Chapter 33

The hospital signed over the body, which was taken to a funeral home. He did everything. For the first time since Reid worked with him, Colt was actually taking charge of something. There was satisfaction from doing all this. It helped him to come to terms with her death. He never got a chance to do anything for her, and this was the least he could do. The funeral was in two days. There was no sense in delaying it since there weren’t any relatives to inform.

They were leaving the funeral home when he sensed Reid had something to tell him. He waited until the car pulled out of the parking lot before asking what the problem was. He knew it wasn’t good news about Chelsea. It had been three days, and the police had nothing. He’d spoken with the detective while leaving the funeral director’s office.

“Spill,” he said to Reid. “I can’t take the suspense.”

Reid slapped the steering wheel in frustration. “These fucking reporters, man!” he almost shouted.

“Okay, tell me what it is this time that has you so worked up,” Colt voice registered his impatience.

He was also losing his patience with the media and all the negative shit they kept reporting. It was one thing slaying him, but that photo they posted about his mother was the last straw. He tried to get it removed, but the judge said that since the report was not false, and she was a prisoner of the state, there was nothing he could do to issue a stop order.

“Some dickhead got the police report,” Reid informed him.

“Then the world will know it was false imprisonment. Now—”

“No, not the real report, man. They got the old one, the one that says your mother confessed.”

“Fuck it!” Colt hit the dashboard quite hard. The car jerked, and Reid had to grip the wheel as not to skid to the side. “How the fuck do these people get a hold on a police report?”

“Beats me, man,” Reid said in a lower tone.

“Do you think a cop is in on this? I mean, a cop must be involved or something.”

“Yeah, you’re right. You know what this means?”

“What?”

“Somebody’s got deep pockets. Somebody with an agenda,” Reid replied.

Colt was not sure if this was a police officer’s doing or just good reporting. Moreover, the implication that somebody with money was behind this was far-fetched. He knew the likes of Carl Benson would break into the police department for a file such as this. Either that or he had a good friend in the department.

“Or maybe a corrupt cop,” he added. Reid fell silent. That was the most logical explanation for all this. “Let me see the paper.”

Reid thumbed behind him toward the back seat. There was a stack of files and between them was the Daily News. On the front was the same photo of his mother in the hospital bed hooked up to the machine. The headline was clear in big black print: Rockstar’s Mother Confessed to Murder: Spent Years In Prison

Colt scanned the contents of the article and noticed there were family details in there. The name of his father, their stepfather and step-siblings. There was even mention of sibling fights that only a family member would know about.

“Don’t get too worked up over this,” Reid tried calming him.

He doubled his fist and bunched up the paper. “That sonofabitch!”

“Keep calm; it’s just speculation …”

“It’s real, somebody gave them details!” he spat.

“You mean it’s all true what they said?”

“Yeah, only a family member would know where my stepfather went fishing on weekends or how my mother liked to sew. This read like a damn family biography and the icing is the prison sentence. They made her look like a monster for killing the bastard!”

The car pulled into the hotel parking lot. As they got out and headed to the lobby, Detective Henry and another officer accosted them. Colt’s heart leaped to his throat at the prospects that they found Chelsea.

“Did you find her?” he queried with impatience.

The officers gave each other weird looks before Henry answered, “Does Chelsea have any relatives you can call?”

“What’s the matter? We don’t want to alarm her parents unless it’s absolutely necessary, and she would not want that,” Reid stated.

“I agree. I promise, if we don’t find her within the next 48 hours, we’ll call her parents,” Colt added.

Henry’s face seemed somber as he replied, “I’m afraid it may be too late. We found a body washed ashore near the venue where you had your concert. We need someone to identify the body.”

Colt felt the blood rush from his face, and his body went numb. He could barely find the words, but he managed to say, “I’ll do it.” his voice took on a quiet tone.

“Okay, we’ll do it now so that we can wrap this up quickly,” Henry stated.

They jumped back in the vehicle and followed Henry to the morgue near the police station. Reid wasn’t saying anything, and neither was he. Her face kept looming before him, and he was barely holding himself back from going crazy.

Two deaths. All his fault. His mother’s demise was his doing. If he hadn’t stabbed his stepfather, she would not have taken the blame for his death and ended up in prison all this time. Somehow, his gut told him that what happened to Chelsea was also related to the mess around him.

“I’ll kill whoever is responsible for this. I swear I‘ll kill them with my bare hands.”

“Gosh man, this is one big mess. When the vultures get wind of this, it’s going to be one big dirty media mess!”

“I don’t care about that. I want the one responsible for …” he trailed off. He could not utter what the cops were saying. He refused to believe she was dead.

The police parked first, and Reid pulled their car up next to them. He was last to get out, and when he did, he realized he was not ready. Colt was always a tough guy until recently. His knees were as jelly, and butterflies were flying around in his stomach.

Detective Henry led them inside the building, which had that death smell. A sickening smell that was different from the hospital. It clung to the nasal passage and entered the lungs, almost choking him. He began to feel nausea rise in his throat and had to swallow hard to still a queasy feeling that came over him.

