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“Because the cops were dirty,” Arch mumbles. “Detectives Neil Thomas and Samuel Kavanagh. Twenty-five years a piece on the force. They were basically d-bags who felt superior to anyone who wasn’t white, straight, and male. This case was one of thousands they closed during their careers, but in ‘93, Kavanagh was caught with his pants down.”
“Figuratively?” I ask. “Or literally?”
Fletch barks a laugh. “A little bit of both. He was busted, not only for buying S-E-X, but she was a minor. Dude was protected for a while. Their lieutenant tried to cover it up. Thomas kept quiet. It’s just the way things were back then, and anyone on the force who disagreed was quickly phased out, transferred, or straight up fired. Holly’s case came inafterKavanagh was caught, butbeforehe was exposed. She was just another chick these guys didn’t give a crap about, so they took everything at face value, blamed her, and brushed the case aside.”
“So…” Aubree looks from one cop to the other. “What happened?”
“Lieutenant Eva McAvoy,” Archer responds. “She worked outta our station, actually. Retired only a few years back. She was young, she looked good. She was an unknown face to the city back in the nineties, so she put herself on the street. Found her corner. Waited for her prey.
“ThomasandKavanagh wanted a piece of her, so they picked her up. Took her to the outskirts of town. They went from zero to a hundred real effing quick, considering, as far as they knew, she was a paid companion and consent was given. They put a gun in her mouth, like it was some kind of power play that turned them on, then told her what they’d do to her.”
He stops now and grins. “She turned that piece around, arrested them both, and locked the cage with her own hands. She stood tall under backlash, refused to fold under pressure from the brass. She was put on the stand for landmark lengths of time, and if we’re to take her word without proof, she was threatened in her home on more than one occasion—and her kid, a third grader at the time, was copping grief for it at school too.”
“She was so brave,” Aubree murmurs. “Geez.”
“McAvoy didn’t falter once,” Fletch agrees, awed. “Even at the very end, when Kavanagh and Thomas asked to cut a deal, she rallied against them. Both were sent away for twenty, parole in twelve.”
I do the math quickly in my head. “But this is a thirty-six-year-old case. Right? That means they’re free men now.”
“Thomas is,” Archer clarifies. “Kavanagh couldn’t cope in Gen Pop, so heunalivedhimself—but not before flapping his mouth to his cellmate and telling him how he screwed over most of his cases.”
“Hence,” I conclude with a nod, “Holly’s file remains open.”
“It wasn’t a priority,” Fletch says. “She’s gone, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it. No one was rushing to fish this file out of storage and take a swing at shaking something loose.”
“But of course, you two will.” Instead of focusing on Archer and his shoulder, I try to switch to my work brain. My medical examiner’s education. “How do you intend to proceed? And are you saying those cops had something to do with herpassing, or are they—”
“Not related,” Archer grunts. “But they didn’t run the case the way they should’ve. She deserved better, so we’re gonna start with the family and work our way out. If we come to the same conclusion as the first two cops, then that’s what happens. At least we know. But if we come up with something else, then she deserves to have the truth known, and her mental health issues not become the writing on her headstone.”
Nodding again, I wonder for a moment what’s left of her remains. Where was she buried, and in what kind of casket? Is she above or below sea level? Heavy clay, or wet soil?
“Will you exhume her body?” I ask.
Fletch’s eyes flash wide. “Can we?”
“Sure.” Crossing my legs, I link my fingers together and think back to New York, when I last brought a body to the surface. “With the family’s permission, or a court order.”
“What else would we need?” Arch wants to know.
“Medical examiner.” Smirking, I wait for his glinting eyes. “You just so happen to know one of those. But not today.”
Pushing up to stand when my desk phone trills, I hurriedly shut down my computer and cast a look across to Aubree. Picking up the phone, I answer quickly, “Doctor Mayet speaking.”
“Hi, Chief. This is Detective Bird from midtown PD. We’ve got a homicide over on West and Thirty Fourth and request the assistance of your office.”
“Sure.” Placing my hand over the receiver, I ask Aubree, “Is Flynn clear, now that the three-car is closed?”
“Yeah. She’s got nothing on her slab.”
“Perfect.” Uncovering the phone once more, I say, “I’ll have Doctor Flynn head over now. She’ll organize transport once she arrives.”
“Thanks.” And just like that, Bird hangs up and my office falls silent but for thecrunch-crunch-crunchof Mia’s teeth on her snack.
“We’re going home.” I set the phone in the cradle and stare directly into Arch’s eyes, waiting, in case he thinks he can choose something else. “We’re going there to rest. To redress your wound. To sleep, then tomorrow, you can put a few hours on this new case—so long as those hours are spentat a desk.”
Obnoxiously, Fletch whistles under his breath. “Wifey is strict on you, Malone. Still think it was a good idea to get hitched?”
I glance across and pin the second detective with a glare. “First of all, you asked me to marry you, too. Several times. So it would seem you think I’m worth it. Second,” I bring my gaze back to Archer, “I’m not speaking as your wife. I’m speaking as the only friggin’ doctor you’ve allowed yourself to see. That means my opinion supersedes yours. It also means I’ll lace your dinner with sleep aids if that’s what I need to do to get you to lie down for a solid eight hours. This is the deal you made when you insisted on pursuing me. Now let’s go.”
