Body of Evidence Read online

  “You’ve finally found someone else, haven’t you?” Rage blazed in his dark eyes.

  An alarm she knew better than to ignore triggered. There was something about his eyes, his tone that seemed different tonight—colder, harder. “This is not about anyone else, William. This is about you.” She kept her voice steady, her tone firm. A year of counseling had helped her to overcome feelings of guilt about the breakdown of their marriage and to stand up for herself, even against the man she had once loved and with whom she had expected to spend the rest of her life. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to my patients.”

  “Is that another kick in the teeth?” he growled. “I don’t have a career anymore. No patients. No nothing.”

  She braced herself and summoned her waning courage. “You don’t have a career anymore because you drink too much. You need help, William. I can’t help you. Until you commit to changing your life, this is how it will be.” She backed away a step. “You should go back to AA and seek private counseling.”

  He grabbed her arm, his fingers clutching like a vise. A wave of panic flooded her.

  “Don’t tell me what to do,” he warned. “If you had been a better wife, maybe I wouldn’t have needed to drink. You could have helped me, but you chose to throw me—our life—away.”

  It was the same exchange every time. When he grew angry, he always blamed someone else for his mistakes. “Goodbye, William.” She yanked her arm from his grasp and turned away.

  One day he would surely come to terms with the reality that he made his own choices, and he executed those choices.

  “Issy.”

  She hesitated. Shouldn’t have. Damn it.

  “Look at me. Please.”

  How was it that she could still feel sympathy for this man? He had made her life miserable for four years before the divorce. He’d done his damnedest to do the same thing the past six months since his release from prison, but she had managed to handle it better. It was always easier to deal with issues from a distance. And though he insinuated himself into her present every chance he got, they did not share a home...they did not share a bed. He was no longer her responsibility, legally or morally.

  She took a deep breath. Turned to face him. “First,” she said, “if you ever touch me again, I will take out a restraining order, and then you’ll have yet another black mark on your record. Now, what is it you want to say?”

  He stared at her for a long moment. Even from several feet away, she could feel the sheer hatred emanating from him. The bright exterior lighting allowed her to see the desperation in his eyes. She shook her head and started to turn away but his lips parted and, once more, she hesitated.

  “I’m going to kill myself.”

  Shock slammed into her gut. She sucked in a sharp breath. “You don’t mean that.”

  He nodded. “I do.”

  “Please, William, you need help. See someone before you destroy any chance of ever rebuilding your life and career. Everyone deserves a second chance. Give yourself one before it’s too late.”

  He shook his head. “I’m going to kill myself. But first—” he stared at her so hard she could feel the cold, ruthless pressure of his fury “—I’m going to kill you.”

  He walked away.

  Marissa’s knees buckled, forcing her to grab for the sleek limestone wall to steady herself. She watched him settle behind the steering wheel of his car and drive away. As much as she wanted to believe that he was only attempting to frighten her, she knew better than to be that naive. As a physician, she was well aware that people could snap and do unspeakable things.

  William had been teetering on the precipice of total self-destruction for years now. Her first obligation as a physician was to report the threat. Since he was no longer practicing medicine, that was one less concern. She would call the office of his former practice and let their mutual friend know about the threat he’d made. If William was so angry with her, it was highly probable that he felt a similar rage for his former colleagues.

  Making her way back inside, she prepared a mental list of everyone she should call. Her brain raced with the idea that this wasn’t supposed to happen to her. She had been a good student all through school. She’d never gotten involved with drugs or alcohol. Even in college and then medical school, she was the consummate Goody Two-shoes. Focused, reliable—that was Marissa Frasier. As her marriage fell apart, she’d endeavored patiently and persistently to try to repair their relationship. But nothing worked. When she had done all within her power, she had extracted herself from the ever-increasing volatility of the situation. He’d already destroyed her ability to love him. She’d felt sympathy—as she did now—but that was no basis for a marriage.

  The waiting room was nearly clear now. Maybe things would slow down, giving her a chance to pull herself together once more. A few more deep breaths to slow her racing heart, and she was getting there. Once she was through the double doors and headed toward the nurses’ station, she relaxed.

  Eva caught her in the corridor before she reached the doctors’ lounge. “Are you okay, Dr. Frasier?”

  Marissa produced a smile. Eva was one of those people whom everyone liked. With her white-blond hair and creamy porcelain skin, many of the older patients called her an angel. But it was her green eyes that Marissa first noticed. Their eyes were a very similar emerald green. Marissa, too, had the extrapale skin, but her fiery red curls set the two of them apart. Patients were always saying that if not for the difference in hair color, they could pass for sisters.

  Marissa took her friend’s hand and pulled her into the lounge. With a quick glance around she said, “It’s William. He showed up again. Here.” She moistened her lips and wished her heart would not start that confounded pounding again. “It was different this time.”

  “Are you serious?” Eva took both Marissa’s hands in hers. “Listen to me—this situation is not getting better. He’s escalating. If you continue to interact with him—”

  Marissa shook her head. “I won’t. I can’t.” She inhaled a deep breath. “He said he’s going to kill himself, but first he’s going to kill me.”