Reid wasn’t looking so good either. Henry led them through a white-walled passage with gray concrete floor in which you could see yourself. He reached a large steel door, which he pushed open, leading into a room that was as drab as you could get. It was the coroner’s room. The man in the white coat was eating a sandwich while he stared at a cadaver on a steel table. There was a messy desk with scattered files close by.

“Meakle,” Henry greeted.

The man looked up, placed the unfinished sandwich near his computer and brushed his hands on his coat. He beckoned them over while he finished chewing. He then picked up a bottle of water and took a few sips.

“Ha, you’re here about the body.” He nodded while he spoke.

Meakle was tall, thin, with a balding head and wire rim glasses. He led them to another room off to his left. Colt tried not to look at the corpse on the table as he passed by, but his eyes unwittingly strayed there. Half of the man’s face seemed as if it was gnarled, though he was not certain. Bile rose in his throat, and he had to walk quickly by, keeping his gaze forward as not to throw up.

The other room was where the bodies were stored. It was cold and eerie. The cold air swirled like mist around them, reminding him of a horror movie. He shook the thought away as he realized he was trying to think of anything but Chelsea. He closed his eyes and waited, with Reid directly behind him. He heard the squeak of the gurney as Meakle pulled it out from within the metal cooler.

“This is she,” the man said in almost a whisper.

He opened his eyes, and they fell on the gurney. The hair of the woman was auburn. Her lips were slightly up-curved, with long lashes that brushed her cheeks. She was wearing T-shirt and jeans, and her large breasts stretched the fabric tautly. He remembered the first time he saw Chelsea’s bosom. His breathing became shallow, and a heady sensation washed over him. His gut wrenched from the inside and flipped over several times.

“It’s not her,” he managed to let out before the vomit rose to his mouth.

Meakle must have been aware because he immediately brought a pan and held it while Colt wretched loudly, bringing up whatever he ate last. The odd thing was, he did not remember the last time he ate. He’d had coffee and water only for the last couple of days. A few spurts, and it seemed all his gut was coming out, yet, only about a half cup of liquid came up and then he was hurling air.

“Your stomach is upset. Haven’t you eaten?” Meakle asked.

“He’d been worried sick, and his mother passed; you know how it goes,” Reid answered for him.

“He needs to take care of his health; nothing’s more important.”

Colt’s stomach slowly settled as nothing was coming up but air. Was it the relief he felt when he realized it was not Chelsea or the corpse he’d seen earlier? It didn’t matter. He could see how the police would mistake her for Chelsea, but there was one problem, Chelsea did not wear a nose ring or have tattoos. The girl on the board had a tattoo on her neck, another on her right wrist, and he could see one on her ankle. He supposed there were others he could not see. In addition to the obvious, this girl was nowhere as beautiful as his woman was.

Stepping out into the California sunshine revived him a great deal. Henry, Reid, and the rookie were right beside him.

“We’ll keep looking. We believe she is still alive,” Henry reassured them. “Can you think of anything else that might assist us? Or anyone who might want to hurt her? I know we already asked these questions, but we need some clues.”

“I can’t think of anyone who would want to hurt Chelsea … unless …” Colt’s mind wandered on the “what ifs” of the situation.

“Unless what?” Henry asked with his brows knitted.

Reid looked at him curiously, and then a shadow crossed his face. “You don’t think…?”

“Jason, he’s the only one I can think of who would do such a thing.”

Henry immediately took out his notepad from his jacket pocket. His sidekick did the same and began to scribble.

“Who’s Jason?” Henry asked.

“My stepbrother who has been blackmailing me,” Colt answered.

“Why would he hurt Chelsea?” Henry asked, looking up from his writing and making eye contact.

Colt inhaled deeply before he replied, “Because hurting Chelsea would hurt me.”

Henry stared at him a moment, “Is she your …”

“We just started dating. We haven’t even officially gone out yet.”

“Does Jason know this?”

Colt nodded slowly, “Of course he must know this. He’s followed me around the country. I have no doubt that he knows how I feel about her.”

Henry scribbled on his notepad once more. “Tell me about the blackmailing. You know that’s a felony, right?”

Colt filled the detective in about his relationship with Jason. The officer already knew the story of his stepfather and how he thought he’d killed him. Jason took advantage of that by threatening to tell the press about it.

“Alright,” Henry said, closing his notebook and replacing it in his jacket pocket. “We’ll send a sketch artist so you can describe this guy to us.”

* * * *

Things were not going well with the Purple Crush. Colt was having a difficult time dealing with it. The pain in his core was getting worse the more he thought about how his mother passed before he got a chance to say sorry. Chelsea was not just an employee but someone important to him. She’d grown on him, and he’d begun to need her. She knew how to calm him.

He spent the rest of the day holed up in his room, leaving Reid to deal with the press issue. At this point, he didn’t care whether they retracted the article or not. His main focus was finding Chelsea, and he badly needed a drink.