Page 29 of Sharp Force
“Right after that, around five,” Reba answers. “He isn’t much for hanging out at the table. He’d inhale his food and push back his chair.”
“Did you know he was running an errand on his way to the pier?” I think of the time stamp on the jewelry store receipt.
He paid cash for the ring at 6:05 p.m., and from there drove on to his usual fishing spot.
“He didn’t mention anything about stopping anywhere,” Reba says.
She’s quiet for a moment, staring at the gas fire.
“And I almost don’t want to know the answer, Doctor Scarpetta. But I won’t have any peace unless I do. Did Rowdy suffer?” Reba stares at me, her eyes wide, her lower lip trembling.
“I’ve not seen anything that makes me think he did,” I reply. “I didn’t find injuries that might indicate he’d been assaulted, for example. He didn’t accidentally fall into the river, panic and drown.”
“Then how did he end up in the water?” she asks. “What in God’s name happened out there?”
“Again, it’s very early in the investigation.”
“But you must have an idea.”
“It will be a while before the labs have finished their analysis,” I tell her. “But your husband had significant heart disease. If he went into cardiac arrest, he might have felt chest pain. He might have gotten nauseous and dizzy. I suspect he was dead or almost dead when he hit the water.”
“Thank God he didn’t struggle against the current with his clothes on.” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “Thank God he didn’t go through a nightmare like that, didn’t really suffer.”
“I have no reason to think he did.” I don’t suggest that knowing you’re about to die is a different kind of suffering.
“But he knew something was very wrong. That’s what he was trying to tell me in the last text he started to write and didn’t send,” she says as if I know what she’s talking about.
And I don’t.
“I haven’t seen that,” I reply.
“The lady who called from the state told me they found it on Rowdy’s phone.”
“What did it say?” My anger toward Maggie boils up again.
Reba explains that while her husband was on the pier, he began typing a text to her. All it said wasHe,with no punctuation.
“It was the last thing he ever wrote,” she adds tearily.
We don’t know what time it was since the message wasn’t sent. Most likely, he began typing the text right before he died. But that doesn’t explain the fired rounds from his revolver or how he ended up in the water.
“Maybe he was writinghelp,something like that, because he felt chest pain.” Tears trickle down Reba’s cheeks. “I’m glad you don’t think he jumped into the river on purpose.”
“I don’t believe he did.”
“He would get depressed, and the medication he’s supposed to be on has side effects he hates,” she explains. “So he quit taking it, as you’re aware from what’s in his medicine cabinet. But he never talked about ending his own life. I also realize that’s what a lot of people say after the unthinkable happens.”
“Nothing I’ve seen might make me think he committed suicide. And if that was his intention, he had the gun with him.” I point out the obvious.
“The police kept badgering me about the two bullets fired.” She looks scared. “Wondering if Rowdy shot himself and fell into the river on purpose in hopes nobody would find his body. I can’t imagine him doing anything like that.”
“Your husband didn’t shoot himself,” I reply. “There are no projectiles inside his body. But it’s a mystery why he might have fired his revolver. And if he did it while fishing, what was he shooting at?”
“Investigator Fruge suggested Rowdy might have been confronted by someone. Maybe someone who thought he had money.”
Reba’s eyes continue cutting toward the hallway as if she’s worried about her sons overhearing.
“I’ve seen nothing that suggests he was assaulted,” I repeat.“Did he always drink beer while he fished? It appears he drank a six-pack in a short period of time.”