  “That’s it.” Eva released her and reached into the pocket of her scrubs for her cell phone. “I’m calling Todd. You need protection.”

  Eva’s fiancé was an investigator at the Colby Agency. Eva had urged her repeatedly to go to the agency for help about William. Somehow Marissa had been certain she could do this herself, but now she wasn’t so sure.

  His desperation and fury had been palpable. He was not playing.

  He wanted her dead.

  The bottom dropped out of Marissa’s stomach and she wrapped her arms around her middle. How on earth had they gotten to this place? How could a man who had once loved her—and she knew in her heart that he had—now want to kill her?

  She had no answer. William was broken. He had allowed envy and whatever other hidden mental health issues that plagued him to take over. Add the alcohol on top of that, and he was a mess. A desperate mess who didn’t care anymore. He wanted the pain and misery to end, and he wanted the person he saw as responsible for that pain and misery to pay for ruining his life.

  Eva was right. She couldn’t handle this situation any longer. Now she was the one who needed help.

  Eva ended her call. She took Marissa’s hands once more and gave them a squeeze. “Victoria, the head of the agency I’ve been telling you about, will see you first thing in the morning—if that works for you.”

  Marissa nodded, her entire being numb. “I’ll go. I can’t ignore this situation any longer.”

  “You have to believe me when I say that Victoria will know what to do. Her agency helped me, and they helped Dr. Pierce. They can help you.”

  The first spring of tears burned her eyes, and Marissa cursed herself for being so weak. “Thank you.”

  “Listen,”
Eva said gently, “Todd and I don’t want you to be alone tonight, so I’m taking you home with me.”

  “No.” Marissa shook her head. “I can’t do that. The two of you are just finding your way in your relationship. I don’t want to intrude. I truly appreciate the offer, but really, I have a security system and I’d feel much better at home. I need to be able to think all this through and prepare for tomorrow’s meeting.”

  “Okay, but if you need anything, all you have to do is call.” Eva hugged her hard. Marissa closed her eyes and fought the damned tears.

  This was not the time for her to fall apart. Staying alive and safe required her to keep it together. It was well past time she focused on taking care of herself.

  Tomorrow she would take the necessary steps to purge William from her life once and for all.

  Chapter Two

  Hampden Court, Friday, June 29, 6:00 a.m.

  The sound of traffic on the street outside her East Lincoln Park graystone woke Marissa. The room-darkening Roman shades she’d ordered when she first bought the house nearly two years ago did their job very well, ensuring that the room was pitch-black. Working nights more often than not at the ER required sleeping in the daytime. Not so easy to do without the darkness.

  There were times when total darkness was a good thing.

  This was her rare long weekend, so she could sleep in this morning. Her next scheduled shift was Tuesday. She intended to treat herself the next couple of days. Some long-overdue shopping, maybe a mani-pedi. She pulled the silky sheet close around her and toyed with the idea of actually sleeping in. How long had it been since she’d stayed in bed until noon unless she’d worked until seven or eight in the morning? Besides, the shops wouldn’t open for hours.

  Then she remembered William’s cruel words—the angry promise that he was going to kill himself and her.

  She had an appointment at the Colby Agency at nine. A weary sigh whispered across her lips. She should get up, shower and figure out something to wear. Well before her divorce, her social life had died a slow, suffocating death. It had been so long since she’d needed something professional to wear that wasn’t scrubs, much less anything vaguely dressy, that she had no idea what had survived the move from the Lake Shore condo she and William had shared.

  It was now or never. With the intention of getting up, she threw back the thin, silky sheet. Her hand bumped a strange lump in the bed.

  What in the world?

  Had she left all the throw pillows on the bed? She generally piled them on the chaise lounge when she drew back the covers before bed. But she’d been tired last night. Maybe she’d just tossed them aside. Her hand moved over the mound.

  Firm.

  Not pillows.

  Her fingers traced what felt like a leg that became a hip.

  Human.

  Marissa shot up from the bed and stumbled as she groped at the lamp. Her heart pounded against her sternum. Light pooled across the king-size bed.

  She saw the hand first.

  She tilted her head and studied the familiar fingers. Long, round-tipped.

  Even before her gaze swung up to the pillow and the head resting there, she knew it was William.

  Lying on his side, facing her, he stared, unblinking eyes cloudy with death. Impossible. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to dispel the image. Yet, when she opened her eyes once more, he was still there. The room spun around her. She shook herself. Swayed precariously before she snapped from the shock of seeing her former husband lying in her bed, obviously dead.

  Marissa scrambled across the bed to him. Blood had puddled on the pillow behind his head and oozed down onto the sheet behind his shoulder. His dark hair was matted at the back of his neck. This could not be happening. She leaned closer to determine the source of the blood—a small hole at the base of his skull. The flesh around it was puckered and purplish. The life-giving fluid no longer seeped. Heart and pulse racing, her mind screaming at her to do something, she touched her fingers to his carotid artery.

  Nothing.

  Dear God, he was dead.

