Final Words (19 page)

Hope’s eyes went wide and she followed the direction of Aunt
Victoria’s gaze, turning to look behind her. Her face was pale when she looked
back at the elderly woman.

Victoria chuckled. “She’s just checking in on you. There’s
nothing to worry about. She was killed while traveling and so she likes to
check on her loved ones whenever they take a trip.”

“What about me?” Nick asked.

His elderly aunt looked around him and then shook her head. “Not
at the moment, Nicholas. But I have seen your brother Benjamin upon occasion.”

Emma remembered the older brother her father had lost many
years before. As her great-aunt’s gaze shifted, as if following the movement of
someone passing behind her, a chill brushed across Emma’s neck. She expected to
feel the chill that swept through her, so she managed to react with only a mild
shudder. But Aunt Victoria recognized her response and laughed.

“Sarah thinks you have lovely hair,” she said to Emma. “Almost
as thick as hers used to be.”

Hope turned her wide eyes toward Emma. “My father always
said you got all that gorgeous auburn hair from his grandmother.”

Aunt Victoria squeezed Emma’s hand. “You, of course, are a
special case, dear. The spirits you see belong to people you don’t know. They
come to tell you their secrets. They come to you seeking closure for their
lives.”

Emma nodded. “They want me to know how they died.”

“This is a gift,” Aunt Victoria said. “It may be a burden as
well. But you’re strong enough to carry it, Emma, or you wouldn’t have been
chosen. And remember one thing. These angels—spirits—are still people. They’ve
just taken on a different form.”

“You’ve lived with this ability for a long time,” Nick said.

“And a lot of folks think I’m a bit daft because of it.”
Aunt Victoria laughed again. “I gave up trying to explain my gift to the living
a long time ago. If people think I’m a little nutty, so be it. I enjoy having
so many friends—living or dead—around me.” She squeezed Emma’s hand again. “You’ll
grow to accept your gift and appreciate it. It may take time but I have faith
in you. Obviously I’m not the only one.”

Aunt Victoria cast her gaze upward and Emma knew she was
talking about the source of the golden light and the voice from her ER
experience.

“I hope I’m worthy of that faith, Aunt Victoria.”

“You are, dear.” Aunt Victoria smiled. “You are or that
faith would never have been placed in you.”

* * * * *

Two days later, Emma tugged on her gloves and faced the
autopsy table again with a more accepting attitude. A teenage boy lay on the
table, his pale, naked chest streaked with the blood that had trailed from a
single wound to his heart.

Sadness tugged at that rapidly beating organ inside her own
chest. He was so young.

Then she thought about Rose MacKenzie and the golden light
that hadn’t been a dream. She thought about Brian and little Amy Benson and she
knew that this boy was on his way to a better place. Or he would be once he
told Emma what he needed to say. Great-Aunt Victoria had given her the courage
to accept her ability as well as her responsibility. Her parents, although they
had returned to Jackson the next day, were always available to listen when she
needed to talk about her “gift”. Still, it would be nice to have someone
closer, someone like Jason. But she hadn’t seen him since he’d taken the
Bensons home after Amy’s autopsy. They’d talked on the phone a couple of times
but both of them had been swamped with work since that night. After what had
happened between them at the retirement party, Emma knew that they needed more
than a few minutes here and there if their attraction was going to go anywhere.
And, oh, how she wanted it to go somewhere.

“Ready, Doc?”

Emma looked up with a start to find Skitch watching her from
across the table.

Since Amalia Campanero’s autopsy, he’d been watching her a
lot. She’d tried to be discreet when the spirits appeared, to acknowledge their
final words without giving away what was going on. But on more than one
occasion, Skitch had caught her asking what must seem to be absurd questions.
It wouldn’t be long before he reported her strange behavior to Edgar Powell.
She still couldn’t bring herself to tell anyone what was going on. She couldn’t
risk being removed from the autopsy suite.

She’d come to believe that she performed a service for the
deceased, hearing their final words and easing them into the next world. She
performed a service for their families too, by knowing what to look for and
where to look so that she could provide quick answers on how their loved ones
had died. And the more time she spent with the spirits, the more at peace she
became with her own mortality. Dying held no fear for her. She only wished she
could give Jason such peace about his sister.

“Doc?” Skitch leaned toward her, interrupting her musings
yet again.

Looking up at her assistant, Emma nodded. “I’m ready. Why
don’t you start reading from the file?” She gestured with one gloved hand and
then shrugged an apology. “Sorry, I think I left it in the transcription room.”

Skitch sighed. “I thought I was forgetful but lately you’ve
been leaving files and tools all sorts of places.”

