Page 90 of Cold, Cold Bones
Charlie had killed himself. How was that possible?
I was palming tears from my cheeks when I sensed a vehicle pulled to my bumper. I glanced in the rearview mirror.
Slidell.
How did he know? Didn’t matter. I was in no shape to deal with his attitude.
I stayed put.
Slidell got out and walked to my car. A gloved hand knuckle-rapped the glass by my ear. Resigned, I lowered the window, braced for an offensive Skinnyism.
“You OK?” he asked.
I shrugged.
“You knew this guy, right?” Cocking his jaw toward the pulsating townhouse.
I nodded.
“Sorry.”
I turned to look at him, surprised by the subdued tone. Slidell’s face was drawn, his eyes filled with compassion. I gestured that he should join me in the car. He did.
“What happened?” he asked.
I told him what I knew. Charlie’s desire to meet earlier than planned. The no-show at Caribou Coffee. The unanswered calls. My cruise through the townhouse. Finding his body in the garage.
“It was my fault,” I finished, prepared to be brutal with myself. “I missed the signs.”
“What signs?”
“That’s just it. I didn’t see any.”
“Don’t sound like you.”
It wasn’t. I said nothing.
“You think this could be part of the whole clusterfuck?”
“What clusterfuck?” Having no idea of his meaning. Not really caring.
“You feel up to going inside?”
Oh, God.
“How ’bout we take a quick look, after that we talk,” he urged gently.
Mind a turbulent mess, I nodded agreement. More self-brutalization?
Slidell and I walked to the short, sloping driveway. A gurney had been positioned at the top, body bag unzipped and ready.
The garage door was up now, the overheads on. Ditto every light in the townhouse.
Nguyen stood in the space between the Porsche and a set of wire wall shelves. Hawkins was beside her, shooting video. The metal death scene kit lay on the floor between them.
The Porsche driver’s-side door stood open. Through it I could see Charlie, head slumped, upper arms hanging limp to the elbows, forearms crossed on his thighs, NBA fingers dangling between his knees. The floods on Hawkins’s camera lifted the macabre tableau into surrealistic brightness.
A new tremor threatened. I fought it down.
