Page 29 of Overkill

“Great!” exclaimed the examiner, looking annoyed from the display of normal human emotions at the sight of death. She covered him up and shut the drawer with a definitive clang that would have been off-putting to most. “You know your way out?”

She left without waiting for an answer, as if absolutely irritated by the unfortunate display of grief.

Was it grief, though?

No. It was fear. She was terrified of him. Like she was afraid the guy was going to wake up from death and attack her. Maybe she was religious—or belonged to whatever kind of spirituality believed in ghosts and zombies? No, I’d never had that impression of her.

My layman’s opinion, and my own experience, pointed to one thing.

PTSD.

Which meant it was not the time to get giddy at the fact she trusted me enough to run into my arms. I placed the tender, recently smacked, side of my face against the top of her head, feeling the curls of her hair on my cheek.

“You’re alright. I’ve got you.” I meant it with my entire being.

She held on to me, and for a moment, I forgot why I had insinuated myself into her life. Why had I pushed into her existence? That I was getting paid to be here, right now. With her.

Melody wasn’t a murderer. I knew it in my bones.

But how did someone prove a woman was innocent? I’d seen the files. She’d had no alibi. She said she went for a walk the morning of his disappearance, and when she came back, Luke Gray’s car was gone, and the boat with it. She assumed he went fishing like he always did.

Thing was, no one saw her that morning. Her brother and sister were at the big Graystone Manor with the rest of the family for the holidays. No one saw go on her walk. No one who traveled that road in the early mornings saw her on the side of the highway. And walking in the middle of winter? That was suspicious at best, especially when I knew her tendency to get cold.

But no body, no crime.

Now we had a body, and I still wasn’t convinced there had been a crime.

The way she’d reacted in fear and pain—not grief—made my head swirl. Questions about their relationship emerged and disappeared like fog on a humid day, and I was left asking: What the fuck did he do to you?

And what did you do to him?

Chapter 10

To Hell

Melody

My mother thought marrying into the Gray family was our ticket to an easier life. Access. Resources.

She was partially right. The man lying cold on the table had paid for my undergrad, and even that first year at Yale Law. He couldn’t not pay for them. His family would have never let someone, even an outsider like me, take out student loans. That was beneath them.

The reality of the Grays was a bit like going into the fallen castle of a dying dynasty. A lot of gold had lost its luster, but they clutched onto their jewels and pearls, even when their fridge was empty. Luke should have married someone like Valerie. Someone with money and a career that wasn’t really a career. Unlike my mother who had a job. A real job where she clocked in and out.

That was also beneath their dignity. Or some such bullshit.

I was only a child, but I didn’t remember my childhood being that bad. We were poor and living in a one-bedroom apartment. Birthdays and Christmas were small but loving. We didn’t have much, but we didn’t need much, either.

Life got so complicated when we became Grays. Stakes were higher. So high, no one would have believed it. Not even the man who was keeping me from completely falling apart.

Greg walked me to the passenger door and helped me climb in. He even buckled my seatbelt. He didn’t have music on while he drove, but I was grateful for the silence. He didn’t try to make me talk, either. He just let me sit there, doing nothing.

You couldn’t waterboard my secrets out of me, I was starting to get the feeling Greg’s kindness might tease the truth from me. He was the honey, and I was the worthless fly deprived of sweetness for so long, I might have welcomed drowning in it.

I was empty. It was a hollow, resigned feeling in my gut that whatever happened…would happen.

Good or bad, there was nothing I could do. I was a murderer. I couldn’t be angry because I had done it. Me. I’d made the choice. There was no one to bargain with, so I was in the middle of despair and acceptance.

Maybe pleading guilty to murder would be a relief. At least I would get a bed and three square meals a day. I thought I’d even seen that people finish law school from behind bars. Wouldn’t that be fun?