Page 70 of Deeper Than the Dead

Lincoln County Sheriff’s Department

Thornton Taylor Parkway, Fayetteville, 8:30 a.m.

“You remember Dr. Higdon,” Bent said, gesturing to the man seated in the chair in front of his desk.

Vera paused only for a second as she crossed the room. Bent’s assistant had sent her into his office. Vera hadn’t known there was someone already there. “Of course I do.” She walked straight over and extended her hand toward the man who had served as Lincoln County’s medical examiner for nearly forty years. “Dr. Higdon, it’s good to see you again. I hope you’ll tell Mrs. Higdon how much we appreciated that casserole she and Mrs. Fraley dropped by.” To Vera’s knowledge it was still in the fridge, but a little buttering up of local officials never hurt.

Higdon stood, accepted her hand, and gave it a shake. “It’s been a good long time. I wish it were under more pleasant circumstances.”

Vera forced her smile to stay in place. “It’s a strange time, for sure.” She turned to Bent, who stood behind his desk. “So what’s going on?” Though she imagined Higdon had already gotten a preliminary look at all the remains, chances were, the FBI would want their own people to do an assessment, which invited the question, Why was she here?

Higdon lowered back into his chair, and Bent gestured for her to have a seat as well. Vera complied. Evidently he wasn’t going to proceed until everyone was seated. Lastly, Bent settled into his chair.

“Dr. Higdon, why don’t you explain the problem to Vera?”

Vera looked from Bent to the older man. It would certainly be nice if someone would. Her instincts were suddenly humming a tune she knew far too well—something was up. Bent had said there was a problem. Evidently it involved the ME.

“I was the person, you may recall,” Higdon said, his focus on Vera, “who pronounced your mother after her death.”

“I do. Yes.” Vera blocked images from that horrible day. It was the worst day of her life.

“We didn’t do an autopsy because of the cancer diagnosis,” he explained, “but I did conduct a quick examination as per standard procedure.”

Vera nodded. Where was this going?

Higdon leaned forward—not an easy feat, considering his size. The man wasn’t that tall, but he made up for it in girth. With his Sunday-go-to-meeting jacket and his perfectly starched bow tie, he’d always reminded Vera of Porky Pig. She blinked to banish the image. Bit her lips together to prevent a smile.

“I suppose I should have asked about this back then, but you girls were crying something pitiful. Poor Vernon was beside himself. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

Vera looked from Higdon to Bent and back once more. “Ask what, Dr. Higdon? I’m not following.”

“There’s really no way to do this but just to say it.” He cleared his throat. “While examining your mother, I noted a number of bruises to the throat and shoulder area.” He gestured to his own nearly nonexistent throat. “At the time I considered that the discoloration might perhaps be related to the cancer treatments. But now, thinking back, the positioning of the bruises ... well it just feels wrong.”

Vera tilted her head, studying the man as she locked down the emotions welling inside her. Now this—this place where Higdon had just gone—was territory where no one wanted to go after the loss of a loved one. The trouble in this instance was that the loved one in question had been dead for more than two decades. And she was Vera’s mother.

“What exactly are you implying, Dr. Higdon?”

A covert glance at Bent showed his full attention resting on the medical examiner. Evidently he wasn’t giving her a damned thing.

“I know your father well,” Higdon said. “I’ve always considered him a good friend, and I was so sad for him when Evelyn died. For you girls as well. Perhaps my personal feelings prevented me from looking as closely as I should have. From doing my job to the best of my ability.”

Fury roared through her like a freight train. He was seriously going there. “I would advise you to tread carefully, sir. This sort of thing can be quite libelous.”

Higdon turned to Bent then. “I am only telling you what I saw. And now, in light of what we know happened to Sheree and the other remains—those deaths may not have been the first murder perpetrated by Vernon Boyett.” He swung his gaze back to Vera. “You can call it whatever you like, young lady, but I can’t in good conscience cover for your father any longer.”

Vera stood so fast her chair almost tipped over. “I will not listen to these ridiculous and unfounded accusations. I’m stunned that you would even go down this path.” She swung her attention to the sheriff. “I can’t believe you would go along with this, Bent.”

“We should exhume Evelyn’s body,” Higdon insisted to Bent, totally ignoring Vera.

“I will not agree to that,” Vera stated without reservation. Was the man insane? “And if this leaks to the media, I will sue.”

Higdon glared up at her. “If you’re so certain your father never harmed your mother, why not allow me to rule out the possibility once and for all?”

Oh, she had used that same line so many times in the course of investigations. “First,” she said, “whatever bruising may or may not have been present on my mother’s body would not be there now—not in any identifiable manner, at least. As you well know. Therefore what you’re suggesting is nothing more than a dog and pony show to buy you some relevance in the media with this current case. We all know how rarely a case like this comes along in a small town, and when it does, everyone wants to be the star of the show.”

The man’s face bloomed a bright red. “I didn’t look for fractures or other indications of previous abuse. I had too much respect for your father. But a man who would kill his wife would think nothing of abusing her in other ways.”

Another blast of outrage reverberated through Vera. “You would have been wasting your time. My mother was not abused. My father took very good care of her and all of us. I was there.” Her body shook with outrage.

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