The Panic Zone by Rick Mofina Page A

now?”
    The man asked the boy.
    â€œNo, it is almost night, tomorrow is Sunday, it will be safer to take you then.”
    â€œGood.”
    Energized by the break and the meal, Gannon tipped the staff, who called a cab for him. As he waited, twilight fell and he gazed up at the Céu sobre Rio. The echo of traffic, shouting and throbbing hip-hop music rolled down in the evening air.
    Every now and then, Gannon heard the sporadic pop of gunfire.

CHAPTER 17
    Big Cloud, Wyoming
    A fter the funeral, time floated by Emma like fog.
    She’d lost track of it as she grappled with the emptiness.
    She’d sit alone in Tyler’s room for hours, rocking in the chair where she had nursed him. Joe had made the chair for her from Canadian maple. Its rhythmic squeak comforted her as she held Tyler’s teddy bear while images of the crash whirled around her.
    Each time Emma replayed the tragedy, she saw Tyler being saved.
    Was she crazy?
    Oh, Joe, tell me what to do. Please, tell me!
    Emma could feel Joe pulling her back to that day.
    â€œYou’re one of the most fearless people I know. Woe to anyone or anything that comes between you and Tyler.”
    That was her answer.
    Emma could not allow a lie to come between her and their baby. Emma needed proof, evidence that what she saw, that what she felt with all her heart, was wrong. And until she had it, she would never ever let go of her belief that Tyler was alive.
    Never.
    She found the binder holding papers from the funeral director and snapped through it, coming to the documents she needed.
    â€œWhat is it, dear?” Aunt Marsha asked.
    â€œI need to go out, to see to matters.”
    Emma showered, dressed, made phone calls from the bedroom, then collected her purse and files.
    â€œAre you sure you’re up to going out alone?” her uncle asked. “What matters are you talking about? Maybe we can see to them for you?”
    â€œThank you, Uncle Ned, but this is something I have to do myself.”
    * * *
    Emma got into her Chevrolet Cobalt and caught her breath.
    Tyler’s car seat and some of his toys were in the back. Joe had insisted on getting a car seat for each vehicle so they weren’t constantly moving one from the Cobalt to the SUV.
    Emma touched it, then turned the ignition and headed to Deer Creek Road and the office of the chief deputy coroner.
    â€œEmma Lane. I called,” she told the woman at the desk.
    The receptionist’s eyes went briefly to the scrapes on her face, a subtle verification that this was the woman who’d lost her husband and baby in the crash. “Hold on, I think Henry’s free.”
    Henry Sanders, M.D., was in his forties. He was wearing a white smock with a pen in his breast pocket. His thick, dark-framed glasses had slid to the end of his nose when he came out from behind his desk to greet her.
    â€œI’m deeply sorry for your loss, Mrs. Lane. I’ll try to answer your questions.” Sanders shook her hand. “May I get you a glass of water, coffee, maybe some tea?”
    â€œNo thank you. Dr. Sanders, what proof do you have that my baby died in the crash?”
    Sanders’s face dimmed and he nudged his glasses.
    â€œIt was a terrible accident,” he said.
    â€œDr. Sanders, I was there. Now, according to my documents from the funeral director, you signed the death certificates for Joe and Tyler.”
    â€œThat’s correct.”
    â€œAnd I understand that you filed them with the state.”
    â€œYes, with the local registrar.”
    â€œI would like copies, please.”
    â€œYou can order them through vital statistics, but we’ll get you copies.”
    â€œWhat did you list as the cause of Tyler’s death?”
    â€œIn Joe’s case, cause was attributed to a broken neck. In Tyler’s case, given the circumstances, I concluded fire was the cause of death.”
    â€œBut how can you say that without evidence? You didn’t