nothing that wasn’t healable. It was…”
She broke off, and Fletcher knew immediately. They’d seen this on the force, with the soldiers who’d returned to their jobs.
“PTSD?” he asked.
She bit her lip as if not wanting to betray a secret, then it all came out in a flood of words and tears.
“Yes. Flashbacks, and insomnia. Rage. He gets angry with me for no reason. But he’s been so much better this past year. He’s on medication. He’s been seeing a counselor, one outside Veterans Affairs. She’s really helping him. He’s getting so much better.”
Present tense. That always killed Fletcher. At what point was it acceptable to start thinking about your husband, wife, son, daughter, sister, brother, mother, father in past tense? Never, and that’s when the guilt started its all-consuming fury.
It was also a valuable tool he used to divine relationships to homicide victims. The loved ones who immediately went to past tense needed a closer look. They almost always were involved. Their minds had already made the leap to a world that didn’t have the person in it anymore.
He moved Mrs. Croswell to the bottom of his suspect list and, with a sigh, started prying into her never again safe and quiet life.
Chapter Eleven
McLean, Virginia
Susan Donovan
“Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. God Bless Mommy, and Grammy, and Uncle Tim, and Fluffy… . Mommy?”
“Yes, sugar bean?” Susan was used to Ally’s questions during bedtime prayers. Ally was her little philosopher. Vicky, on the other hand, merely said the words and closed her eyes contentedly, drifting off to sleep before Susan could ever get through a page of a bedtime story. Then again, she was younger, and quieter. Ally was just like Susan, but Vicky had Eddie’s personality—quiet, contained, simmering. And sleepy, even at her early bedtime. Eddie was a morning person. As long as she’d known him, he’d gone to bed early and gotten up with the dawn. He blamed it on too many years being dragged out of his rack by commanding officers in combat zones.
Eddie’s voice echoed in her ear. “Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey!”
She shut her eyes for a moment, savoring the memory.
Ally was the night owl. She always found some pressing topic to discuss just as she was going to bed, something to turn over in her head as sleep approached.
“Mommy, is it okay to bless Daddy? If he’s in heaven, will he know? Will he hear me?”
Susan opened her eyes and swallowed the rising gorge that threatened to gush all over her daughter’s pink Hello Kitty sheets.
“Of course he will, sweetie. You can talk to him in heaven any time you want. He may not answer, but he hears you.”
“Like God? And baby Jesus?”
“Like God and baby Jesus. Exactly like that.”
“Good. God bless Daddy.” She snuggled deeper into her sheets. Susan pulled the blanket higher, tucking it under Ally’s arms. It was silent for a moment, peaceful, with nothing but Vicky’s quiet, breathy snores coming from the bedroom next door.
“Yes, sugar bean. God bless Daddy. Now go to sleep. Mommy has to make a phone call.”
“Night, Mommy.” Ally settled into her pillows, her eyes still wide. Susan knew her little girl would lie there for at least another thirty minutes, but tonight she wasn’t going to nag at her. She kissed her on the forehead and turned on the night-light, pulled the door nearly closed behind her.
She went down the too-quiet stairs and poured a glass of chardonnay. Took a big gulp and called the number Eleanor had given her this afternoon.
The voice on the other end of the line was soft and mildly surprised.
“Susan?”
“Hello, Dr. Owens.”
“Is everything okay?”
“No. Nothing’s okay. I want you to find out what happened to him. You have my permission to conduct the second autopsy.”
There was a whoosh of breath on the other end of the line.
“Thank
She broke off, and Fletcher knew immediately. They’d seen this on the force, with the soldiers who’d returned to their jobs.
“PTSD?” he asked.
She bit her lip as if not wanting to betray a secret, then it all came out in a flood of words and tears.
“Yes. Flashbacks, and insomnia. Rage. He gets angry with me for no reason. But he’s been so much better this past year. He’s on medication. He’s been seeing a counselor, one outside Veterans Affairs. She’s really helping him. He’s getting so much better.”
Present tense. That always killed Fletcher. At what point was it acceptable to start thinking about your husband, wife, son, daughter, sister, brother, mother, father in past tense? Never, and that’s when the guilt started its all-consuming fury.
It was also a valuable tool he used to divine relationships to homicide victims. The loved ones who immediately went to past tense needed a closer look. They almost always were involved. Their minds had already made the leap to a world that didn’t have the person in it anymore.
He moved Mrs. Croswell to the bottom of his suspect list and, with a sigh, started prying into her never again safe and quiet life.
Chapter Eleven
McLean, Virginia
Susan Donovan
“Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. God Bless Mommy, and Grammy, and Uncle Tim, and Fluffy… . Mommy?”
“Yes, sugar bean?” Susan was used to Ally’s questions during bedtime prayers. Ally was her little philosopher. Vicky, on the other hand, merely said the words and closed her eyes contentedly, drifting off to sleep before Susan could ever get through a page of a bedtime story. Then again, she was younger, and quieter. Ally was just like Susan, but Vicky had Eddie’s personality—quiet, contained, simmering. And sleepy, even at her early bedtime. Eddie was a morning person. As long as she’d known him, he’d gone to bed early and gotten up with the dawn. He blamed it on too many years being dragged out of his rack by commanding officers in combat zones.
Eddie’s voice echoed in her ear. “Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey!”
She shut her eyes for a moment, savoring the memory.
Ally was the night owl. She always found some pressing topic to discuss just as she was going to bed, something to turn over in her head as sleep approached.
“Mommy, is it okay to bless Daddy? If he’s in heaven, will he know? Will he hear me?”
Susan opened her eyes and swallowed the rising gorge that threatened to gush all over her daughter’s pink Hello Kitty sheets.
“Of course he will, sweetie. You can talk to him in heaven any time you want. He may not answer, but he hears you.”
“Like God? And baby Jesus?”
“Like God and baby Jesus. Exactly like that.”
“Good. God bless Daddy.” She snuggled deeper into her sheets. Susan pulled the blanket higher, tucking it under Ally’s arms. It was silent for a moment, peaceful, with nothing but Vicky’s quiet, breathy snores coming from the bedroom next door.
“Yes, sugar bean. God bless Daddy. Now go to sleep. Mommy has to make a phone call.”
“Night, Mommy.” Ally settled into her pillows, her eyes still wide. Susan knew her little girl would lie there for at least another thirty minutes, but tonight she wasn’t going to nag at her. She kissed her on the forehead and turned on the night-light, pulled the door nearly closed behind her.
She went down the too-quiet stairs and poured a glass of chardonnay. Took a big gulp and called the number Eleanor had given her this afternoon.
The voice on the other end of the line was soft and mildly surprised.
“Susan?”
“Hello, Dr. Owens.”
“Is everything okay?”
“No. Nothing’s okay. I want you to find out what happened to him. You have my permission to conduct the second autopsy.”
There was a whoosh of breath on the other end of the line.
“Thank
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