Page 27 of Forgotten Path
“You know there’s metered parking on Ocean Street, right? And you don’t have to go too far to find free spots on the side streets.”
“I figured. But it looked like he could use the money.”
Steffi’s expression tightened. “He could.”
They walked in silence until they reached the slightly shabby houseboat situated in the middle of the first dock. It had probably once been chiffon or cream, but its weathered paint had faded into a light grayish yellow. Bodhi followed Steffi onto the small front porch, and they stopped in front of a blue door.
Nothing from the outside of the tiny floating home identified it as a medical provider’s office. A metal window planter held some thirsty-looking purple and pale pink pansies. The doormat in front of the floor was nautically themed—navy blue with white lettering that spelled out “Welcome Aboard,” complete with a ship’s helm in the place of both ‘o’s.
“Is there a nurse or pharmacist or anyone here the rest of the time?” Bodhi wondered.
“No. The clinic’s closed except when Doc’s here.”
There was no reason to believe that Joel was there now, but Bodhi pulled open the torn screen door and rapped on the interior door anyway. After a moment, he twisted the doorknob. Locked.
He glanced at Steffi, who hesitated, but only for a moment, before reaching into the window box and retrieving a single key on a silver ring. She handed it to him and gestured for him to do the honors.
He inserted the key and unlocked the door. He paused with his hand on the knob.
“How many people know about this spare key?”
“Just me, as far as I know. During the winter months, if there’s a cold snap, I come in and turn on the heat so the houseboat has a chance to warm up before Doc arrives.”
“Not the air conditioning in the summer?”
She shook her head. “He sets it at 78 degrees and leaves it there when it’s hot like this.”
He nodded and then opened the door about an inch and called Joel’s name.
“Joel? Dr. Ashland? Can we come in?”
There was no response from within the darkened interior. He pushed the door inward, and the smell of death hit him like a blast. He knew immediately what he’d find inside.
“Wait out here, please.” He used a measured tone but left no doubt that he wanted her to comply.
“But—”
“You don’t want to see this. Please.” He turned and gave her a serious look over his shoulder.
Her lips flattened, but she did as he asked.
He waited until she’d backed out onto the porch. Then he inhaled deeply, filling his rib cage with fresh air, retained the breath for a moment, and let it out slowly as he crossed the threshold. He flipped on the overhead light at the switch beside the door and raced through the small house in search of the body he knew he’d find inside.
He didn’t have far to go. After walking into what appeared to be the examination room, he found Joel sprawled on the floor at the bottom of a ladder leading down from a loft space. His head was wrenched to the side, and his long legs were askew. One flip-flop was still on what remained of his left foot; the other had flown under the padded exam table near the far wall.
Bodhi squatted beside the body and bowed his head. He silently wished Joel’s spirit peace and liberation. Then he studied the bloated, putrefying corpse through the lens of a forensic pathologist. Despite the advanced state of decomposition, it was clear what had caused Joel’s death.
From the angle of Joel’s head, Bodhi had no doubt his neck had been broken. He strongly suspected the trauma had occurred at the C1 vertebra. This atlanto-occipital dislocation would have separated the base of Joe’s skull from his spine, leading to instantaneous death through the colorfully named process of internal decapitation. If Bodhi was right—and he suspected an autopsy would confirm that he was—Joel’s death had most likely been terrifying but swift.
He rose and stepped around his dead friend’s body to stare up at the loft. He estimated that the floor of the loft was only seven-feet high at most. He stretched up onto his toes and could see over the edge of the railing above. Definitely no more than seven feet.
He wondered what was up there. Possibly Joel’s bedroom. He didn’t want to compromise the scene by clambering up the ladder and disturbing any DNA or fingerprint evidence that might exist. Because his years of experience—and a healthy dose of instinct—told him this wasn’t the scene of a freak accident. It was theoretically possible that Joel’s foot had slipped or he’d missed a ladder rung and fallen in exactly the wrong way to break his neck. But it was far more likely that Joel had most likely been thrown or pushed from the loft. A violent fall would better explain the severity of his injury.
Bodhi took a final look at the grotesque shell that Joel no longer inhabited before rushing back through the tiny home and outside. He shut the door firmly behind him and stood with his back pressed against it, gulping in the fresh, sea-scented air.
“Is he … was that smell …?” Steffi had wedged herself in the furthest corner of the porch and was huddled with her knees drawn up and her hands laced around her ankles—as if she were protecting herself from a blast. Or something worse.
He turned toward her quavering voice and nodded. “Joel’s dead.”
