The Forgotten Read online

  “So no embalming and no open casket. Interesting. Where was the body held overnight?” Brett asked.

  “It was refrigerated. But I can assure you, the body was in that casket when it was taken for storage after the viewing.”

  “Can you explain how we opened an empty coffin, then?” Brett asked.

  Both men stared back at Brett, looking both embarrassed and baffled.

  “No,” Douglas said at last. “I accepted the body, so I know it arrived. He was bathed and dressed in the clothing the family gave us. Then he was placed in his casket and we closed the lid. The entire coffin was kept in what we call the cool room overnight. At ten the next morning, he was transported via the cemetery’s hearse to the cemetery and lowered into the ground.”

  “No one saw the body after it was placed in the coffin on his day of the arrival and the lid was closed?” Diego asked.

  “No. There was no reason to open it,” Diaz said. “But we are willing to accept responsibility if we are found negligent in any way.”

  “Except that we weren’t,” Douglas said. “Whatever happened must have happened at the cemetery or on the way to it.”

  “But wasn’t the coffin sealed then?” Brett asked.

  “The coffin was sealed at that point. But burial practices at the family’s cemetery of choice—as in most local cemeteries these days—require the coffin to be placed in a cement container before burial. That way, if a coffin breaks and there’s any leakage of...well, leakage, it’s contained by the cement. But that sarcophagus isn’t added until later, once the family is gone, so for some period of time the casket was available to someone looking to...steal the body. As I said, the cemetery sent a vehicle to pick it up—no motorcade, again at the family’s request—so anything could have happened along the way.” He paused, shaking his head. “However it disappeared, I’m certain that it didn’t happen here,” he said. He pushed the file folder toward Brett. “All our records, including the names and numbers of all our employees, are here. You’ve met with the family already, I understand. They are, naturally, threatening to sue us, so I’m hoping, as you can imagine, that you’ll be able to discover just what happened.”

  “How is your security?” Brett asked.

  “Well, we have the usual alarms, of course. Customarily, Carl Sage, our head mortician, is here until quite late, sometimes as late as midnight. I haven’t embalmed a body in years. Jill Hudson is our best cosmetician, and she works from ten until six. Whoever leaves last at night checks the locks and sets the alarm. Either Richard or I come in sometime between seven and eight the next morning.”

  “How many keys to the facility?” Diego asked.

  “Five,” Diaz answered. “Jonathan and I have keys, as does my wife, Geneva, whom you met. And then Jill Hudson and Carl Sage have keys, as well.”

  “Security tapes?” Brett asked.

  “Only in the viewing rooms,” Diaz said. “And Mr. Nicholson’s coffin was never open in the viewing room,” he added regretfully.

  “We’d like you to arrange to for us to see everyone who works here tomorrow morning at ten,” Brett said, rising.

  Douglas was upset as he also stood. “Agent, let me assure you again, we work to impeccable standards here. Whatever happened to Mr. Nicholson’s body, it happened after his body arrived at the cemetery. You need to investigate and find out what went on.”

  “Mr. Douglas, if you truly want us to find out the truth and, I hope, clear your establishment, you’ll help in any way you can.”

  “Of course, of course,” Diaz said, standing, as well. “We’ll have our people here, as you asked.”

  As he drove out of the parking lot a few minutes later, Brett turned to Diego and asked, “Well?”

  “Funeral homes have been in trouble before, but the cases I’ve heard about had to do with dumping the bodies to use the coffins again. We found Mr. Nicholson’s coffin in perfect shape.”

  “What about Douglas and Diaz?” Brett asked. “What’s your impression of them?”

  “We’ve learned a lot about how to spot a liar, and they both seemed to be telling the truth,” Diego said. “What about you?”

  “I think they’re telling the truth, too,” Brett said. “But...there are all their employees.”

  “Okay, say one or more of the employees are creating zombies,” Diego mused. “How would that connect to Miguel Gomez walking into a warehouse that went up in flames—and somehow getting out alive?”

  “Maybe they’re not creating zombies, just supplying a body when one is needed,” Brett said. “Okay, so here’s my theory so far. It’s not much, but it fits the facts. This isn’t about drug cartels, crime lords or anything else we customarily deal with. Someone out there wants to play God, wants to push every boundary and find out just what he’s capable of doing. The Barillo family may be involved—because someone died in that warehouse, and we know it wasn’t Miguel Gomez. But Gomez worked for Barillo, and Gomez showed up after his supposed death, behaving strangely, the night his wife was killed. So whoever was involved in reanimating Randy Nicholson’s undead body was almost certainly also involved with the reanimation of Miguel Gomez’s body, which means he may also be involved with the Barillo family.

  “Okay, what else do we know? We know that Nicholson made it to the mortuary from the hospital, because Jonathan Douglas just said that he saw the body. So now we’re looking for someone with the connections and the ability to reanimate the supposedly dead. I just wish it was as easy to find him as it was to figure out he exists.”

  “It really does sound as if we’re looking for a mad scientist,” Diego said gravely.

  Brett frowned. He wanted to disagree, but he really couldn’t.

