Thinking on the cyclical nature of Bennett Scott's life and death reminded Nest of her mother. Caitlin Anne Freemark had also died at the bottom of the cliffs in Sinnissippi Park, shortly after Nest was born. For years, there had been questions about how she had died—whether she had slipped and fallen, wandered off by mistake, or committed suicide. It wasn't until Nest had confronted her demon father that she had discovered the truth. He had instigated the events and emotional trauma that had led to her mother's death. Call it suicide or call it a calculated orchestration, the cause and effect were the same.
Now she wondered if demons were responsible for Bennett's death as well. Had Findo Gask and that girl Penny and whoever else might be aiding them set in motion the events that culminated in Bennett's death? Nest could not escape feeling that they had. As with her mother, as with the children in the park she and Pick had saved so often in that summer fifteen years ago, Bennett Scott had been prey to demon wiles. She could still see Bennett as a five-year-old, standing at the edge of the cliffs atop the bluff at the turnaround, feeders gathered all around her, cajoling her, urging her on, taking advantage of the fear, doubt, and sadness that suffused her life. It wouldn't have been all that different this time. Bennett Scott's life hadn't changed all that much.
It was Larry Spence who called with the news. A young woman had been found at the bottom of the cliffs below the turnaround in Sinnissippi Park, he advised. She fit the description of Bennett Scott, reported missing earlier this morning. Could Nest please come down and identify the body? Nest found herself wondering, irrationally, if anyone else worked at the sheriff's office besides Larry Spence.
She parked the car in the visitor zone of the hospital, went into the lobby, crossed to the elevators, and, following the signs, descended to the morgue.
Larry Spence was waiting when the elevator doors opened and she stepped out. "Sorry about this, girl."
She wasn't sure exactly what he was sorry about, but she nodded anyway. "Let me see her."
Spence walked her through a pair of heavy doors and down a short corridor with more doors on either side. They turned into the second one on the left. Bright light flooded a small chamber with a surgical table supporting a body draped with a sheet. Jack Armbruster, the coroner, stood sipping coffee and watching television. He turned at their entry and greeted Nest with a nod and a hello.
She walked to the table and stood quietly while he lifted the sheet from Bennett Scott's face. She looked almost childlike. Her features were bruised and scraped and her skin was very white. The metal rings and studs from her various piercings gave her the appearance of being cobbled together in some fashion. Her eyes were closed; she might have been sleeping. Nest stared at her silently for a long time, then nodded. Armbruster lowered the sheet again, and Bennett was gone.
"I want her taken over to Showalter's," Nest announced quickly, tears springing to her eyes in spite of her resolve. "I'll call Marty. I want him to handle the burial. I'll pay for everything."
She could barely see. The tears were clouding her vision, giving her the sense that everything around her was floating away. There was an uncomfortable silence when she finished, and she wiped angrily at her eyes.
"You'll have to wait until Jack completes his work here, Nest," Larry Spence advised, his voice taking on an official tone. She glared at him. "There are unexplained circumstances surrounding her death. There has to be an autopsy performed."
She glanced at Armbruster. "To find out how she died?"
The coroner shook his head. "I know how she died. Prolonged exposure. But there's other concerns."
"What he means is that preliminary blood samples revealed the presence of narcotics in her system," Spence interjected quickly. "A lot of narcotics. In addition, she has needle tracks all up and down her arms and legs. You know what that means."
"She was an addict," Nest agreed, casting a withering look in his general direction without making eye contact. "I knew that when she came to see me. She told me she was an addict then. She came back to Hopewell with her daughter to get help."
"That may be so," Spence replied, shifting his weight, hands digging in the pockets of his deputy sheriff's coat. "The fact remains she died under suspicious circumstances, and we need to learn as much about her condition at the time of death as possible. You see that, don't you?"
She did, of course. Rumors of drug sales in the park, an addict living in her house, and mysterious strangers visiting. Larry Spence had already formed his opinion about what had happened, and now he was looking for proof. It was ridiculous, but there wasn't any help for it. He would act on this as he chose, and anything she might say would do nothing to change things.
"Who found her?" she asked suddenly.
Larry Spence shook his head. "Anonymous phone call."
Oh, right, Nest thought.
"There's some damage to her body, but nothing that isn't consistent with her fall," Armbruster observed, already beginning preparations for his work, laying out steel instruments and pans, spreading cloths. "But I don't think that's what killed her. I think it was the cold. Course, I might find the drugs affected her heart, too. I can't tell, until I open her up."
Nest started for the doors. "Just see that she goes over to Showalter's when you're done poking around, okay?"
She was out the door and down the hall in a rush, so angry she could barely manage to keep from breaking down. She was aware of Larry Spence following, hurrying to catch up.
"There's a possibility," he called after her, "that the young lady didn't go over the cliffs by accident. In cases like this, we can't ignore the obvious."
Don't get too close to me, Larry, she was thinking. Don't even think of trying to touch me.
She walked back through the heavy doors into the little waiting area and punched the elevator button. The doors opened, and they stepped inside. It was uncomfortably close.
"I told you about the rumors," he persisted. His big hands knotted. "Maybe they weren't just rumors; maybe they were fact. It's possible that this young lady was mixed up in whatever was going on."
You are such a dolt, Larry, she wanted to say, but kept it to herself. He had no idea of what was going on. He couldn't begin to understand what was involved. He had no clue he was being used. He saw things in ordinary terms, in familiar ways, and that sort of thinking didn't apply here. His reality and hers were entirely different. She might try to educate him, but she didn't think he would listen to her. Not about demons and feeders. Not about magic. Not about the war between the Word and the Void, and the way that war used up people's lives.
"I'll have to come out to take a statement from you," he continued. "And from Mr. Ross."
Her anger dissipated, replaced by a cold, damp sadness that filled her with pain and loss. She looked at him dully as they stepped off the elevator and into the hospital lobby.
"Look, Larry, everything I know is in the missing-persons report I made earlier today. If you want me to repeat it, I will. John will give you a statement, too. You come by the house, if that's what you need to do. But I'm telling you right now this isn't about drugs. You can take that for what it's worth."
He stared at her. "What is it about, then?"
She sighed. "It's about children, Larry. It's about keeping them safe from things that want to destroy them." She zipped up her parka. "I have to be going. I have to figure out how to tell a little girl she isn't going to see her mother again."