Port of Sorrow (7 page)

CHAPTER
12

Bed had been pointless.

Julia spent most of the night staring at the ceiling, her mind replaying the murder from every conceivable angle. Over and over she watched Selene’s chest rupture with blood as the shotgun boom melted into the loud bass of the music.

In her mind’s eye, she watched Selene’s mouth fall open in shock, her eyes roll backwards, and her legs buckle beneath her. Finn rushed to her side, only this time he wasn’t dressed as a woman. He was a man with tears in his eyes.

Shaking the visions away, Julia padded across the floor to the corner bathroom, intent on drowning herself in lukewarm spray. She was careful not to bang her elbows against the cramped shower stall as pellet-fat rain peppered her skin, but the built-in soap holder still managed to bruise her hips with every turn.

Awake and dripping wet, Julia wiped a film of steam from the mirror and stared into her reflected eyes. They were her best feature: clear and indigo-green. The rest of her wasn’t much to celebrate: too skinny, too small. Apart from her eyes, her next best asset was just that, her ass. Inside tight jeans she had collected her share of ravenous looks, but most men wanted extra on top to complement it. Mattel had spoiled the swine young with adolescent fantasies of Barbie and her impossible figure. And it wasn’t like women could get back at them: G.I. Joe had painted hair and no genitals — who wanted that?

Still, she always had her feminine wile —
she wished
. It hadn’t worked on Jimmy, her first love, back in Idaho. He soon strayed when she told him her dreams of leaving home to become a cop. He wanted a housewife, cook and babysitter. He found one in Susie Longstaff who became pregnant at sixteen the first time Jimmy decided he no longer saw the charm in Julia’s refusal to sleep with him. He quit school soon after and began working his daddy’s farm full-time.

Julia rarely saw Jimmy after that, but she always remembered the time she spied him heading into the hotel bar on a day when the brooding sky was filled with a swirling darkness. “Beer clouds” the farm wives called it. He had looked so old: boyish smile replaced with a thick-lip of Copenhagen chewing tobacco, the round tin’s rim stretching the back pocket of loose-fitting jeans; curly blond hair matted beneath a dusty green John Deere cap; his future neatly sown in the dry ground of his daddy’s farm.

Julia never looked back after that, although her present location made her wonder what she had gained.

Her bachelor’s apartment perched in the middle of town must have been designed for a young lumberjack who would spend as much time away from it as possible. Its only view was of the street, while its interior was dull and drab. Brown carpet with unimaginable stains was ill-matched with rust-red curtains; a squeaky bed that folded into a lumpy beige couch; a tiny closet with no room for half her clothes; a cramped bathroom with stand-up shower and no bathtub; and the ugliest wallpaper you ever saw: tan with white fishing boats.

And it wasn’t even cheap: $750 a month. At least she didn’t plan to stay for long. She had paid to the end of the month and was advertising in the local weekly for more suitable accommodation. Hopefully, something better would show up soon.

Wrapped in a peach towel, Julia sat on the bed by the window to blow-dry her short tangerine hair. It wasn’t until she switched the dryer off that she heard the ringing phone. She answered it.

“J.L., it’s Marshall,” said the sheriff, sounding unusually grumpy. “I need you to head over to the county morgue and pick up the report on last night’s homicide.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. I’ll talk to you when you get in.”

“Oh, Sheriff?” Julia said quickly before he could hang up.

“Yeah?”

She wanted to ask him about Finn, but she couldn’t think of anything to say that would get him released.

“Nothing,” she answered.

“The coroner is Barbara MacDougall. She’s good at what she does, so pay attention.” He hung up the phone.

Julia quickly finished putting on her uniform; practical cotton briefs and jogging bra underneath. She smiled as she closed the door on her apartment; it was a relief to escape.

THE CLALLUM COUNTY
Morgue, located in the basement of Clallum County Hospital, was a scenic ten-minute drive outside the town limits. Julia drove slowly with her window rolled down and an FM country station blasting out the latest heartbreak hits.

It amazed her that a small city like Port Sorrow could have so many sides: friendly tourist spots, ocean-front beaches, Olympic National Park, forgotten docks, redneck bars and strip clubs. Some people came to shop and picnic, others for rape and murder. Welcome to the melting pot.

The hospital greeted patients with a glass-enclosed lobby that strived to soak in all the sunlight it could. Standing as it did on an ocean bluff, the hospital was built squat and square to withstand the high winds, but the architect had morphed the entrance to a blunt point like a shark’s fin.

The effect was supposed to make the hospital seem less imposing. It didn’t work.

Julia walked up to reception, smiled at the tanned youth with sun-bleached hair behind the desk, flashed her badge and asked for Dr. MacDougall.

