Legally Dead by Edna Buchanan Page A

damn convincing that he’s declared legally dead, no questions asked.”
    Danny bit into a muffin slathered with strawberry preserves, took a bite, half closed his eyes as he swallowed, and gave a satisfied sigh before answering.
    â€œOh, it’s doable, definitely doable.” He patted his mouth with a napkin. “In Miami, man, anything is possible.”
    Scout stopped slurping and looked up from the bacon and eggs in his bowl, ears cocked and alert. Then they, too, heard the shuffling sound in the hall.
    Lyle Gates appeared in the doorway. Despite being middle-aged and unshaven, he looked like a boy dressed up in his father’s clothes.
    â€œI smelled coffee and bacon,” he said apologetically. Blinking, he looked around the kitchen, his expression dazed, as though he had not seen it before.
    â€œGood morning,” Venturi said. “Lyle, this is Danny. Sit down and I’ll get you a plate.”
    Lyle reached out to shake Danny’s hand, but jerked his back, embarrassed by the bandages on his wrist.
    â€œSorry.” He turned to Venturi. “That pain pill really knocked me out. When I woke up I didn’t remember where I was at first.”
    â€œUsed to happen to me all the time,” Danny said. “Then I got married.”
    Lyle’s appetite had returned. He ate heartily and his color looked better. “Never thought I’d taste one of these again,” he said, buttering a muffin. After his second cup of coffee he seemed alert, though quiet.
    He fingered the stubble on his chin. “I was going to shave,” he said, “but I couldn’t find a razor in the bathroom.”
    Venturi promised to find him one.
    Then Gates answered any and all questions:
    No, he had never been treated for depression or any other form of mental illness. He was not on medication. Yes, his overall health, physically and mentally, was good, until recently.
    â€œI’m depressed, but not a victim of depression,” he explained. “I have good reasons for my state of mind. Depression didn’t cause my problems; my problems caused my depression.”
    â€œMost suicide attempts are once-in-a-lifetime events,” Venturi said. “Most who are saved don’t try again.” He asked Gates if he thought it was true in his case.
    â€œYesterday I saw no other way out,” Gates said matter-of-factly. “Nothing’s changed. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my life. If I could still contribute and live like a normal person, it would never happen again.
    â€œBut right now, I’m living in the moment, enjoying an excellent meal in good company. I thank you for both. But at the end of the day I’m still me, with the same past and no future.”
    â€œWhat if that could change?” Venturi asked, arms folded.
    â€œIt can’t.” He shook his head sadly.
    â€œMaybe it could.” Venturi shrugged.
    â€œYou can die,” he offered. “Not alone and anonymous in a swamp, but publicly. Officially. Legally dead. A vital statistic. And soon after, somewhere else in the world, you could surface, with a different look, a brand-new name, a different date of birth, and a new occupation.”
    Gates looked bewildered for a moment. He licked his lips and sat up straighter in his chair, a fleeting look of hope in his eyes. “Is that possible? Could that actually happen?”
    â€œThe federal government does it all the time for witnesses in their protection program. Many are career criminals. Why not somebody like you?”
    â€œIs it legal?” He looked confused.
    â€œHell, no,” Venturi conceded. “But technically, neither is suicide. Why not try something less lethal?”
    â€œThe government…?”
    â€œWouldn’t be involved, at all,” Venturi said. “I just used it as an example.”
    â€œIt sounds like reincarnation,” Gates said.
    â€œExactly,” Danny said, “except you