Under Suspicion. Mallory Kane
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Bookman searched his face for a moment. “A rather substantial piece of calf muscle, a piece of scalp with hair intact and...that’s about it. Barely enough to provide identification. I can’t afford to waste any of it by burying it in the ground. Now understand, I haven’t positively identified these remains with DNA. I’ve sent the samples off, but it generally takes weeks, if not months, to get DNA back.”
The doctor might as well have sucker punched him. The idea that all that was left of Tristan was a little muscle and a bit of hair. The back of his throat burned with nausea. “What about the other man?”
Bookman nodded. “He was pretty chewed up. There were several schools of sharks in the area.”
Several schools of sharks. Zach tried to erase that phrase from his mind. “But you can identify the difference between him and Tristan, right?”
“On a superficial level, yes. I can. From physical attributes mostly. The Vietnamese man, according to his employment records, was five inches shorter than DuChaud. I would expect his torso, parts of which we recovered, to be smaller than DuChaud’s. I would also expect the typical Asian features, whereas DuChaud was Caucasian. I’m relatively sure that the calf muscle tissue and the scalp with light brown hair belong to DuChaud.”
“What’s your conclusion? Any sign of foul play?”
“I can’t answer that question. Right now, what I can say with relative certainty is that I have the remains of two men, one Caucasian, one Asian. There is enough of the Asian’s torso present to be certain that he perished. The meager remains we collected for DuChaud are not conclusive at all, but judging from the damage to the Vietnamese man’s body, it would be difficult to imagine that DuChaud could have survived.”
Zach swallowed hard. “Wait a minute,” he said. “You said difficult, not impossible. Are you saying there’s a chance he could be alive?”
Bookman shook his head. “No. I’m not. The remains we have are not conclusive, but the men went overboard in a place and a situation that doesn’t support survival. Not only was the drill mechanism and a large diesel motor right there, practically beneath them, but as I mentioned, there were sharks, too.”
Behind Zach, the groundskeeper pushed the cart that held Tristan’s casket. One wheel was rickety and it creaked with every inch of movement. He turned.
Sandy, who was standing next to Duff, started to turn around as well, but the priest kept his hand on her shoulder. With his eyes, he beckoned Zach.
“The Coast Guard has captured several of the sharks,” Dr. Bookman went on. “They’re sending me the stomach contents to see what additional remains I might be able to recover.”
The queasiness rose in the back of Zach’s throat again.
“Sorry about your friend,” Dr. Bookman said.
Zach thanked him. He stepped quickly over to Sandy’s side. He wanted to watch until the groundskeeper slammed the stone door and locked the bolt.
Actually, that wasn’t what he wanted to do. He wanted to run over to the casket and rip it open. He wanted to see with his own eyes just exactly what was inside, if it wasn’t his friend’s body. But of course, he couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t. Sandy was there and he’d rather die than let her know that her husband’s body was never recovered.
“Sandy,” Duff said, “wasn’t Zach one of Tristan’s best friends?”
She glanced at him, not fooled for a moment, but allowing him to distract her from the sight of her husband’s casket being pushed into the vault. “His best friend,” she corrected, smiling at Zach.
He smiled back at her, and his conscious brain picked up on what he’d been aware of subconsciously since he’d first seen her. Sandy had always been slender, but the black dress she wore was formfitting and hugged a small but obvious baby bump. Tristan’s widow was pregnant. His eyes burned and his heart felt broken into pieces. Tristan had a child.
Sandy’s hand moved to rest on her belly protectively, and Zach realized he was staring. He looked up to see her smiling sadly at him. He opened his mouth to apologize or console her or something, but she shook her head. “It’s okay, Zach,” she murmured. “I’m doing okay. I’m about three and a half months along,” she said, her voice quivering. “Tristan knew. He was sure it’s a boy.”
As he struggled for the right thing to say, he felt a presence behind him.
“Sandy,” a voice said. It was the woman. “We need to get back to the house.” She sounded exactly as he’d figured she would. She had a city accent. Maybe New Orleans, maybe another large metropolitan area. But one thing was for sure, it was certainly not a south Louisiana–bayou accent.
Turning, Zach met her gaze and saw for the first time that her eyes were blue. It didn’t really surprise him. He didn’t trust blue eyes.
Her manner was no longer hostile, but it was decidedly chilly. Then she turned toward Sandy and within less than a heartbeat, her entire demeanor changed. A tenderness melted the ice in her eyes and her stiff shoulders relaxed. Zach shivered as the chill she’d aimed at him dissolved in the afternoon sun.
“You should lie down for at least a half hour while I put out the food and get ready for people to come by. Mrs. Pennebaker told me just now that she’d taken three more pies over and two buckets of chicken.” She took Sandy’s elbow and began to guide her away from Zach and Duff.
Sandy groaned. “How much do they think I can eat?” she said.
Zach was sure he’d heard a spark of amusement lighten her subdued tone for a second. Maybe she actually was all right. Or at least better than she looked, because she looked exhausted, crushed and on the verge of fainting, if he could tell anything by the paleness of her face.
“They know you’re going to need lots of food, not only for yourself and the baby. Don’t forget all the people who are going to be stopping by,” the woman said.
“I know that. And I don’t need to lie down. I’m fine.” As the woman led her away, Sandy turned back, reaching out to Zach. He took her hand.
“Come by, please? We— I haven’t seen you for such a long time. You’re not leaving right away, are you? And bring your bags. You’re staying with me.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Zach saw the woman frown. That stopped the polite protest on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he nodded. “Thanks, Sandy. I’d be happy to.” He shot the woman a sidelong glance.
“Oh, Zach, this is Madeleine Tierney,” Sandy said, then turned to the woman. “I’m so sorry, Maddy. I forgot all about introducing you.”
Madeleine Tierney nodded at him without offering her hand.
“This is Zachary Winter. He’s Tristan’s oldest and dearest friend, practically since they were born.”
Zach nodded back at her. “I’ll see you at the house, Sandy,” he said.
As the two women walked away, he took a few seconds to study Madeleine Tierney. She had on a dark jacket and skirt that was a little loose. Her shoes were plain and black with a medium heel. Her clothes seemed designed to keep people from noticing her.
While she waited for Sandy to get into the passenger side of a rental car, she swept the dwindling crowd one more time. She spotted the two men she’d been watching earlier. Zach checked them out again, too. They were walking down Cemetery Road toward town. When they passed the last parked car, Zach narrowed his gaze.
“See those two guys, Duff?” he asked. “Oh, sorry, Father Michael.”
Duff waved his hand. “Don’t worry so much about what to call me. I’m fine with Duff, except in church,” he said. “What two guys?”
Zach