know what? No one has seen the corpse. I asked the captain, and no, Steven didn't see the body. He just took the medical examiner’s word for it and took for granted what was in the report… David had been too badly beaten for an open coffin."
He stops talking as he removes his T-shirt and stretches to drop his boots on the bottom shelf of the locker. He must have been seriously hitting the gym lately because he’s fitter than ever. A moving mountain of muscle.
"I thought that was weird, so I went to talk to our ME, and guess what? He didn't see David's body, either. The examination was carried out somewhere up north, in Okeechobee or Indian River—I can't remember."
"That makes sense. David's body was found north of Palm Beach County. The ME offices are probably territorial about the bodies found in their jurisdiction."
Everest nods to concede that point, but he continues, "Since there were no pictures in the file, I reached out and got zilch. Nothing—no picture of the crime scene, no picture of the corpse, no investigator notes. Not a thing. When I first called, I was told to put in the request through official channels. I did and waited, and when nothing came after a month, I called back. That's when I was told that the file had been misplaced."
I shrug. "That’s not that unusual. Shit does happen. Files get lost. It shouldn't, but it does happen, even in the best run places."
"So I went to the funeral home and spoke with the manager. The man never saw David's body either. He got a sealed body bag from the ME and put it in the box that Lisa had picked without asking questions."
"And you kept this to yourself until today?" I ask, trying to hide my feelings from my voice. I'm not sure what those feelings are anyway, a mixture of anger and surprise, but mostly a sense of betrayal.
"Hell, yes! I didn't see the use in getting your hopes up. I know how close you two were. How old were you when your mother married his uncle Tony and you moved in next door to him? Five or six? He’s been in your life forever, and I didn't see the point of cracking that door open in your mind if my suspicions were without merits. Today, this postcard sent to the clubhouse at your attention is the final nail… out of the proverbial coffin, so to speak."
I can't help but smile at his reverse image. Who else would pull nails out of the coffin? And he's right—since he's cracked the door open, I can't help but wonder. Now I have to get back into my room to look at the postcard again, to see if I missed a hidden message between the lines.
CHAPTER TWO
I'm exhausted, but I won't fall asleep during the short ride between The Styx and the clubhouse. The conversation I just had with Everest jolted me awake, that and the rain that is starting to fall.
My mind travels back to the week before I left the academy. The placement office was setting up interviews for Internal Affairs and task force units. Could David have been recruited by two departments? It's possible that IA thought the biker task force unit needed investigating. And it sure did. Could things have gone so wrong that the department had to pull him out and fake his death?
Some days, I wonder how far IA can go to blur the lines. I'm not sure the police should be allowed to do that. Their excuse is that life isn’t black and white, and they exist in the acceptable shade of grey. Hell, I should understand the need for the grey area—I live in that color spectrum.
As I park in the new barn of the clubhouse compound, the rain intensifies. The rainy season is early this year. I run from the barn to the main house. Living in the world capital of lighting-strike deaths is a major downside for bikers in Florida.
I step into a smoked-filled room, where my father is holding court, telling some story about his good old days, when he was Pain's sergeant at arms. His large gestures emphasize his every word. As if any story about the club founder needs
He stops talking as he removes his T-shirt and stretches to drop his boots on the bottom shelf of the locker. He must have been seriously hitting the gym lately because he’s fitter than ever. A moving mountain of muscle.
"I thought that was weird, so I went to talk to our ME, and guess what? He didn't see David's body, either. The examination was carried out somewhere up north, in Okeechobee or Indian River—I can't remember."
"That makes sense. David's body was found north of Palm Beach County. The ME offices are probably territorial about the bodies found in their jurisdiction."
Everest nods to concede that point, but he continues, "Since there were no pictures in the file, I reached out and got zilch. Nothing—no picture of the crime scene, no picture of the corpse, no investigator notes. Not a thing. When I first called, I was told to put in the request through official channels. I did and waited, and when nothing came after a month, I called back. That's when I was told that the file had been misplaced."
I shrug. "That’s not that unusual. Shit does happen. Files get lost. It shouldn't, but it does happen, even in the best run places."
"So I went to the funeral home and spoke with the manager. The man never saw David's body either. He got a sealed body bag from the ME and put it in the box that Lisa had picked without asking questions."
"And you kept this to yourself until today?" I ask, trying to hide my feelings from my voice. I'm not sure what those feelings are anyway, a mixture of anger and surprise, but mostly a sense of betrayal.
"Hell, yes! I didn't see the use in getting your hopes up. I know how close you two were. How old were you when your mother married his uncle Tony and you moved in next door to him? Five or six? He’s been in your life forever, and I didn't see the point of cracking that door open in your mind if my suspicions were without merits. Today, this postcard sent to the clubhouse at your attention is the final nail… out of the proverbial coffin, so to speak."
I can't help but smile at his reverse image. Who else would pull nails out of the coffin? And he's right—since he's cracked the door open, I can't help but wonder. Now I have to get back into my room to look at the postcard again, to see if I missed a hidden message between the lines.
CHAPTER TWO
I'm exhausted, but I won't fall asleep during the short ride between The Styx and the clubhouse. The conversation I just had with Everest jolted me awake, that and the rain that is starting to fall.
My mind travels back to the week before I left the academy. The placement office was setting up interviews for Internal Affairs and task force units. Could David have been recruited by two departments? It's possible that IA thought the biker task force unit needed investigating. And it sure did. Could things have gone so wrong that the department had to pull him out and fake his death?
Some days, I wonder how far IA can go to blur the lines. I'm not sure the police should be allowed to do that. Their excuse is that life isn’t black and white, and they exist in the acceptable shade of grey. Hell, I should understand the need for the grey area—I live in that color spectrum.
As I park in the new barn of the clubhouse compound, the rain intensifies. The rainy season is early this year. I run from the barn to the main house. Living in the world capital of lighting-strike deaths is a major downside for bikers in Florida.
I step into a smoked-filled room, where my father is holding court, telling some story about his good old days, when he was Pain's sergeant at arms. His large gestures emphasize his every word. As if any story about the club founder needs
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