  His skin was cool. Gray.

  No. No. No.

  He couldn’t be dead. Not here. Not like this. Not possible.

  She pushed him onto his back and ripped open his shirt. Buttons flew across the bed and the floor.

  Pressing her cheek to his chest, she listened for a heartbeat, tried to feel his chest rise and fall.

  Nothing. No heartbeat. No rush of blood.

  Would CPR do anything?

  She stared at his ashen skin. Cold. No pulse. Somewhere on the periphery of her consciousness, she noted the darkened area along the right side of his body where he’d been lying...livor mortis. The blood had pooled at the lowest point when his heart stopped beating. His eyes remained open, his unseeing gaze now fixed on the ceiling.

  Feeling completely numb, she fought to summon some sort of emotional distance as she picked up his hand, felt the stiffness in his fingers and in the entire length of his arm.

  He had been dead for several hours.

  Trembling, she placed his hand on the sheet and scooted back to her side of the bed and off. She stood and grabbed for her cell on the table next to the bed. A quick tug pulled it loose from the power cord. She hit the three digits that would bring help.

  When the dispatcher finished her spiel, Marissa spoke with remarkable calmness. “My name is Marissa Frasier.” She provided her address. “My husband—ex-husband,” she amended, “is dead. Please send the police.”

  The brief blip of calm deserted her, and Marissa collapsed onto the floor as she answered the rest of the woman’s questions. Was she injured? No. What was her ex-husband’s name? William Bauer. Had there been a violent encounter? No. What was the nature of the victim’s injuries?

  “He’s been shot.” The words were whispered. How could this be? She’d been sleeping in the bed right next to him.

  For that matter, how had her husband been shot and ended up in her bed? Did he even have a key to this house? She had never given him one...

  More questions from the dispatcher. Was she armed? No. Was there anyone else in the house? No. Wait. Her heart slammed into a frantic rhythm once more. She didn’t think so. Marissa scrambled to her feet and moved slowly through the second floor of her home. She thought of the only weapon she owned. It was in the lockbox in the drawer of her bedside table. Should she go back for it?

  The front doorbell sounded from downstairs and the dispatcher informed her that it was the police and emergency services; she should answer the door now. Marissa descended the stairs, disbelief swaddling her like a thick fog. Every creak of the century-old staircase echoed in her brain, seeming to ask how anyone—even William—climbed these very stairs to her room without her hearing. How had he climbed in bed next to her without her rousing?

  She’d been tired, for sure. She’d slept hard. Even had a bit of a sleep hangover. Still, when they were married and working different shifts, she never failed to wake up when he came home. In college, she’d always awakened when her roommates came in—no matter how quiet they had tried to be.

  As she approached the front door with its three-quarter glass panel, she realized she should have changed or grabbed a robe. Her lounge pants and tank covered her, but the fabric was thin. She suddenly felt exposed and so very cold.

  Two uniformed officers stood on her stoop. The flashing lights of an ambulance sat at the curb. Another couple of uniforms hustled up the steps to join the group. This was real. William was dead...in her home.

  Steadying herself, Marissa twisted the dead bolt to the unlock position and opened the door.

  “Ma’am.” The first man in uniform gave her a nod. “I’m Officer Jacob Tolliver. One of my fellow officers is going to stay out here on the stoop while another has a look around outside. My partner and I are coming inside to have a
look around. Do you understand?”

  His question warned her that she apparently appeared as much in shock as she felt. She nodded. “Yes. He—he’s in the bedroom. Second door on the left upstairs.”

  “You’re certain there is no one else in the house?”

  “Just me and...my...him, and he’s dead.” She tried to remember her precise steps. “I didn’t check the third floor.”

  Officer Tolliver nodded, then he and his partner walked past her and headed for the stairs. Marissa blinked slowly as the paramedics from the ambulance came inside next. She leaned against the wall and slid down until her bottom hit the floor.

  William was dead.

  He’d said he was going to kill himself.

  The location of the bullet hole—and she was certain that was what it was—wasn’t consistent with a self-inflicted gunshot wound. She had seen her share. But, even if he had somehow managed to shoot himself in the back of the head, how did he get into her room? Into her bed?

  She had no idea how much time passed before one of the officers helped her up and escorted her to the sofa.

  “Dr. Frasier,” he said gently, “first, is there anyone we can call for you?”

  Marissa’s lips parted, the reply on the tip of her tongue, but then she closed her mouth. There was no one to call. Her brother, her only living relative, was in South America with a group of doctors who were donating the next two weeks to areas with little or no available medical care.

  William was dead...not that she had been able to call upon him for any sort of help in ages.

  Eva...the Colby Agency.

  “I should send a text to one of my colleagues and let her know what’s happened.” Dear God, she needed to call William’s family.

  “Why don’t you let us take care of that?”

  Marissa provided Eva’s number to another of the officers who appeared, and he assured her he would make the call. She wasn’t entirely certain why the officer preferred to make the call himself rather than have her do it. She supposed it had something to do with ensuring she didn’t share the details of William’s death, since there would be an investigation.