then start up the steps to the parking lot.

When we get to the car, Nolan says, “Do you want me to drop you off at home, or is there someplace else you’d rather go?”

“Like where?”

“I don’t know. I just thought you might want to be around friends tonight.”

I tell him I want to go home.

We get in the car and drive back to the city in silence. This time, the bottle stays closed.

By the time we come out of the mountains, I’ve gone over the situation a dozen times in my head. I want to remember everything, starting with the night I was attacked and ending with seeing Diane in the morgue.

The more I go over it, one thing seems clear.

Diane is dead because of me.

I don’t want to believe it, but it’s the truth and it sinks into me. I can’t shake it. A few minutes later, another thought occurs to me, this one even worse.

“I could’ve stopped it.”

Nolan looks at me. “What?”

“This is my fault, and I could’ve stopped it.”

“There wasn’t anything you could’ve done.”

“When they sent my finger back in that package, I could’ve ended it right then, but I didn’t.”

Nolan hesitates. “I’m not following.”

“One phone call and it would’ve been over. Diane would still be alive.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Oh, yes I do.”

Nolan is quiet for a moment, then he says, “I think you should stop before you say anything else.”

“I’m just thinking out loud.”

“Okay, but there are some things I can’t pretend I didn’t hear. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

I tell him I do, and for the rest of the trip neither of us says a word.

When we get to my house, Nolan pulls into the driveway. He reaches into his pocket and takes out his card and writes a number on the back.

“My private cell phone.” He holds the card out to me. “If you need to get in touch, call me directly.”

I stare at the card, but I don’t take it.

“Since when are you on my side?”

“There are no sides, Jake. I’m trying to help.”

I almost laugh, but I manage to hold it back. “Sure.” I take the card. “I’ll call you.”

He knows I’m lying, but I don’t care.

From now on, I’m done with the police.

I get out and walk up the driveway to the front door. I watch Nolan pull away, then I turn and sit on the porch steps. I’m not ready to go inside, so for a while all I do is stare out at the dark street and listen to the dying October leaves rustle in the breeze.

Once I think I’m ready, I stand up and go inside. I don’t turn on any lights, and I don’t look around. Instead, I head straight for the kitchen and take a glass from the cabinet.

I open the Johnnie Walker bottle and pour.

When I finish the first, I pour another.

This time, I don’t drink.

I stare at the clean, amber liquid and the light from above the stove reflecting off the surface. I can taste the first drink in the back of my throat, and something inside me clicks. I put the glass to my lips and finish it, then decide it’ll be my last.

I’ve had enough.

I pick up the Johnnie Walker bottle and empty it into the sink. When I find the person behind everything that’s happened, I want to meet him with a clear head.

No more running.

I drop the bottle in the trash, then grab the phone and walk down the hall to my office. My address book is in the top drawer of my desk. I search the pages until I find Gabby’s number, then I sit down and dial.

It starts to ring.

I look up at the clock on the wall above my desk.

It’s past midnight.

Late.

The phone keeps ringing.

I rest my elbows on the top of my desk and listen to the familiar voice in the back of my mind telling me this is a bad idea.

This time, it’s easy to ignore.

The phone rings again. I wait for an answering machine to pick up, but it never does.

Hard to tell if I’m relieved or disappointed.

I hit the disconnect button, and the line goes dead.

I take it as a sign and decide to sleep on it before making this kind of decision. The idea of being able to sleep is ridiculous, but at least it sounds good.

I drop my address book back in the drawer, then shut off the light. I’m halfway to the kitchen when the phone rings. The sound echoes through the empty house.

My hand is shaking as I lift the receiver, but when I speak, my voice is steady.

The man on the other end asks, “Who is this?”

I close my eyes.

He was screening his calls.

Of course, he was screening his calls.

He asks again.

This time I answer. “It’s Jake Reese.”

Silence for a moment, then a short laugh.

“Well, what do you know,” Gabby says. “I was starting to think you were dead.”

My desk at work is covered with unread literary journals and ungraded student papers. I push them aside to clear space then take Lisa’s card from my pocket and pick up the phone.

I dial the number and wait.

Outside, the sun is cold and bright. I can hear the sharp twitter of students passing below my window. Their voices blend together then fade away.

After the fifth ring, the line clicks and the answering machine picks up, again.

“This is Jake Reese. I’m trying to get in touch with Lisa Bishop.”

I leave my number, then hang up and lean back in my chair. Diane’s ring is sitting on my desk. I pick it up and turn it over in my hands, then set it on the desktop and spin it like a coin.

The sunlight shatters off the surface.

“Jake?”

