to an interior courtyard.
My heart pounded hard in my chest as I tried to focus with the late afternoon sun in my eyes. A few feet from me was a sign with apartment numbers affixed to the building. I followed the arrow in the direction indicated, checking the numbers on the doors as I sped by, frantic to reach my daughter.
Apartment 117 was a corner unit at the back, and as I approached it the door swung open. Cell phone clutched in one hand, Laura stumbled toward me. I hugged her tight to my chest.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m here.” I repeated those words several times, and Laura grew calmer.
She drew back, and her tear-stained face wrenched my heart. Suddenly she was twelve again, and I wanted to comfort her. But I had to ask one question I neglected to ask earlier. “Honey, did you check him? To be sure, I mean?”
“I freaked out when the 911 operator asked me to do it.”Laura regarded me with guilt-stricken eyes. “I just couldn’t touch him.”
“I’ll check.” I moved past her to the open door. “Where is he?”
“Right there in the living room.” Laura closed her eyes and began deep-breathing exercises.
I stepped inside, and I gagged at the smell of stale cigarette smoke and a couple of odors that hinted at death. I figured then it was probably too late, but I had to check anyway.
The door opened right into the living room. Connor lay sprawled on a couch a few feet away. His head rested against an arm of the couch, and his mouth stretched wide in an unsettling grimace, as if he died in pain. His bloodshot eyes bulged, and there were splotches of red on his face and neck.
Did some kind of poison cause that?
Could he have killed himself? Maybe his death was the result of some kind of bizarre accident.
Another thought struck me. Those red splotches—weren’t they signs of suffocation?
I stepped close enough to feel for a pulse in his left arm, which dangled off the edge of the couch. His fingers brushed the floor, and I braced myself as I touched the inside of his wrist.
No pulse, skin cool to the touch. I’d seen him on stage at the college only a few hours ago. How long had he been dead?
I stepped back and, as I moved toward the door, I noted certain details about the room.
An empty bourbon bottle sat on the floor by the couch. On the side table nearby an ashtray overflowed with ash and cigarette butts. There was a desk in the corner, its surface littered with pens and scraps of paper. The chair sat with its back against the wall.
At the sound of voices outside I turned and hurried out the door.
Two Athena city police officers stood there with Laura, and they both frowned when they saw me. The older of the two started to speak, but stopped and stared at me.
I recognized him about the time he realized he knew me. “Hello, Officer Williams.” He was one of the policemen who’d responded to the call a few months ago when I’d found another dead body. The younger officer stepped past me and entered the apartment. He looked familiar, too. I thought his name was Grimes.
“Mr. Harris, isn’t it?” Williams didn’t look pleased to see me. “What are you doing here?”
“This is my daughter, Laura. She found the body and called me, and of course I came.” I put an arm around my daughter who was still shivering a little, despite the heat.
“You called your father first, Miss Harris? Not 911?” Williams frowned.
“Yes, sir.” Laura cleared her throat before she continued. “I’m sorry, I was so shaken by what I found I just wasn’t thinking clearly.”
“How long have you been here, Mr. Harris?” Williams focused his laser stare on me.
“Only a few minutes. I got here maybe two minutes ahead of you.”
Grimes popped out of the apartment then. He exchanged a look with Williams, and the two of them stepped to one side to confer in low voices.
I checked my daughter. Her normal color was back, and she was breathing more easily. These were good signs, but I wanted to
My heart pounded hard in my chest as I tried to focus with the late afternoon sun in my eyes. A few feet from me was a sign with apartment numbers affixed to the building. I followed the arrow in the direction indicated, checking the numbers on the doors as I sped by, frantic to reach my daughter.
Apartment 117 was a corner unit at the back, and as I approached it the door swung open. Cell phone clutched in one hand, Laura stumbled toward me. I hugged her tight to my chest.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m here.” I repeated those words several times, and Laura grew calmer.
She drew back, and her tear-stained face wrenched my heart. Suddenly she was twelve again, and I wanted to comfort her. But I had to ask one question I neglected to ask earlier. “Honey, did you check him? To be sure, I mean?”
“I freaked out when the 911 operator asked me to do it.”Laura regarded me with guilt-stricken eyes. “I just couldn’t touch him.”
“I’ll check.” I moved past her to the open door. “Where is he?”
“Right there in the living room.” Laura closed her eyes and began deep-breathing exercises.
I stepped inside, and I gagged at the smell of stale cigarette smoke and a couple of odors that hinted at death. I figured then it was probably too late, but I had to check anyway.
The door opened right into the living room. Connor lay sprawled on a couch a few feet away. His head rested against an arm of the couch, and his mouth stretched wide in an unsettling grimace, as if he died in pain. His bloodshot eyes bulged, and there were splotches of red on his face and neck.
Did some kind of poison cause that?
Could he have killed himself? Maybe his death was the result of some kind of bizarre accident.
Another thought struck me. Those red splotches—weren’t they signs of suffocation?
I stepped close enough to feel for a pulse in his left arm, which dangled off the edge of the couch. His fingers brushed the floor, and I braced myself as I touched the inside of his wrist.
No pulse, skin cool to the touch. I’d seen him on stage at the college only a few hours ago. How long had he been dead?
I stepped back and, as I moved toward the door, I noted certain details about the room.
An empty bourbon bottle sat on the floor by the couch. On the side table nearby an ashtray overflowed with ash and cigarette butts. There was a desk in the corner, its surface littered with pens and scraps of paper. The chair sat with its back against the wall.
At the sound of voices outside I turned and hurried out the door.
Two Athena city police officers stood there with Laura, and they both frowned when they saw me. The older of the two started to speak, but stopped and stared at me.
I recognized him about the time he realized he knew me. “Hello, Officer Williams.” He was one of the policemen who’d responded to the call a few months ago when I’d found another dead body. The younger officer stepped past me and entered the apartment. He looked familiar, too. I thought his name was Grimes.
“Mr. Harris, isn’t it?” Williams didn’t look pleased to see me. “What are you doing here?”
“This is my daughter, Laura. She found the body and called me, and of course I came.” I put an arm around my daughter who was still shivering a little, despite the heat.
“You called your father first, Miss Harris? Not 911?” Williams frowned.
“Yes, sir.” Laura cleared her throat before she continued. “I’m sorry, I was so shaken by what I found I just wasn’t thinking clearly.”
“How long have you been here, Mr. Harris?” Williams focused his laser stare on me.
“Only a few minutes. I got here maybe two minutes ahead of you.”
Grimes popped out of the apartment then. He exchanged a look with Williams, and the two of them stepped to one side to confer in low voices.
I checked my daughter. Her normal color was back, and she was breathing more easily. These were good signs, but I wanted to
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