Chapter 19
Special Agent Brady arrived at Cedar Bend the next afternoon right before three o’clock, punctual as usual. Claire met him in the lobby, and they rode up to the rock star’s suite and escorted a quiet and subdued Jonesy Jax down to the back lobby. He was dressed appropriately in a dark suit, white shirt, and gray and white tie, with a black winter raincoat. Showing respect for his daughter. Something Claire had not totally expected to see from him, but it was a nice thing. Maybe Black had been right about the guy. Maybe there was more to Jonesy Jax than she had figured. At the rear exterior door, Claire explained to him where the paparazzi were lurking and pulled up the hood on his coat to hide his identity, and then she did the same thing for herself. Jonesy pulled out a pair of expensive sunglasses and pushed them on as they made their way down the snowy sidewalk to Brady’s Ford Fusion.
Photographers lined the barricade about forty yards across the lawn but didn’t seem to recognize the famous rock star―and thank goodness for that. When they saw him and realized he was outside, absolute hell was going to break loose and send Cedar Bend Lodge, the lake, and all its inhabitants into a world of hurt. It was exactly the kind of thing that Claire and Brady did not need to deal with.
Once inside the car, Jonesy hunkered down in the back seat and tried to make himself invisible as they headed off to the morgue for one very unpleasant task. Fun, fun―not really. Zero, in fact. That’s the only kind that Claire seemed to be having lately, anyway.
It was not a good time for her or anyone that she knew. Black was still acting like he was fine and happy the Hammonses had shown up, but he wasn’t fooling her. He was down in the dumps right alongside her, a situation Claire had rarely seen. Rico was now spending every waking moment with his beloved Memo and Papa. Black and Claire had seen very little of him since they’d arrived―he had even spent the night in their suite. But Black had always been the kind of guy who recognized the writing on the wall when he saw it. A man as emotional as Jonesy Jax, on the other hand, was going to have a hard time identifying his dead daughter’s body without going to pieces―that was the understatement of the year.
They negotiated slick streets and light snowfall in hushed silence until they finally pulled into the medical examiner’s parking lot. Brady chose a parking space at the end of the building, a good distance from the front door, for some reason that Claire couldn’t fathom. Maybe he liked to slide around on slick sidewalks until he fell and broke his arm. Maybe he was prolonging Jonesy’s emotional breakdown out of personal dread. As soon as Brady killed the motor, Claire turned around and looked at the heretofore crazy ass rock star. Now he looked absolutely as white as a brand-new percale sheet, fresh out of the package. His eyes were glazed over with either tranquilizers or fear, probably both. He looked as if he was going to keel over right there and sob his heart out. But then, as she nodded to him, he straightened his shoulders, took a deep breath, and said, “Okay, let’s get this thing over with. Please. I have to do it. For her. But I’d rather jump into hell with both feet.”
A good analogy, and pretty much what he was about to do. Claire felt for him, she really did. “Okay, Mr. Jax, but first, let me tell you how it’s going to go down inside the office. That okay with you?”
“Yes,” he answered, but his sick expression told her that he just might throw up whatever pills he’d swallowed that morning.
“You will view your daughter’s remains through a screened window from an outside hallway. The morgue assistant, Johnny Becker, will fold back the sheet covering her head, only enough to allow you to identify her. You won’t be able to see anything but her face. The process will only take a moment, and then it will be over. He will cover her again, and the blinds will be closed. Do you understand? Is that procedure all right with you?”
Jonesy just nodded. “I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to go in there and see her. I don’t think I can.” Claire and Brady looked at each other, then turned back to the grieving father, who continued in a shaky voice. “But I know I have to. I owe it to poor little Heather and to myself to do the right thing.”
Claire really felt sorry for the guy. He was crushed, beaten down to a mere replica of his usual bold, abrasive self. “We do understand how hard this is, Mr. Jax. We do. I promise you that. You can take all the time you need with her, if you should choose to. Or you can just look, identify her, and we’ll take you home. We are here to help you get through this.”
Jonesy broke down and began sobbing again. Claire’s heart clutched, because she knew exactly how he felt. Her low regard for the man in the back seat had certainly taken a one-eighty. He was okay under all that stupid showmanship, it appeared. He was suffering now, and suffering brutally, and it was difficult for her to watch. She’d be glad when it was over and she could concentrate her energy on finding that young woman’s killer.
“Okay then, let’s just do it,” she said after a few minutes.
The three of them just sat there, unmoving. Claire was waiting for Jonesy to pull the back door handle and exit the car. Brady said nothing, but a glance told her that he was nervous. Jonesy looked at Claire and wiped away more tears with a clean white handkerchief. “I appreciate your kindness, Mrs. Black. So much. Believe me when I say that.”
Claire nodded. “Fifteen minutes from now? It will all be over.”
“Okay, Claire. Put your hands on the dash, and don’t try anything stupid.”
At first, Claire didn’t gather what Brady was talking about. She looked at him, and then she looked at the small weapon he held in his right hand. It looked like a tranquilizer dart gun, the kind they used on wild animals. He was pointing it at her chest.
Jonesy sat up straighter. “Hey, what the hell―”
Brady turned quickly and shot a dart into Jonesy’s chest, then quickly swiveled back to Claire. He hastily inserted another dart. That’s when Claire reacted, trying to knock his gun hand aside with her left hand as she scratched inside her coat for her Glock, but she wasn’t quite fast enough. The dart hit her in the side of her neck. She jerked it out about the same time she got her weapon out, but not fast enough to pull the trigger. Brady grabbed her gun arm, and the drug hit her hard and fast. All she saw was a flash of white light and a blur of reality―then there was nothing.