Page 48 of Forgotten Path
His unwavering gaze was making her anxious, but she forced herself not to squirm. She raised her chin and enunciated, “I wasn’t there for long, and he was alive when I left. I swear it.”
He studied her for a moment longer before nodding. “I believe you. Do you have any idea who he met with after you left?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t.”
“Thanks for your time.”
He stood to leave, and she rose to walk him to the door. As she ushered him into the hallway, she said, “You know who you should ask? Judy Lowell. She lives over by the old high school, but you can probably find her at St. Louisa’s Diner at lunchtime. If anyone will know who could have made that kind of donation, it’d be Judy.”
“Judy Lowell,” he repeated as if sealing her name in his memory. “Who is she?”
“Just some woman. But she’s lived here her whole life. She knows everyone … and everything.”
“Thanks for the lead. I appreciate it.”
She could tell his gratitude was genuine by the warmth in his voice.
“My pleasure.” She began to ease the door closed.
He turned and caught it. “Oh, one last thing. Since you weren’t able to give those files to Dr. Ashland before he died, would you give them to me? I’m going to try to finish his research.”
Her mouth went dry. “I can’t.”
“Can’t? Or won’t?”
“Can’t. When I went to get them—yesterday evening, as a matter of fact—they were gone.”
“Gone,” he repeated.
“Gone,” she confirmed and then closed the door softly.
* * *
The cell phonerang in Bodhi’s pocket as he crossed Gulf Paper’s parking lot to the Jeep. He stopped under a shady tree to take the call.
“This is Bodhi.”
“Hello, Dr. King. This is Mirabelle Owens.” She spoke in a fast, clipped tone, like a woman who valued efficiency and had too much to do.
“Dr. Owens, thanks for the call. Have you finished the autopsy already?”
“There wasn’t much left of him, as you know.”
He nodded. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to attend. I do appreciate the invitation.”
“I wouldn’t have extended it to just anybody. But between the calls from the FDLE, the police down in the Keys, and Eliza … I figured you aren’t just anybody.”
“Eliza Rollins?” Bodhi’s old flame from medical school was the coroner in a small parish in Louisiana. They’d collaborated on cases a few times in the recent past, but there was no reason she’d know anything about Joel’s death—or Bodhi’s involvement.”
“Yes. I called her first, actually. She, Dr. Ashland, and I were all active in a professional group of medical examiners located in the Southeast U.S. I thought she’d want to know about his death. I mentioned your name in the message I left, in passing, really. I had no idea she knew you. Anyway, she called me back and told me not to squander the opportunity to work with you.”
The compliment slipped by him unnoticed. He was focused on the fact that Mirabelle Owens had known Joel in life. Performing an autopsy on a colleague could be a profoundly unsettling experience. “I’m sorry for your loss. Joel was a friend of mine, and it sounds like he was a friend to you and Eliza, too.”
There was a brief pause, then her voice softened. “Thank you. We weren’t especially close, but Joel was easy to like.”
“Yes, he was,” Bodhi agreed.
When she spoke again, her no-nonsense business tone had returned. “In any event, Joel died more or less instantly from trauma to the C1 and C2 vertebrae.”