As he headed for the transcription room at the far end of
the autopsy suite Emma placed her hand on the dead boy’s arm. Immediately an
image formed on the other side of the table. Blond-haired, blue-eyed, dressed
in black jeans and a baggy black sweatshirt, the boy peered at her in
confusion.

“His name is Graham Jones,” Skitch said over his shoulder as
he walked away. “I remember that much. He was seventeen.”

“I’d a’ been eighteen in another month,” the apparition
said, voice slow and uneducated. “But the doc said I had to go. I’s just wastin’
my time and everbody else’s.”

Emma leaned forward and whispered, “Who shot you, Graham?”

“The doc did.”

“Who is ‘the doc’?”

“That head doctor. I seen him whenever I’s arrested. Doc
Sanders.”

Emma gripped the edge of the table with both hands. Her
heartbeat quickened as the image of Graham Jones grew hazier.

“He was arrested twice for prostitution,” Skitch said,
reading from the file as he returned from the transcription room. “Declared
unfit to stand trial both times and put in mental hospitals. He always managed
to escape, though and ended up back on the streets.”

“I done wrong.” Graham’s voice grew fainter. “But I needed
money. Couldn’t get a job ’cause I got somethin’ loose in my head. The doc said
I’d wind up back on the street and what kinda life was that? But I couldn’t
stand bein’ locked up in that hospital for crazy folks. That ain’t no kinda
life, neither. I gotta go now.” The image faded on the last word.

Emma stared at the empty space where he’d stood. He’d said “the
doc” had killed him. Doc Sanders. Dr. Sanders.

Dr. Paul Sanders?

“Dr. St. Clair?”

Emma jerked and stared at Skitch as he reached the table.

“You’re doing it again.” He frowned. “Getting that fish-eyed
look and talking to yourself.”

Emma swallowed hard. “Sorry.”

“You mumbled something about a Dr. Sanders. Who is that? Did
we hire some new guy?”

“No. He’s…never mind.” Determination gripped her and she
gestured toward the body. “Let’s see if we can find out why someone would kill
this kid.”

Jason shoved open the swinging door of the bullpen Tuesday
afternoon and stormed toward Chief Hosken’s office.

“Jason, wait.” Charlie tried to intercept him but the older
detective couldn’t move fast enough.

Jason swung into Hosken’s office without knocking. “I just
heard you’ve gotten a court order to exhume Tyrone Sharpe’s body. What the hell
are you doing, Hosken?”

Hosken shoved back his chair and rose in a movement too
smooth for a man his size. “This isn’t your case, MacKenzie.”

“He’s already been autopsied once.” Jason hands went to
fists as he stepped closer to Hosken’s desk. Bile soured his stomach. “Cutting
him open again—”

“We’re not cutting him. We’re just looking for wounds.”

“What?” Jason was vaguely aware of Charlie’s hand on his
shoulder. “Why? What kind of wounds?”

Hosken’s brown eyes glimmered. “Back off, MacKenzie. I’m
handling the Tyrone Sharpe case. Not you.”

“You’re handling it right into the cold case file. The way
you’re working it, Ty’s murderer will never be identified!”

Hosken shoved his hands into his pockets and started
jingling his coins loud and fast. Temper colored his face. “You’re about to
step over the line, MacKenzie.”

“The chief thinks the ME’s office might have screwed up.”
Charlie placed himself between Jason and the other man. “They said Ty was
killed with a thirty-eight but ballistics identified a couple of twenty-two
slugs that were dug out of that alley wall.”

Jason glared at Hosken. “So?”

The chief scowled. “So we’re thinking there may have been
more than one shooter and the medical examiner who did Sharpe’s post mortem the
first time missed the other wounds.”

“They wouldn’t have missed something like that. Those slugs
could’ve been in that wall for years.”

“Even doctors make mistakes, MacKenzie and the morgue was
understaffed at the time, if you’ll recall.”

Jason recalled all right. Brian had been killed and Emma
seriously hurt. The morgue had been operating with only three medical examiners
and a heavy caseload.

Jason shoved a hand through his hair. “It still isn’t right.
To take him from his grave—”

Hosken drew his hands out of his pockets and jabbed an index
finger in Jason’s direction. “This is why I pulled you and Garcia off that
case. You’re too close to it to think straight. I’m gonna cut you some slack,
MacKenzie, because Tyrone Sharpe was your friend. But don’t you ever come at me
like that again or I’ll have your badge. You got that?”

“Yeah.” Jason fisted his hand in his hair. “I got it.”

Turning, he brushed past Charlie and stomped out the door.

* * * * *

Emma nipped at her lower lip as she considered the entry in
her appointment book. She was scheduled to see Paul at eleven o’clock. Since
she’d heard what Graham Jones’ spirit had said yesterday, she dreaded facing
the psychiatrist.