I look up. Doug is standing in the doorway.

“Got a minute?”

I pick up Diane’s ring and squeeze it in my hand, feeling it dig into my palm. “Come on in.”

Doug steps inside and looks around. He points to a stack of books on one of the chairs and says, “Mind if I make some room?”

“Make yourself at home.”

Doug moves the books to the floor, sits. “Who’s Lisa Bishop?”

“What?”

“The phone call.” He motions toward the doorway. “I overheard your message.”

“Eavesdropping?”

“I wouldn’t call it that, but now I’m curious. So, spill it. Who is she?”

“She’s a psychic,” I say. “In Arizona.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.”

Doug pauses. “Do I have to ask?”

I take Lisa’s business card off my desk and hand it to him. “I found it in Diane’s suitcase. I think she went to see her when she was down there last month. I want to know what they talked about.”

Doug reads both sides of the card, frowns. “Why?”

I open my mouth, but I don’t have an answer.

Talking to Lisa won’t bring Diane back, and it won’t change anything that’s happened, so why do I want to talk to her? Why do I care?

“I want to know what she was thinking.”

Doug nods. “How are you holding up?”

“Trying to keep busy.”

“Is it helping?”

“If you came to talk about my feelings—”

“Just asking a question,” Doug says. “You haven’t said anything to anyone. It’s been almost a week, and we’re all in the dark. Is there going to be a funeral?”

“Haven’t decided. When I’m ready to say something about it, I will.”

“Okay.” He hands me the card. “So, Lisa Bishop, the girl with the answers.”

“What do you want me to do? I can’t just sit around the house. I’ll go crazy.”

Doug motions to the stack of essays on my desk and says, “You could grade papers?”

“Lose myself in my work?”

“If it helps, sure.” Doug leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. “Speaking of work, there’s something we need to discuss.”

I watch him and wait.

“Anne Carlson came to see me. She told me she gave you a ride home the other night and that the police were at your house. Was that for Diane?”

I nod. “What did she want?”

“She was concerned. She said you didn’t look good.”

“But what did she want?”

“She asked me to come and talk to you,” Doug says. “She wants my opinion on your mental state.”

“My mental state?”

“That’s how she put it.”

“She wants to know if you think I’m crazy.”

“She wants to know how you’re holding up under the stress and if your personal life is getting in the way of your job.”

“Is she going to fire me?”

“Of course not,” Doug says. “She wants to help.”

I stare at him and wait for him to go on.

Doug looks past me to the bookshelves behind my desk. “She mentioned a paid leave of absence until things settle down. It’ll give you time to get back on your feet.”

I let that sink in for a moment. “What did you tell her?”

“I told her I’d talk to you. She’s worried about you. Everyone’s worried.”

I turn in my chair and face the window. “What do you think of the idea?”

“If you think the time off will help, take it. Get your life back in order. Start working on a new book. Do whatever you like, it’s up to you.”

“Can I think about it for a couple days?”

“It’s a standing offer. Take your time and let me know what you decide.”

“Thanks.”

Doug slaps his knees with the palms of his hands, then pushes himself up and out of the chair. “Now that all that bullshit is out of the way, how about we go somewhere and get a drink and catch up? It’s almost happy hour.”

I shake my head. “Can’t, I quit.”

“Quit what?”

“Drinking,” I say. “I’m done.”

Doug watches me, trying to see if I’m joking. “That sounds rather drastic.”

I shrug.

“We don’t have to go back to The Body Shoppe if that’s the problem. You can pick the spot this time.”

“That’s not it. I quit drinking.”

“You’re serious?”

I tell him I am.

“And what brought on this insanity?”

“It was time for a change,” I say. “I can’t afford to be clouded anymore. I have to stay focused.”

“On what?”

“On what’s coming.”

Doug stares at me. “What exactly is coming?”

“I just can’t afford to let my guard down, not right now.” I pause. “I called Gabby.”

“You did what?”

“It’s fine. I explained the situation to him, and he offered to help.”

“Help how?”

“He’s going to find the two guys who attacked me.”

“Jesus, Jake.”

“I have to know who they are, and I want to talk to them, especially after what happened to Diane.”

Doug shakes his head. “Diane was in a car accident.”

I turn away, don’t speak.

“Come on,” Doug says. “Let’s go out. I’ll buy you a club soda, and we can talk about all of this.”

“Not tonight.” I point to the stacks of papers on my desk. “I’ve got essays to grade.”

It was a joke, but Doug doesn’t smile.

“Should I be worried about you, Jake?”

“No,” I say. “I’ve got everything under control.”

And like a fool, I believe it.