“It’s a newly created position, one that will incorporate the investigative duties our office already handles with more extensive evidence collection and processing, stuff that the police department mostly handled until now. That’s why I sent Arnie. It seems there have been some recent problems, mostly in the Milwaukee area, with evidence disappearing, or not being labeled correctly, or not getting stored properly, as well as some hints of police misconduct.”
Mention of police misconduct makes me flash on Callie’s diary entry and my current situation with Hurley. I try hard not to look as guilty as I feel.
“As a result,” Izzy continues, “several recent homicide cases had to be dismissed, which is not only a huge miscarriage of justice but more important, at least in the eyes of the government, a huge waste of money.
“So the Department of Justice and the governor got together and came up with a way to address both issues. They’ve decided to create a joint oversight arrangement between the coroners’ offices and the police departments whenever a suspicious death occurs. Instead of being called a deputy coroner, you will now be known as a medicolegal death investigator. Along with the title are some education requirements—several of which you don’t have, but they are willing to train existing personnel who can meet the requirements within a specified time frame.”
“Okay,” I say, thinking it doesn’t sound too terrible. “So how will this impact our day-to-day functions?”
“Well, for one thing it will mean a change in the way we do things. We will be collecting, processing, and storing more of our own evidence, which turns out to be a good thing for us. I managed to convince the number crunchers that it will be timelier and less expensive in the long run to add a few key analyzers to our lab and train our personnel on how to use them than it will be to continue packaging and sending so much of our evidence to the Madison crime lab.”
I shrug. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”
“No, it’s not.”
I sense there’s something more, something he’s keeping back, something I’m not going to like. “I can tell you’re holding out on me, Izzy. So, give me the rest of it. What’s the catch?”
“Well, with the new setup you will be working directly with the homicide detectives, not only in the collection of evidence, but with the subsequent investigation. All evidence must be collected, stored, and signed off on by both the detective on the case and someone from our office. Same thing with any investigative reports.”
Hmm, more time with Hurley. This doesn’t seem like a bad thing at all. But before I can breathe a sigh of relief, Izzy drops the other shoe.
“But because of the corruption problems, it also means there can be no hint whatsoever of any conflict-of-interest issues. That means absolutely no fraternizing.” He pauses and stares at me with a regretful look, waiting for me to make the connection. I do so, with a groan.
“Are you telling me that if I want to keep my job, I can’t have a relationship with Hurley outside of our working one?”
“Yes. Sorry. It was dicey enough before this, but once the new system is in place, it will be imperative that everyone remain above suspicion.”
“Damn!” I punctuate this comment by pounding my fist on the table and it startles Hoover, who sits up and looks around with a wary expression, a low growl emanating from his throat. “Sorry,” I mutter. Then I give Hoover a reassuring pat on the head. “It’s okay, boy. Settle down.”
Hoover goes back into sentry mode as Dom enters the room wearing a full apron and carrying a baking dish full of eggplant Parmesan. The heat of cooking has curled the ends of his auburn hair and put a rosy flush in his cheeks. He looks very feminine and utterly adorable.
“Hey, Mattie,” he says with a smile. He sets the baking dish atop a trivet in the center of the table and then pulls his hands away with great flourish. “Dig in. I’ll be right back with the salad and bread.”
“Let’s eat and we can talk more about this at the office tomorrow,” Izzy says.
I manage to get through both dinner and dessert without looking or acting as upset as I feel. And my emotional state isn’t just because the government has put an unwitting damper on my future love life. I’m also more concerned than ever about my current situation with Hurley. The partnership, no fraternizing thing is bad enough. But if it’s hoped that this new arrangement will somehow halt police misconduct, my clandestine activities with Hurley aren’t going to look very good if anyone finds out. My job is more at risk now than ever.
I shove my concerns to the back of my mind and focus on the meal. Fortunately our dinner discussion centers on Dom and Izzy’s Thanksgiving plans, which include an invitation to Dom’s family’s house, which is in Iowa and a four-hour drive away, and another dinner invite to the assisted-living facility where Izzy’s mother, Sylvie, lives. Unfortunately Sylvie isn’t too crazy about the fact that her son is gay and as a result, only Izzy is invited to this latter function. Dom wants to spend the day at home, ignoring both invitations, but Izzy feels obligated to spend some time with his mother. I spend most of the meal playing mediator as the two of them argue.
By the time dinner is finished, they have decided to drive down to Dom’s family the night before, spend the night and have brunch there on Thanksgiving Day, then drive back to Sorenson so Izzy can have dinner with his mother. They will rejoin at home for dessert. Hints of a similar dilemma during the upcoming Christmas holiday are raised during dessert, but I manage to escape before it turns into a major skirmish.
Hoover and I head home, both of us well-sated. I caught Dom slipping treats to Hoover several times over the course of the evening, everything from garlic bread crusts to a chunk of eggplant Parmesan. I curl up on the couch and watch TV for an hour or so—Hoover seems quite intrigued by the tiny human creatures in the big black box—before deciding it’s time for bed. Though I feel exhausted, it takes me well over an hour to fall asleep because my mind is so busy digesting the ramifications of my current situation and the upcoming job changes.
My stomach is pretty busy too, digesting the remnants of Dom’s meal. The rumbles and gurgles emanating from my GI tract make Hoover go on growl alert several times, though he calms with my shushing. But just as I finally fall asleep, he starts barking and no amount of reassurance, chastising or shushing will stop him. In fact, the harder I try to make him be quiet, the louder and more incessant his barks become. When he starts running back and forth between the bedroom and the front door, I start to wonder if all the crap he ate over at Dom and Izzy’s place has upset his bowels.
“Aw, come on, Hoover,” I moan. “Can’t you hold it until morning?”
Resigned to getting up, I throw back the covers and shuffle my way to the door. When I open it, he dashes out, still barking, and stops a few feet away, facing into the woods that lie between my old house and Izzy’s. It’s then I notice the fur along his back has raised itself into a ridge, making me wonder if there is some critter in the woods that has him riled up.
I walk out onto the porch and peer into the trees, expecting to see a dark void. Instead the woods are aglow and I realize there is a strong smell of smoke in the air. Barefoot, wearing only my flannel pajamas, I step off the porch and make my way closer to the woods. Hoover charges ahead of me, still barking like crazy. It only takes me a few steps to realize what the source of both the glow and the smell are.
My old house, the one David still lives in, is on fire.
Chapter 22
I run back into the cottage with Hoover barking excitedly at my heels, grab my cell phone, and dial 911. While waiting for the 911 operator to answer, I dash over to Izzy and Dom’s house and pound on their back door.