Mortal Remains by Peter Clement

as far as they were concerned it was a cold case. They’re not working on it.”
    “They dumped it in Dan’s and my laps.”
    “That was just for you to do their paperwork, for Christ’s sake. Any fool could see that. Surely you’re not going to drag this out?”
    Mark caught the condescension, and an old enmity stirred. But he kept it in check.
    Nevertheless, he saw Dan looking up at him apprehensively.
    “Listen to me, Roper,” Chaz said. “You may think you’re some kind of big shot here, being coroner and all, but I can rally enough votes to fix that at the next election.”
    Mark’s discipline in dealing with assholes nearly folded. He smiled, slowly, showing his teeth a few at a time. “Take your best shot.”
    “This is not fitting for Kelly,” Braden Senior said. His tone had the quiet authority of someone who never raised his voice to get an order followed.
    Mark had to admit Braden had spoken the truth. “I’ll say it’s not fitting.” He kept his gaze on Chaz.
    “There can’t be much more you need to examine,” Braden Senior continued. “Besides, both the McShanes and my son and I probably will lawyer you to death if you persist. Now I’m no judge, but in a court of law you’ll be hard-pressed not to accord both families the closure of putting her in a grave.”
    Again, Mark knew he was right.
    “So for our Kelly’s sake, why not now?” Braden Senior pressed.
    Mark looked over at him. “Can you people agree on arrangements so that Dan and I don’t have to decide between you? Neither of us is a Solomon, you know.”
    He got no immediate response, except Chaz walked over to rejoin his father.
    Mark forged on. “Mrs. McShane, you mentioned a funeral, right?”
    She nodded slowly.
    “What if you agreed to hold the funeral, which Chaz and his father may attend, and let the Bradens hold a memorial service a couple of weeks later, which you and your husband may attend?”
    Samantha appeared to be taken aback, but to his right he could see that both the Bradens were smiling, albeit reluctantly.
    “I think you are a Solomon after all, young man,” Braden Senior said. “A real peacemaker. Well done.”
    Braden was complimenting him. Dan looked relieved, and the McShanes appeared to accept his compromise. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that even Chaz nodded slightly. Why, since he had put this potential fracas to rest, did he have such a bitter taste in his mouth?
     
    4:00 P.M.
     
    Mark started his run as usual, going down to the foot of his driveway and turning left. After this afternoon’s business, he figured it would take at least an hour on the road to work off the tension.
    The air was cool, the light gray, and leaden clouds promised snow. He’d worn gloves and a hooded track suit, but initially he still felt cold. He also carried a small flashlight in his pocket since it would be dark before he finished.
    By the first hundred paces, he started to feel the flush of his endorphins. Within fifteen minutes, his runner’s high kicked in like a shot of morphine, first vanquishing the pain of protesting muscles, then wiping the Bradens and McShanes off his radar. His world became the sound of his breathing, the thudding of his heart, and the soft slap of his running shoes on asphalt. When the first few flakes began to float down around him and fall on his cheeks, he even welcomed their sting against his skin as they melted, the sensation invigorating him. It was a mindless state, and he reveled in it.
    Thirty minutes later, well along the uphill part of his trek, he trotted by a gated muddy road that led into a thickly forested property. Off to one side a rusted plaque pompously announced THE BRADEN FOUNDATION CLINIC.
    At least they hadn’t hung a scarlet
A
in front of the place.
    He had passed this place a hundred times, never giving it a thought. But now, the crumpled clipping about the place that his father had kept popped to mind, and on a whim, he slowed, walked over to where a