Never Forgotten (8 page)

Mary sat back against the couch. “Why do you have to be so cryptic? Can’t you just tell me what’s going on and what’s going to happen?”

“If I knew, I’d tell you. All I know is that he’s in danger.”

“Okay, then tell me this,” Mary countered. “When am I going to be able to tell him that you’re dead?”

Jeannine shook her head. “I don’t know, perhaps after you find the person who killed me.”

“What happened to you? Where can I start looking?”

Jeannine started to fade away.

“I really hate how you always do that when you don’t want to answer a question,” Mary yelled at the vanishing figure.

Jeannine shrugged her shoulders and disappeared.

Mary dropped back against the couch, “I’m beginning to really dislike ghosts.”

The parking lot at the hospital was crowded, as usual, and Mary made her way across the slush-filled lot to the entrance doors. The giant revolving door slowly turned and opened into the lobby. A few senior citizen volunteers were manning the reception desks, but Mary didn’t stop there, she knew her way down to the morgue.

Walking through the hospital was always an interesting experience for Mary. She was never quite sure who she might encounter. She walked down the main hall and past the waiting area for the hospital lab. It was there they performed cat scans, ultrasounds, radiological tests and blood tests. Suddenly the ghosts of an elderly gentleman dressed only in a hospital gown whisked past her. He was dancing a jig and snapping his fingers in time to an Irish ditty he was singing. He looked at Mary and winked, then twirled around, holding onto the gown so he didn’t expose more than Mary wanted to see. He blew her a kiss and went dancing up the corridor slowly fading away until finally he was gone.

He knew the way home, Mary thought.

The hospital intercom blared “Code Blue - Radiology - Adult.”

Mary shook her head, as she watched the emergency personnel rush past her. They weren’t going to get him back; he was well on his way home.

She continued down the hall, past the elevators and the Gift Shop and finally, at the end of the corridor, she reached a non-descript metal door that led to a staircase. The stairwell was not one used for patients, the drab yellow paint on the walls and commercial gray tiles on the stairs were definitely more functional than aesthetic. She walked down the stairs to the basement. Large pipes, wrapped with insulation lay just over her head. A janitor’s storage area was just to the left of the staircase. At the right was another door. Mary pushed through the door and entered an older portion of the hospital.

There were no lovely pink-hued walls with tasteful framed works of art hanging at judicious intervals, these walls were stark white and the floors were light linoleum, rather than the soft gray carpet from the floor above. The doors did not have windows, they were plain white commercial doors and, if you didn’t pay attention to the small markers next to them, instead of the marketing department, you could easily walk straight into the morgue.

But that door was exactly what Mary wanted and without a moment’s delay, she opened the door and walked in.

Angela sat behind her desk in the small office at the front of the area. She was wearing a hospital lab coat, but looked to Mary like one of the doctors from a soap opera, perfectly coiffed. Angela looked up when Mary entered the room, smiled and rose immediately. “Mary, it’s good to see you,” she said.

Mary shook her hand and returned the greeting. “I really appreciate you letting me barge in on you,” she said.

Angela smiled, “Oh, no problem. How can I help you?”

“Well, I’m working on a case that involves domestic abuse,” she explained. “The wife has disappeared and we fear the worse. I was wondering if you had any Jane Does over the week-end.”

Angela grabbed the clipboard on her desk and scanned it. “I was off for a couple of days,” she explained. “So, someone might have come in who I wasn’t aware of. If you’ll…”

She was interrupted by the intercom on her phone beeping.
“Angela Murray to Radiology - Stat.”

Angela looked over at the phone and rolled her eyes. “It’s going to be one of those days,” she said. “I can tell.”

Mary smiled sympathetically, thinking of the man who danced his way to heaven. “Well, I can certainly wait,” she said. “Please go ahead.”

Angela put the clipboard down on the desk. “You don’t mind waiting alone in the morgue? You’re not afraid of ghosts?”

Mary nearly laughed, but was able to control her impulse. “No, I’m a former Chicago cop,” she explained. “One of my favorite places to hang out used to be the morgue.”

Mary thought Angela initially looked uneasy at her response, but she quickly smiled and said, “Well then, make
yourself
at home. I shouldn’t be too long.”

Once Angela left, Mary waited for a few moments in case Angela returned, and then let herself into the back of the morgue. In the center of the room two stainless steel gurneys lay empty on the pristine linoleum floor, above them bright surgical-suite lights illuminated the basement room as if it were a sunny day. A large stainless steel sink and shelves that held equipment for an autopsy stood against the back wall. Although there was equipment for performing a basic autopsy downstairs, anything that required technical skill, like organ donations, would be performed in one of the operating rooms in the hospital.

Built into the walls on either side of the room, a number of square metal doors stood in three rows of five. Each of these doors opened to a refrigerator chamber with a steel shelf that slid out, large enough to hold the remains of one person. Mary walked down each side, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone, but not really expecting it. Just like funeral homes, morgues rarely had ghosts because people didn’t die in those places. Their bodies, the human shells that remained after their spirits had left, were the only things transported to a morgue or funeral home. If someone’s spirit were to stay behind, it would stay where it died. Or, travel to seek someone like Mary, who could help them on their journey.

Mary decided not to open any of the chambers without Angela’s permission and went back to the small office to wait for her.

She didn’t have to wait long, in a few minutes Angela and two orderlies came through the door pushing a sheet-covered gurney. Angela grabbed the clipboard and led them into the second room, directing them to an empty chamber. They pulled open the door and slid it out to reveal a long narrow shelf. They lifted the old man’s body and placed him on the shelf and closed the chamber. Mary felt her heart tug when the door was firmly closed, shutting the frail body inside the metal box, but she knew his spirit was already where it was supposed to be.