  * * *

  Grady Miller left that afternoon for a meeting with an association of marine-mammal-park owners. Cathy Barkley had left early for a dental appointment, and Nelson Amory and Myles Dawson left at exactly five. A few minutes after that, even the café staff were gone and the gift shop had closed. By six that night the trainers—other than Rick and Adrianna—had cleaned up and taken off for their homes. Lara knew, because she watched them all go from her office window. Rick checked in with her before going out to lock the gate.

  “Meg and I are here for a while, Rick,” Lara told him. “Some of the other agents are headed back here to meet up with us. I’ll come and tell you when we’re going to leave.”

  “Sounds good, but I’ll still lock up for now.”

  “Thanks,” she said.

  Meg, who was curled in a chair, looked up and thanked Rick, too.

  When he was gone, Lara—who had picked up one of the books they had bought that afternoon—looked over at Meg and said, “Did you know that Papa Doc is estimated to have killed over thirty thousand people?” She set the book aside and rose to stretch. “I’ve read enough history to make my flesh crawl, but I haven’t found anything resembling a recipe for creating a zombie.”

  “I’m not sure there is one,” Meg said. “I think it’s a combination of factors, starting with someone who has a suggestible mind. The toxin is part of it, but mind control through fear, that’s a part of it, too. And Haiti, especially under Papa Doc, was the perfect cauldron, poor and with a dominant religion that already focuses on the use of herbal substances to put people in a trance, and erase the boundaries between dreams and reality. The thing is, from everything I’ve read, if puffer fish toxin is used, even if the dead come back, before long they die. The interesting thing is, Randy Nicholson supposedly died months ago, but stayed ‘alive’ long enough to commit a murder after the more recently dead Miguel Gomez killed his wife.”

  “Well, Miguel did die,” Lara reminded her. “And I imagine Randy Nicholson will die, too. Unless he’s dead already.”

  “Right,” Meg said. “The thing is, will they ever find his body? Or has the ki
ller improved his methods and made sure that we’ll never find him?”

  Lara shook her head. “I don’t know. Did you find out anything from Matt?”

  Meg grimaced. “Yeah, I found out that so far no one has found out anything.” She forced a smile. “It’s all right to go down to the water, isn’t it?”

  “Of course.”

  “But you’re not supposed to go jumping in to frolic with the dolphins, right?”

  “No, not without their trainers and permission and all that,” Lara said. “But we’re certainly welcome to sit out on the docks, and it’s beautiful this time of evening.”

  “Right when day turns into night,” Meg told her.

  They headed out and wandered down to the docks. Cocoa immediately came to the water’s edge, clicking out a welcome. Lara slipped out of her shoes and hurried out to the dock, where she could sit and stroke the dolphin when she went by.

  Meg stayed back, sitting on one of the benches where visitors sat to watch the shows. As Cocoa went back and forth, entertaining her at first and then just hanging around near her, Lara took in her surroundings. It was still light, since they were on daylight savings time, but there was a different feel to this time of day. The dead heat of the sun had slipped away, especially by the water. The air was cool at last, and that night a soft, sweet breeze was blowing. Looking out, she saw that the water was as calm and smooth as glass. The sky had gone a soft blue, with puffs of clouds that moved along like dancers in a show.

  Cocoa rose in the water, letting out a strange sound.

  And Lara felt someone settle next to her.

  She was afraid to turn and see who it was. She wanted to believe that it was Meg, but she knew it wasn’t. She lowered her head for a minute, praying for courage and inner strength. Then she looked to her side and saw him, the man who had stood in her office doorway and later appeared in her backyard.

  Miguel Gomez.

  He was there, seemingly solid, and yet she knew he wasn’t real. He spoke, saying, “Please” very softly, and with the trace of an accent.

  She couldn’t respond right away; she couldn’t help being afraid.

  “You were the one who made sure they knew the truth,” he said into the silence.

  She managed words at last. “What is the truth? I want to help—I do—but you need to help me understand.”

  Miguel looked out over the water, sadness in his eyes, as if he knew that was where his body had been. Where parts of it still remained.

  “I loved my wife, and I didn’t kill her,” he said brokenly.

  “I believe you,” she said softly. “What happened?”

  “I went into the warehouse. I was careful, because I knew someone would be there. One of the Barillo family. I didn’t see anyone, but he came up behind me. I felt...pain. Then...then I knew nothing, until I was looking at Maria’s body... I was dead, I knew I was dead, and Maria was gone, as well. People said I did it. I hear what goes on. I know someone said he saw me there, but...”

  His voice trailed off just as Lara started to speak, and then he was gone. He was there—and then he wasn’t.

  She felt a presence behind her and turned quickly, thinking that Miguel had returned.

  But it wasn’t him. In the dying sunlight she saw the dark form of Agent Brett Cody, tall and broad shouldered and just standing back, waiting. She wondered if he had seen her talking to someone who wasn’t there.

  And if he thought the kidnapping that had nearly cost her her life had in fact cost her her sanity instead.

