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“Hell, no.”
The idea of the special investigator in contact with Corinne left McCrae feeling unsettled. He didn’t want the man anywhere near him or West Knoll, especially now, when he was about to follow up on a lead that could prove that Hurston’s theory on Penske’s and Bailey’s death was incorrect. The man was a political animal, and if he felt Quin and McCrae were trying to prove him wrong, he wouldn’t take it sitting down. He cared less about right and wrong and more about how it would make him look, and an error this big would make him look bad.
McCrae drove to the hospital, his thoughts turning from Hurston to Corinne. Toward the end of their relationship, during one of their frequent fights, she’d yelled at him, “You don’t give a shit about anything, Chris! There’s nothing inside you. Nothing!”
This was her complaint whenever she deemed he wasn’t attentive enough, which had become more and more often over time. “I care about a lot of things,” he’d denied, sick of the accusation.
“People, Chris. You don’t care about people. Oh, no. I’m wrong,” she’d said, seeing he was about to fight her on that, too. “You care about people you don’t know. Anyone who has a problem, you’re right there for them. Any stranger in need . . . Officer Chris McCrae to the rescue!”
“It’s my job, Corinne. I—”
“But you don’t give one goddamn shit about the people you love . . . ,” she’d snarled. “You’re a hero to everyone. You suck it up like life-giving elixir. No, no.” She held out her finger when he was about to argue again. “Don’t say another word. I already know what you’re going to say anyway, and it’s just more bullshit.”
“It’s not bullshit.”
“It’s bullshit,” she’d shouted back.
And then she’d picked up her sweater where she’d laid it over a kitchen chair and walked out the door. Two days later, she entered his house when he wasn’t there and gathered up the rest of her belongings and smashed a picture of them together that she’d had framed and placed on the end table beside his couch. He’d swept up the pieces and thrown them into the trash.
That was the end of their relationship, except for the fact that they worked together. Worked together, but seldom spoke to each other any longer.
But now she was talking with Hurston?
McCrae searched his feelings as he pulled to a stop in the hospital parking lot. Was he jealous over the thought of Corinne and Hurston together, whatever that relationship might be? No. What he felt was betrayal. She’d gone behind his back to the enemy and joined forces, and no matter what, it wasn’t going to be good.
He strode into the hospital reception area and toward the elevator bank. No one bothered him as he pushed the DOWN button for the morgue.
The elevator car opened with a ding, and he strode down the hallway. Outside the morgue door, he ran into Delta, who was talking to a man in a white coat, Dr. Evanston according to his name tag. She turned toward McCrae, and the look on her face told him everything he needed to know.
“He’s gone,” she said.
Automatically he reached for her, drawing her into the shelter of his arms.
* * *
Jesus Christ, Ellie thought, screeching to a halt as, barreling down the hallway from the elevator in search of the morgue, she came across Delta in Chris McCrae’s embrace. She’d left the hospital earlier to get a signal and reach Rob, who wasn’t picking up, but she’d stayed in the parking lot, determined not to leave until she talked to the doctors and staff about Tanner’s death. She wanted this story. It was hers, and she meant to have it.
The doctor with them saw Ellie, but not Delta and McCrae, who had their backs to her. She pretended to examine her watch, then shook her head and reversed direction, heading back to the elevator as if suddenly remembering she had somewhere else to be. She was determining whether she was going to push the button and call the car, or just wait till Delta and McCrae came back this way, so she could interview that doctor or anyone at the morgue without them listening in.
As she stood there, the elevator bell rang, and the doors slid open. She stepped forward, then was nearly run over by Tanner’s father, whose face was bright red with fury as he barreled into the hallway. An interesting emotion for a man who’d just lost his son, she thought, stepping out of the way.
He didn’t even notice her, but his wife did, as she followed him into the hallway.
“Dr. Stahd,” Ellie greeted him.
He shot her a quick look but didn’t stop walking until he recognized her. Only then did his footsteps slow. “You’re that reporter.”
“Yes.”
“You tell ’em. You tell ’em that she did it. She killed my son. Stabbed him to death!”
Ellie said cautiously, “You’re talking about Delta?”
“He should’ve never married her,” Lester Stahd railed. “Pretending she was pregnant. Fooled him, she did. Sucked him dry, and then wanted a divorce! My grandson’ll be with me, mark my words.”
“I’m not sure that was Delta,” Ellie said slowly. She didn’t really want to correct him, as she mostly agreed with what he was spewing, and it looked like it might continue, but Amanda had been the one who may or may not have been pregnant with Tanner’s child.
“Put him under a spell, that’s what she did. Used her looks and her wiles to get him!”