The orderlies left and Angela joined Mary in the office. “Sorry,” she said, with a huff. “His family is out of town and they won’t be able to collect his body for several days. We thought it best we keep him on ice until they return.”

“That’s a good idea,” Mary replied, a little bothered by the detachment in Angela’s tone. “Will that help preserve him?”

Angela shrugged. “It will basically get him out of everyone’s way until a decision can be made about what to do with him. I’m sorry for the interruption, what did you need, Mary?”

A man just died, Mary wanted to scream. How about a little sympathy? Instead, she said, “I wanted to see if you had any Jane Doe’s during the past couple of days.”

Angela picked up the clipboard and scanned it. “Well, here’s one that might match,” she said. “She’s about forty years old, weighs 160 pounds.”

Mary felt her spirits rise. If this were her ghost, at least she’d have some physical evidence. “That sounds like my Jane Doe.”

“Oh, wait,” Angela added. “This woman is African-American.”

Her heart sank. “No, no my Jane is Caucasian,” Mary replied.

Putting the clipboard back on the desk, Angela laced her fingers together and looked up at Mary. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

Here’s your hat, what’s your hurry, Mary thought.

“Yes, I was wondering if you handled Sam Rogers’ death,” she asked.

“Sam Rogers, wasn’t he the Police Chief?” Angela asked. “Died about a year ago?”

Mary nodded. “Yes, he was in his office.”

“I did handle that case, why do you ask?” she asked suspiciously. “Is someone questioning my work?”

Mary shook her head. “No, nothing like that,” she said. “Just a similar case came across my desk and I wanted to get your take on the cause of death.”

“Heart attack,” Angela supplied immediately.

“Do you want to take a moment and look it up,” Mary asked, surprised by the quick response when it seemed Angela hadn’t remembered the case initially, “Just to be sure.”

“I have an excellent memory, besides, there was no autopsy,” she replied. “It was a heart attack.”

Mary smiled pleasantly as she stood. Hmmm, I’m not going to get any more help here, she thought. “Well, I appreciate your time,” Mary said. “Thanks for your help.”

She got up and moved toward the door when she felt the hand on her arm. She looked down at the bright red polished nails digging into her jacket. Mary raised her eyes in question to Angela’s.

“You have to understand, there’s a political war going on here,” Angela said urgently. “This position has always been held by a man and they are looking for any way to get rid of me. You know what it’s like, you’re a woman.”

Part of Mary wanted to sympathize, she understood the prejudice a woman could encounter in a male dominated field. But Mary knew you shouldn’t let politics get in the way of doing your job the right way.

“I understand that it can be tough,” she agreed, sliding her arm out of Angela’s grip. “But the best weapon we have is performing exceptionally. Then they can’t question our work.”

“I do perform excellent work. I’ve done a better job than any of the others who have had this job,” Angela spat. “But men never see women as equals. We are always not quite good enough. We have to be better, smarter and more calculating to win.”

Angela shook her head, her eyes flashing. “They tell me to keep the costs down, so I don’t order autopsies. Then they question my findings a year later,” she continued. “You don’t know what it’s like. These people, these men, are out to get me.”

“Well, I’m sorry you have to deal with that,” Mary replied. “It must make things difficult.”

The anger seemed to slide off her face and she turned at Mary. Her face became almost childlike and she smiled sweetly. Even her voice seemed to raise an up octave. “Yes, it does. Thanks for the sympathy. I knew you would understand. You’re a nice lady.”

“You’re welcome,” Mary said, grasping the door handle, hoping to quickly get out of the room. “Well, have a nice day.”

She slipped out into the hall and hurried down to the stairwell. Well, she was certainly an interesting person, Mary thought.

Bradley stopped at the intersection of Galena and Crestwood and turned left onto Crestwood and into the parking lot of the VOICES Domestic Violence facility. The building had once housed a bank with a drive-through, so it looked a little incongruous as a shelter for those seeking help from abuse, but Bradley liked the analogy of the safety and security of the bank building for those looking for protection against abuse.

He walked over to the entrance, a simple non-descript door. Once inside the first door, he was met with a security door. He picked up the phone and the receptionist immediately answered. “Can I help you?”

“Hi, Chief Alden here to see Regina Tallmadge,” he said.

“Oh, hello, Chief Alden, come on in,” the receptionist responded.

He heard the buzz of the door release and pushed the door open and stepped into the shelter. There was a striking difference between the sterile entrance and the warm and inviting atmosphere of the inside of the shelter. The colors and furnishings were specifically designed to be calming and welcoming. Bradley walked over to the receptionist’s desk, “Hey, Tess, how’s it going?” he asked.

Tess was a young woman with a contagious laugh and a fierce loyalty to the cause of protecting victims of domestic abuse. She smiled up at him. “I’m glad you asked,” she said. “Funding’s been cut again, so we’re trying to come up a way to earn more money for the shelter. How do you feel about candy bars?”

Bradley smiled, “I’m quite fond of candy bars,” he said, reaching into his pocket for his wallet.
“How much?”

Tess grinned, “Well, do you want one case or two?”

Bradley slipped the five dollar bill back into his billfold and pulled out his credit card just as Regina came out of her office. “Tess, are you shaking down our visitors again?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” Tess replied, unrepentant.

“Good girl,” Regina said with a laugh.

Bradley liked Regina Tallmadge. Soft-spoken and gentle, she was like a soft breeze in the springtime. Abused women felt safe and unafraid in her presence. But, Bradley had also seen her testify in court and this soft breeze could turn to a gale wind when she was defending those in her charge.

Bradley put his credit card on the desk and slid it to Regina. “I’ll sign for them on the way out. Three cases, assorted varieties, and don’t go crazy with my card.”