Could the dead teenager’s claim be true? Could Paul Sanders
be a killer? So far none of the spirits had been wrong about the manner in
which each of them had died or about who was involved, so it must be true.

Putting aside her appointment book, she drew a phone book
from a lower desk drawer and began to page through the residential section.
Paul was the only Sanders listed in Clear Harbor. Turning to the Yellow Pages,
she looked under headings for psychiatrists and physicians. The only Dr.
Sanders listed in Clear Harbor was
her
Paul Sanders.

She closed the phone book. The idea of sitting across from
him after what she’d heard unnerved her more than anything she’d encountered
since her accident. Paul had access to people like Graham Jones every day. It
made sense that he might have counseled the young man. But could he have
murdered him?

Picking up the telephone handset, she jabbed in Marta’s
private number at the District Attorney’s office. After two rings, her friend
answered, “Marta Zamora.”

“Hey, it’s me.”

“Hello, Me.” A smile brightened Marta’s voice. “Talk fast. I’m
due in court in ten minutes.”

“Paul Sanders.” Emma hesitated. Marta needed to know that
the suspects she sent to him for evaluation might be in danger. But she couldn’t
blurt out an accusation with no proof. “How long have you been referring
suspects to him?”

“Several years. Why?”

Emma fiddled with her paperclip holder. “You trust him?”

“Of course. Listen, I hate to rush you but I’m on the clock.
Talk faster.”

“Has anyone ever registered a complaint against him?”

“Sure. We get lots of complaints from folks he finds
competent in spite of their efforts to appear incompetent. But people like that
bitch about everyone in the system.”

“What about the people he
has
found incompetent?”

“No complaints that I know of. What’s this all about?”

“I have another appointment with him this morning.”

Marta hesitated before saying, “As you so politely informed me
the other night, you don’t have to check in with me.”

Guilt racked Emma. “I’m sorry, Marta. I was really rude to
you and I—”

“No, you were right. You’re an intelligent woman and you may
have seen a side of Jason MacKenzie that I haven’t.” Marta paused again. “It’s
just that you’re more than a friend to me. You’re like a sister. I can’t help
worrying about you, Emma.”

Emma needed to trust someone with her secret. What was
happening went beyond her need for privacy and Marta would be the perfect
confidante. But she couldn’t tell her over the phone. She needed to look her
friend in the eye when she confessed that dead people were helping her solve
their cases.

“Can you meet me at Paul’s office at noon?” she asked before
she could change her mind. “We can have lunch after my session. I need to—”

“I wish I could but I’ll be lucky to grab a diet soda today.
Looks like another late night too.” In the background, someone called Marta’s
name. She answered that she was coming then quickly told Emma, “Listen, if it’s
a matter of trust just follow your instincts. Paul can help you if you let him.
And now I have to run. Call you later!”

Emma drew breath to beg but Marta had already hung up. Her
hand trembled as she hung up too.

“She’s not available, is she?”

Emma looked up with a start. Jason stood in the doorway.
Excitement shot through her. They’d both been so busy that she hadn’t seen him
since Amy’s autopsy.

“No,” she said, remembering what Veronica Garcia had told
her about Jason’s feelings for her. “No, she’s not.”

“Maybe I could fill in for her. I happen to be free for
lunch.”

Rising, she stepped around the desk and approached him. In
spite of her fears and worries about Paul, her temperature inched up with each
step as if she approached a crackling bonfire. She wanted to walk right into
that heat, to embrace it, to let it embrace her. The gleam in his eyes told her
he felt the same. But there was something else in his manner too. An edge that
the suspected had nothing to do with her.

“We haven’t been able to hook up since the other night,” he
said, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Since that little
girl’s autopsy.”

She clasped her hands behind her back. “We’re a couple of
busy people.”

“We’ve both got rough schedules. Makes it kind of hard to
finish…” the gleam in his eyes brightened, “a conversation.”

“I have an appointment with Dr. Sanders in a few minutes,”
she said, dragging her libido back in line with difficulty. She’d told Jason
that she was seeing the psychiatrist but had never explained why. He probably
assumed that it had something to do with what she’d told him at the beach
house. He’d thought that she’d had a dream in the ER and that her subconscious
mind had somehow pulled his sister into the memory of it. How would he react if
she told him the whole story?

“I could drop you off,” Jason offered. “Run a few errands
and then pick you up again at noon. We’ll have lunch and…talk.”

Emma realized that Jason was exactly the person she wanted
by her side right now. He’d rescued her from Craig Potter near the docks and
she found herself wanting him to rescue her again. There was something a little
sexy about the idea. And she found that feeling sexy beat the pants off feeling
scared.

“Great.” She glanced at her watch. “Can we leave now?”

“Sure.” He offered his arm. “Let’s go.”

