Cameryn
She had already put on her pajamas when she heard another ding from her computer.
Thank you for your timely response. Because I am presenting to my colleagues, I would like a more complete answer to that last question. In other words, what did the body feel like? When you put your hands inside the cadaver, what was the sensation? Did your hands press against his ribs? At what point were you aware that his heart had been cooked? I understand the eyes actually blew out from their orbs. Is that correct? And for reference, can you tell me what your connection to your teacher was? How did your emotions affect your ability to perform an autopsy?
Jo Ann
Cameryn sat, staring at the blinking curser. She was beginning to feel uncomfortable with the e-mail’s tone. Part of her wanted to answer and part of her felt repelled by its strange nature. She chewed her lip. A moment later, she wrote: I know this is for a presentation, but it is personally very difficult for me to deal with these issues. Would it be all right for me to pass on the last questions?
Jo Ann’s message chimed in only minutes later. It read: No! I am counting on your complete honesty. Please respond to my specific questions.
Cameryn squinted at the screen. The last e-mail made no sense. Why would her personal reflection be needed for a presentation? And yet, she knew it wouldn’t be wise to offend the dean of forensics. She was about to type her answer, but she hesitated. Something was wrong-she could feel it. Instead of responding, she pulled out her BlackBerry and speed-dialed Dr. Moore.
“Hello,” a grumpy voice began.
“Hi, Dr. Moore, it’s me, Cameryn.”
“Cameryn Mahoney. I hear through the grapevine that you solved our case. But it’s almost nine o’clock. The wife and I have an early bedtime and I prefer to do business during office hours.”
“I realize that. But I’m online, and I-I’ve been receiving e-mails from Jo Ann Whittaker.”
“Lucky you,” he said. There was a pause. “So what’s the problem?”
In quick succession she recited the content of the e-mails she’d received. The phone line went silent, and for a moment she thought the connection had been lost. Finally Dr. Moore said, “Don’t answer that last query. Wait. Let me get Jo Ann on my other line to see what she has to say. Hold on, Miss Mahoney.”
“But-” she began.
“Just wait… I’ll be right back.”
Outside, wind raked the pines. The sound reminded Cameryn of water, of waves. She could hear Dr. Moore’s deep rumble as he spoke on his other line. She couldn’t make out his words, but the voice rose and fell and she almost got lost in the cadence of his rhythm. Suddenly she stiffened as she heard the word “fraud.” A moment later, Dr. Moore was back on the line.
“Miss Mahoney, are you there?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know what game this person’s playing…” He took a breath and said, “But Cameryn, I’ve been speaking with Jo Ann. She’s never heard of you.”
"What?”
“Listen to what I am saying!” His voice ratcheted up. “Whoever’s been e-mailing you is not Jo Ann! ”
It took a moment for the words to sink in. Cameryn sat, stunned. The cursor on her e-mail still blinked. For a moment she couldn’t react.
"Cameryn!” Dr. Moore barked. “Are you there?”
The way he said her name made her jump. “Yes!”
“Turn off your e-mail. Shut down your computer. Do not respond to this crank.”
“But my scholarship…”
Dr. Moore became impatient. “There is no scholarship. You’ve got some loony-tunes e-mailing you. I want you to hang up now and call the sheriff! ”
In shock, still sitting at her desk, she heard another ping. On the subject line she read, ICU.
Her finger hesitated, but she opened it. She read: Why aren’t you answering? You should be answering. Because I see you.
She was suddenly aware that her light was on in her room, of how it lit her up like a television screen. Through the gauzy sheer of her curtains she saw moonlight bright enough to frost the driveway, creating shadows. Their yard looked empty.
Seconds passed before she heard another e-mail chime.
I see you. Come out and play. Move your curtain and look out. By the trees. I’m waiting.
With a shaking hand, Cameryn turned off her light and pushed back the curtain. She peered outside, her pulse quickening as she searched the ground beneath her window. The moon was bright, casting shadows, throwing the trees into sharp relief. Wind had smoothed a shimmering crust of snow, softening the mounds until they looked like a turtle’s back.
A shadow moved and she realized someone was out there. A figure stood half-hidden behind the arms of an evergreen.
Ping. She looked back at her screen. ICUICUICU.
Her eyes flew to the window. Beneath her, the shape of a male, tall, well muscled, with hair pale in the moonlight, had stepped from the shadow. Staring down, she saw the one face she never wanted to see again.
In the drifting snow stood Kyle O’Neil.
Acknowledgments
I’d like to thank the many people who helped me explore the forensic field. You have unselfishly shared your knowledge and passion-the glimpse into your world rocked mine! I’m especially grateful to: Thomas M. Canfield, MD, Fellow at the American Academy of Forensic Sciences, Chief Medical Examiner, Office of Medical Investigations; Kristina Maxfield, Coroner; Robert C. Bux, MD, Coroner, Medical Examiner, Forensic Pathologist; David L. Bowerman, Coroner, Forensic Pathologist, Dawn Miller, Deputy Coroner; Werner Jenkins, Chief Forensic Toxicologist; Chris Clarke, Forensic Toxicologist; Sandy Way, Administrator, El Paso County Coroner’s Office; Sheriff Sue Kurtz, San Juan County Sheriff’s Office; Melody Skinner, Administrative Assistant, San Juan County Sheriff’s Office; Thomas Carr, Archaeologist, Colorado Historical Society; Richard Nanney, Douglas County Coroner Investigator; Sandy Graeff, Elbert County Coroner; Robert Brown, Agent-in-Charge, Colorado Bureau of Investigations; Jackie Kerwin, Silverton Librarian; Deb Cummins; Corporal Jacob Dunlop, Durango Police Department; and a special thanks to Robert Scott Mackey, D-ABMDI Deputy Coroner-an inspiriting professional and my conduit into a macabre world.
Alane Ferguson is the author of the Edgar Award Nominee The Christopher Killer and The Angel of Death-the first two books about Cameryn Mahoney-as well as numerous novels and mysteries, including the Edgar Award- winning Show Me the Evidence. She does intensive research for her books, attending autopsies and interviewing forensic pathologists as she delves into the fascinating world of medical examiners.
Ms. Ferguson lives with her husband, Ron, near the foothills of the Colorado Rockies. For more information about Ms. Ferguson and her books, please visit www.alaneferguson.com.
Alane Ferguson