The youth barely glanced up at her as he pointed to a freight elevator off to one side.

“Downstairs, sub level two. Your nose will know.”

The elevator had doors on either end, and Julia surmised the rear doors opened to the ambulance bay. That way, she deduced, the morgue could receive its delivery of dead patrons without freaking out the patients who still hoped to be healed. Julia pressed the button for the lower level and felt the tin box descend.

The sub-basement was abnormally cold and the receptionist had been right about the smell. Someone had tried to cover up death’s scent by going overboard on lemon-scented cleanser. The entire floor smelled like an orchid that had been left to over-ripen.

Julia followed large green arrows painted on the walls to a glass-enclosed examining room where a large woman was cracking open the chest of a female cadaver with a stainless steel instrument that looked like it belonged in a medieval torture chamber. Julia tapped on the window and showed her badge. With a bloody gloved finger, the corner pointed to a small office off to one side. Julia walked further down the hallway until she found her way in.

Dr. Barbara MacDougall greeted Julia with a cheery hello, waving to an empty chair while she removed surgical gloves and blood-spattered facemask at a tiny stainless steel sink in the corner.

“It’s not often I get visitors,” she said. “Usually Bulldog barks into the phone and I have to send someone to the station.”

“Bulldog?” asked Julia.

The coroner giggled. “Sorry. I meant, Sheriff Marshall.”

MacDougall was a full-bodied woman with strong legs and arms, an ample bottom and enormous breasts that even a tent-like surgical gown couldn’t disguise. In fact, everything was big about her except her face. Framed in a coffee-black mane, her girlish features seemed lost, like a china doll. After scrubbing her hands in hot, soapy water, MacDougall sat down behind a file-cluttered desk and placed her size ten pumps on top of the smallest pile.

“Do you mind if I smoke?” she asked, already lifting a black electronic cigarette out of a pack on the table and sliding it between her lips.

Julia shook her head as the coroner switched on the cigarette and inhaled deeply. Its tip glowed blue. After a few puffs, she said, “You must be new. Bulldog hasn’t mentioned you.”

“I just arrived this week.”

“And you’re on a murder case already?”

“I was at the club when she was shot.”

“You see who did it?”

“Just his back.”

“Did he have a nice ass?”

“What?” Julia couldn’t believe the question.

“It’s a theory of mine,” MacDougall explained. “The top serial killers have nice asses. You ever check out Bundy? Best ass of them all.”

“So you avoid men with nice buns?”

“Au contraire,” MacDougall giggled, exhaling a thin cloud of white vapor through her nostrils. “If a man can kill, he won’t be frightened of experimenting in bed. There’s nothing worse than a new-age man with sensitive feelings. You may as well fuck yourself.”

Julia hid her discomfort by changing the topic.

“What can you tell me about Selene?”

“Who?”

“Last night’s victim.”

“The stripper?”

Julia nodded.

“She’s on the table now. Come on out.” MacDougall took a final drag off her cigarette and strolled into the operating room. She picked up a fresh pair of surgical gloves and a facemask from a cardboard box by the door and motioned for Julia to do the same.

“I’ll bet the men had to reinforce their zippers for this one,” MacDougall said as she snapped on the gloves. “She had all the right parts in all the right places, but she was only a gallon of chocolate-chocolate-chip and a box of Oreos away from fat. There’s no doubt she had to work hard at this shape, but you can tell her ass was losing the war. Of course, a lot of men like an ass they can sink their teeth into.”

She laughed again, slapping the side of the operating table. Then she looked over at Julia and added, “Not that a skinny gal like you would understand.”

“Is there anything unusual about the body?” Julia asked, trying to get the conversation on track without showing her anger at having one of her only good features insulted.

“You mean apart from the bloody big hole in her chest?”

“Yes,” Julia replied, gritting her teeth.

“Well, believe it or not . . .” MacDougall paused for effect, allowing her grin to spread, “the girl was a virgin.”

“Really?”

“Hard to imagine, ain’t it? All those dicks giving her a standing ovation each night and she never took any of them home to play.”

“How can you tell?” Julia asked.

“Well, unless her boyfriend had a dick no bigger than my pinkie, I’d say we can be pretty sure.”

Julia stared down at the pale, lifeless body on the metal tray, a chewed-up mess beneath pellet-pocked breasts. Her mind reeled, and then her stomach began to sour.

“Thank you for your time, doctor,” she said quickly, the blood draining from her face. “When can I pick up the finished report?”

“Please, call me Barbara. It’ll be ready this afternoon.”

After thanking her again, Julia quickly made her way out of the lab, up the elevator, and out to the parking lot. There, hidden from sight behind her truck, she gulped in mouthfuls of air, forcing herself not to be sick.