  He walked slowly down to the platform and reached down to help her up. When she met his eyes she was surprised to see him looking at her with a strange understanding. His hand on hers felt strong, and as the gaze continued, she suddenly felt as if she knew him far better than she should.

  And that he knew her just as deeply.

  She didn’t realize that she was still holding his hand until Meg hurried over to join them. “Lara? Are you all right?”

  She really didn’t begin to understand how Brett Cody’s nearness seemed to give her strength, but somehow it did.

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  “I saw him. Miguel. I saw him here with you,” Meg said.

  She knew that they were waiting for what she had to say, hoping he had said something that could help them solve the mystery.

  She realized that Matt must have just arrived, because he was standing just behind Meg, and she saw Rick and Adrianna in the distance, walking toward them in the growing dusk.

  “Did he say anything useful?” Brett asked.

  “He said that he didn’t know from the time someone hit him from behind in the warehouse until he was in his house. He knew he was dead, and he knew that Maria was dead, too. He said he knows people think he did it.”

  “Hey!” Rick called to them.

  “Hey,” Lara echoed as he and Adrianna joined the group. “I’m going to head out with these guys. I just need to run up and get my things. Will you lock up when we leave?”

  Adrianna smiled. “Of course. You were saying good-night to Cocoa, huh? If you have some time tomorrow afternoon, you can do a training session with her and me if you want to.”

  “That would be great,” Lara said.

  Rick turned to Brett. “Have you found out anything yet about what’s going on?”

  “We’re working on it,” Brett assured him.

  “You guys aren’t worried about being out here alone, are you?” Lara asked Adrianna.

  “No, honestly, we’re not. Once you’re gone, we’ll set the alarms. You don’t think we should be worried, do you?” Adrianna asked.

  “No, no, of course not,” Lara said. “Right?” she asked, looking at the others.

  “I don’t believe that this facility or anyone here is in any danger,” Brett said. “But if you’re at all worried—”

  “Lock and load. I have a licensed Colt,” Rick said. “We’re good. I have the cops on speed dial, not to mention our alarm buttons, which are everywhere, just in case we need them. We don’t have security personnel here, but our alarm system calls the police with the push of a button, and they can be here within minutes.”

  “Okay, then,” Lara said. “I’ll be right back.”

  Meg followed her back to her office. “You really okay?” she asked.

  “Fine, honestly.”

  “You seem anxious to leave.”

  “I just talked to a ghost. That’s not a normal day at the beach for me.”

  “Okay. You look rattled. I’ll drive your car. Matt has our rental and Brett has his own car, so they can follow us.”

  “I’m good to drive, and I know where I’m going,” Lara assured her. “But I’ll be happy to take you with me.”

  Meg studied her. “I guess you are all right. Let’s go, then.”

  Lara was all right, and she proved it. She drove smoothly and competently to her house; the traffic had died down, so it only took a few minutes. Matt was right behind her, and when they’d parked and were approaching her duplex she said apologetically, “I haven’t really been here long enough to do much with the place, so...”

  “I’ve been in my house for years and I haven’t done much with it, either,” Brett said. “And don’t worry, we’re not expecting you to cook for us. We’ll order some dinner—or am I the only one who’s starving?”

  “Dinner sounds great,” Matt said.

  Brett suggested Chinese and everyone agreed, so he took requests and ordered once they were inside. After that Lara asked what people wanted to drink, and they all opted for iced tea. Apparently everyone wanted a clear head in case Miguel showed up again.

  Lara went to get the tea, and when she finished she found them all in the family room. Meg and Matt had taken the wicker sofa with its overstuffed
cushions, which left her and Brett the matching chairs facing it across the coffee table.

  Brett started the conversation as soon as she sat down, turning to her and diving in without preliminaries. “I have the feeling you were pretty unnerved today. Talking to a dead man.”

  She wasn’t sure what to say. He was the one who had pulled up the picture of Miguel Gomez and asked her if he was the man she’d seen, so obviously he wasn’t fazed by the idea of people talking to ghosts. But he was right: she was.

  “I—”

  “It’s all right,” he said flatly, looking from her to Meg and Matt. “Because I think I’m seeing a ghost of my own.” He met Lara’s eyes again. “Miguel has decided that he needs to communicate with you.” For a long moment he was silent, and then he said, “And apparently, Maria Gomez has decided that she wants to speak with me.”

  9

  Strange how life was so often all about perception, Brett thought.

  He had been living with a tension unlike anything he’d known before, as if his muscles had been twisted like burning wire and then hardened that way.

  But later that night, sitting on the back porch of Lara’s apartment, he sat back and realized that he should have been thinking like Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes.

  When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.

  He’d respected Matt Bosworth from the time he’d met him, and he’d heard the news when Matt joined the Krewe. He’d also heard the snide remarks people made and the nickname Ghost Posse, but he knew that despite the attitude behind the asides, the Krewe were called in whenever something “different” came up—and when others failed.

  And that night, because the Krewe were there and because Lara had been so open about her own experiences, it was all right that he read strange messages on his computer and that Maria’s ghost had shown up in his bedroom.