“My younger brother knew Fred Cheney. I knew him, too, though not well.”
Staring off at people playing several courts away, he said, “Fred was one of the nicest guys I’ve ever met. And I’m not just saying that because he’s . . . Well. My brother’s really shook up about it.”
He bent over and picked up a handful of balls. “And it sort of bothers me, if you want to know the truth, that the newspapers can’t get past who Fred was dating. It’s like the only person who disappeared was Pat Harvey’s daughter. And I’m not saying that the girl wasn’t terrific and what happened to her isn’t just as awful as what happened to him.”
He paused. “Well. I think you know, what I mean.”
“I do,” I said. “But the other side of that is Deborah Harvey’s family is being subjected to intense scrutiny, and they will never be permitted to grieve privately because of who Deborah’s mother is. It’s unfair and tragic any way you look at it.”
Ted thought about this and met my eyes. “You know, I hadn’t considered it that way. But you’re right. I don’t think being famous would be a whole lot of fun. And don’t think you’re paying me by the hour to stand out here and talk. What would you like to work on tonight? “Ground strokes. I want you to run me corner to corner so I can remind myself how much I hate smoking.”
“No more lectures from me on that subject.”
He moved to the center of the net.
I backed up to the baseline. My first forehand wouldn’t have been half bad had I been playing doubles.
Physical pain is a good diversion, and the harsh realities of the day were pushed aside until the phone rang at home later as I was peeling off my wet clothes.
Pat Harvey was frantic. “The bodies they found today. I have to know.”
“They have not been identified, and I have not examined them yet,” I said, sitting on the edge of the bed and nudging off my tennis shoes.
“A male and a female. That’s what I heard.”
“So it appears at this point. Yes.”
“Please tell me if there’s arty possibility it isn’t them,” she said.
I hesitated.
“Oh, God,” she whispered.
“Mrs. Harvey, I can’t confirm – ” She cut me off in a voice that was getting hysterical.”
The police told me they found Debbie’s purse, her driver’s license.”
Morrell, I thought. The half-brained bastard.
I said to her, “We can’t make identifications solely from personal effects.”
“She’s my daughter!”
Next would follow threats and profanity. I had been through this before with the other parents who under ordinary circumstances were as civilized as Sunday school. I decided to give Pat Harvey something constructive to do.
“The bodies have not been identified,” I repeated.
“I want to see her.”
Not in a million years, I thought. “The bodies aren’t visually identifiable,” I said. “They’re almost skeletonized.”
Her breath caught.
“And depending on you, we might establish identity with certainty tomorrow or it might take days.”
“What do you want me to do?”
she asked shakily.
“I need X rays, dental charts, anything pertaining to Deborah’s medical history that you can get your hands on.”
Silence.
“Do you think you could track these down for me?”
“Of course,” she said. “I’ll see to it immediately.”
I suspected she would have her daughter’s medical records before sunrise, even if she had to drag half of the doctors in Richmond out of bed.
The following afternoon, I was removing the plastic cover from the OCME’s anatomical skeleton when I heard Marino in the hall.
“I’m in here,” I said loudly.
He stepped inside the conference room, a blank expression on his face as he stared at the skeleton, whose bones were wired together, a hook in the vertex of his skull attached to the top of an L-shaped bar. He stood a little taller than I was, feet dangling over a wooden base with wheels.
Gathering paperwork from a table, I said, “How about rolling him out for me?”
“You taking Slim for a stroll?”