Page 12 of Sharp Force
“It’s my mission to gather information,” she says with her usual self-importance. “I happen to know what the police found on his phone. Most likely, Rowdy O’Leary’s death is simply and very tragically an accident.”
“It’s not for you to decide,” I reply.
“Do you have reason to suspect foul play?” she presses.
“You’ll have to ask the police that,” I tell her.
When they arrived at the pier after Rowdy O’Leary’s wife reported him missing, they found his truck and belongings undisturbed. His fishing pole was in the rod holder, the line in the water,the small croaker on the hook likely caught postmortem. It appears he polished off a six-pack of beer, the empties in his cooler.
There would be nothing suspicious about his death were it not for his .38 revolver and the two spent rounds in the cylinder. But I’m not going to bring that up to Maggie. None of this is any of her affair.
“I think of his poor family. Haven’t they been through enough?” she goes on with phony empathy. “Even the governor’s office is concerned.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m good friends with the chief of staff,” Maggie reminds me whenever she can. “Laverne has made it clear that the governor doesn’t want it to seem that the powers that be bully and harass decent citizens, especially those grieving. Especially this time of year.”
“Just spell it out, Maggie. What are you telling me?”
“That the governor expects you to close the O’Leary case, and let the family have what little peace they can.”
“I don’t understand why the governor would expect that.” I’m buttoning my coat.
“It’s not for you to understand, Doctor Scarpetta. Your job is to close the case. Instead of making a big thing of it like you usually do.”
“Not happening until I know more,” I reply. “For now, his manner of death is pending.”
“And you see, that’s the problem with you.” Maggie narrows her eyes. “You open something to speculation when you don’t make a swift and absolute decision. And next thing we know, the police and everyone else are on a wild-goose chase that causes a world of trouble.”
“Unlike some people, facts matter to me.” I look at her.
“Conspiracies are fueled by your inability to decide a case.”
“I don’t answer to you, Maggie.”
“Well, you do answer to the governor,” she replies sharply.
“Not when it comes to my findings.”
“Have it your way, then. But for all things there are consequences. I expect you to copy me on information.” She stares at me like a cobra. “Elvin and I need to see Rowdy O’Leary’s records, whatever you have.”
“You’re welcome to ask the police for any information they choose to share with DEP.” I make a point of using her bogus department’s vapid acronym.
Maggie drifts closer to my desk, eyeing stacks of case files on top of it.
“Please, stay away.” I’m not nice about it.
“It’s also been brought to my attention that old bones from that cemetery on Mercy Island have a disturbing story to tell.” Maggie brazenly stares at everything on my desk.
I step closer.
“Some poor young woman brutally killed,” she goes on. “Probably a patient from long ago. But we don’t really know since there’s no record of her. Terribly sad.”
“Yes, I understand you were quizzing Doctor Kingston in the anthropology lab,” I reply.
“Dana Diletti is doing a big story on Mercy Island, which is most unfortunate,” Maggie says, and I had no idea. “I happened to be talking to the director of Mercy Psychiatric Hospital, Graden Crowley. I believe you two are acquainted.”
“Not in a good way.” I tell her what she already knows.