CHAPTER
13

The sun streamed in through lace curtains to quickly raise the temperature of the small bedroom. Finn pulled off the duvet and turned his back on the honeyed rays, hoping to gain a few extra minutes. Within seconds, sweat began trickling down his bare back, forcing him to rise.

With a groan, Finn opened his eyes upon the room and was surprised to see it was designed for a young girl. A bright floral band circled the tops of the walls, bringing a gaiety to the bright white paint and pine wainscoting. Dressed only in his boxers, Finn stood to see the bed he had been sleeping in was a Victorian four-poster with pink silk scarves wrapped around each post like a May pole. The rest of the furniture was also antique and delicate.

Finn pulled on the rest of his clothes and walked into the adjoining kitchen. The room was deserted, but there was a note on the fridge giving him permission to eat and drink what he wanted. The only rule, printed in bold scrawl, was that he must clean up after himself.

Deciding he would prefer to shower first, Finn searched out the bathroom. An ancient claw-foot tub dominated a small room next to the kitchen, and clean towels were hung beside it on wooden racks. Another note told him the dirty towels went inside the wicker hamper by the door when he was through.

After filling the tub to just below its overflow valve, Finn sank down in the warm water. Most modern tubs are uselessly compact, but the natural curve of this porcelain back and deep sides allowed him to stretch full out. He lapped up the luxury of a smarter era, closing his eyes as his stiff muscles began to relax.

Later, feeling clean and refreshed, Finn returned to the kitchen to make a peanut-butter sandwich and a tall glass of milk. The sandwich bread came from the freezer and it was a pleasant surprise to discover it was homemade sourdough.

After a quick clean up, Finn explored. There was only a living room remaining on the main floor that he hadn’t seen. It was sparingly decorated with two over-stuffed reading chairs and an antique loveseat, all of which faced an unused wood-burning fireplace. There was also an empty oak-and-glass china cabinet and patterned green drapes that matched the color of the shutters outside.

Polished wooden stairs with a cherry rail by the front door led up to two more bedrooms and a second washroom. The door on the right was locked, but the door on the left led into a room decorated for a young boy: spaceships soared across a universe on the ceiling, pirate ships sailed the walls and connected with steam trains that chugged below a bay window. Dangling on clear fishing line, biplanes soared through puffy white clouds, never quite reaching the stars above. Finn wondered how many wonderful dreams would be awakened in such a room.

Closing the door behind him, Finn retraced his steps to the kitchen and ventured out the back door to the garden. He spotted Abery, still dressed in blue cotton, bustling about in front of the makeshift hospital.

“Good morning,” Finn said when he reached the shed.

Abery was wiping Joseph’s forehead with a damp cloth. The heavy-set woman in the other bed was sitting up and drinking a steaming cup of strawberry-scented tea. Her eyes twinkled with delight.

“Did you sleep well?” Abery asked as she dipped the cloth into a bowl of water and returned it to Joseph’s forehead.

“Never better,” replied Finn. “Is Joseph okay?”

“He has a fever and his nose is broken, but his breathing is normal. I’m sure he’ll pull through.”

She left the cold cloth on Joseph’s forehead, turned to tuck the covers firmly underneath her other patient’s legs, then brushed past Finn and walked to the shade of a large willow in the garden.

Finn followed her, noticing that a cast-iron bench sat against the trunk of the tree, shaded perfectly by weeping branches.

“Is this your house?” he asked as he joined her on the bench.

She nodded. “Harold and I bought it as our wedding present to each other.”

“Where’s Harold now?”

“I don’t know,” Abery replied. “He disappeared on our wedding day. Nobody knows what happened to him.”

“I’m sorry.”

Abery tried to smile, but her eyes were suddenly moist.

“Is that why you dress in blue?” Finn asked.

Abery laughed. “You’ve been reading too much Dickens haven’t you?”

Finn felt his face flush.

“Oh, that’s OK. I’m used to people thinking I’m crazy. Harold always liked me in blue and, quite frankly, I just can’t imagine wearing any other color. At least not until he comes home.”

“And the veil?”

“Keeps the sun out of my eyes,” Abery said firmly. “And I like it.”

Finn nodded as though it was the most natural explanation he had ever heard.

“How long since Harold disappeared?”

“Eight years.”

“And you still believe he’ll come back?”

“I know he will.”

They sat in silence for a moment before Finn asked, “What’s the tent for?”

“That’s where I live.”

“But the house?”

“Harold and I bought the house for us. I can’t bring myself to cross the threshold without him.”

“But the furnishings, the cleaning . . .”

“Friends keep the house clean. In return, I provide them with medical aid and a bed to sleep in when they’re too tired to walk home.”

“Friends like Joseph?” Finn asked.

“Who else would be friends with a crazy woman?”