* * * * *

“Good morning, Emma.”

In spite of the fact that Jason would be returning to pick
her up, Emma’s flesh crawled as she faced Paul in his office a few minutes
later.

“I hope you’ve been sleeping better,” he said, walking
around his desk toward her.

Emma swayed back against the door. “Better. Yes.”

“Sit down.” He beckoned her to join him at the chairs they
usually sat in. “Tell me what you’ve been doing since our last session.”

“Mostly paperwork.” She moved forward reluctantly. She didn’t
want him to know that she’d worked on a boy who might be one of his victims the
previous afternoon.

He tugged at his trouser legs and sat down with her. “No
more…visitations?”

His hesitance helped her relax a little. He still didn’t
believe that the spirits she saw were anything more than hallucinations, that
the clues she found were more than coincidence. She had to make sure he
continued to think that way.

“No.” She shook her head. “Nothing has happened.”

“What about your personal life? Have the police made any
progress on your case?”

“No. But that doesn’t bother me. I think of it as an
accident more than an intentional act.”

His lips tightened as he took out his pen. “People must be
held accountable even for accidents.”

A chill coursed down Emma’s spine. “Even if those people can’t
help themselves?”

“We’re all responsible for what we do, no matter what the
circumstances.” He considered her quietly. “You know, Emma, that I can’t help
you unless you’re completely honest with me.”

Her pulse skipped and the backs of her knees went damp
against the leather chair. “I have been honest.”

“You’re tense today. Are you sure nothing has happened?”

Concern for her filled his tone, his expression, his
posture. Had she not heard the accusation of a dead teenager, she would have
been certain that Paul Sanders offered only compassion to his patients. Not
death.

“Nothing,” she lied and then tried to hide behind a
half-truth. “Except that I’ve started to explore a new relationship. He’s one
of the detectives assigned to my case.”

“Getting involved with a police officer brings a whole new
set of considerations into a romantic equation.”

“That’s right, so I’m taking it slowly.” Recognizing an
opening to gain more information, she took it. “I imagine you spend a lot of
time with law enforcement officials, what with the suspect evaluations that you
do.”

“Most of my time is spent with the District Attorney’s
office and defense attorneys. But I occasionally consult with detectives in the
course of evaluating their suspects.”

“Do you find many suspects are incompetent to stand trial?”

“No. Most people understand right from wrong. That’s the
primary criteria. But there are some who simply cannot stay within the
boundaries of the law because they can’t reason where those boundaries lie.
Because of that, they escape justice. Or rather, they are sentenced to a
different kind of justice.” He smiled. “But don’t let me climb on my soapbox,
Emma, or we’ll waste your entire session.”

“That’s all right.” She needed to know more, needed to get
inside his head as he’d been getting inside hers for the past few weeks. “I
know I get frustrated when I work on someone with a criminal past who’s been
bounced around because the system didn’t know what to do with him.”

“Society demands some level of punishment even for those not
competent to stand trial.” He leaned toward her and spoke with an earnestness
that made her flesh crawl again. “A young man with the mind of a child should
not be excused for robbing vagrants simply because he doesn’t realize that his
actions are criminal. He can’t be freed to commit more crimes nor should
society have to support him in a hospital environment forever.”

Thinking of Graham Jones, Emma hugged her arms over her
stomach. “Justice must be served, no matter the circumstances?”

“Surely, having autopsied so many victims of crime, you feel
the same? If a criminal doesn’t receive the appropriate punishment, how can the
victim receive the appropriate justice?”

“You make a good point,” she said quietly.

“But it’s time we talked about you,” he said, sitting back
in his chair.

Emma tried to remain cool for the rest of the session and to
convince Paul that she’d accepted her experiences in the morgue as
hallucination or coincidence. For him to know that she was capable of unmasking
him could be dangerous for her. But by the time Paul’s mantle clock chimed the
noon hour, the effort of maintaining her composure while she told one lie after
another left her drained.

Paul stood up. “Emma, if you’re worried about this new relationship,
I’ll be more than happy to discuss it with you.”

“Maybe another time.” Uncomfortable with him standing over
her, Emma surged to her feet and promptly lost her balance.

Paul shot out both hands to steady her and she recoiled from
his touch. His eyes darkened and she thought for a moment that he could see the
fear burrowing deep inside her. He was perceptive. He had to be to function as
an effective counselor.

“Sorry,” she said quickly. “My leg went to sleep.” She
forced herself to shake his hand even though every cell in her body screamed
for her to pull away. “I’ll see you next week.”

“I’m leaving Friday for a weekend conference in Dallas and
won’t be back until Monday night.” He followed her to the door. “But if you
need to talk in the meantime, please feel free to page me. You have my pager
number, don’t you?”