In the Unlikely Event

A few minor aches and pains aside, Dr. Miller had now fully recovered. Like most people following a very serious life-threatening injury, he had reassessed priorities and made some adjustments. At sixty-two years of age, he found himself with several grandchildren, a reacquired interest in the game of golf, and a wife who wanted to travel. He and Elliot enjoyed an excellent working relationship. Although the practice had grown a little in the last six months, it remained very unlikely that it would ever merit two full-time pathologists. Fortunately, that was just fine with both of them. A little less money each … a little more time off each. Elliot essentially became a part-time sporting goods clerk.

Every time Rachel turned around, Elliot was out back “testing” a new lure in the creek or off to the Smith house to “check out” a new cartridge. Still, they continued to spend countless hours together. The confusion and disillusionment inherent in doing things inappropriately or out of order had been avoided. Rachel resisted taking money from Elliot, even though it was freely offered. Elliot resisted pressing Rachel physically, even though she would likely have given in. They both sensed something very special—something you just didn’t take chances with or take for granted. By the same token, watching Rachel move around the store, there were times Elliot became cross-eyed with desire.

With respect to the daily happenings at the hospital, Elliot allowed Rachel the usual access of a physician’s spouse, walking the delicate line between sharing his life and preserving patient privacy. Like everyone else in the community, Rachel was well aware of the Haskell case. She knew that Elliot had performed the autopsy and what he had found. She was also aware that he had spoken with the authorities several times and of the general gist of those conversations.

“Hello, Anderson’s Camp Supply. May I help you?”

“Yes ma’am. This is Captain Schmidt with the State Police. I was told I would probably be able to reach Dr. Morgan at this number.”

“Yes sir … I think he’s out back on the dock. Can you hold just a minute?”

“Yes ma’am. Thank you.”

Rachel stepped out on the deck and blindly shouted, “Elliot … phone,” assuming he would be within earshot. Sure enough, he immediately appeared from behind a tree a ways down the bank trying to unhook a small catfish without getting “finned.” “I know you like to check out new merchandise so you can knowledgeably assist the customers, but … we already know the worms work.”

“You can’t ever be too sure, Rachel. We might get a lazy batch or something. I’m not on call. Who is it?”

“Captain Schmidt.”

It took Elliot several minutes to disengage from his playmate, wash up, and get to the phone. After openly listening in on Elliot’s side of the very brief ensuing phone conversation, Rachel was standing there expectantly when he hung up.

“Anything new?”

“No. Two or three weeks ago when I spoke to Schmidt, I asked him if he knew of anyone associated with Leslie Haskell traveling in the Northeast. He finally had time to check that out but nothing turned up.”

“Trying to find out where Leslie’s HPV came from?”

“That would actually be good to know regardless of whether or not it has anything to do with the assault.”

“Is there any law that says I can’t help?”

Elliot never missed a beat. “Yes, ma’am, there is. It’s called Morgan’s law … it specifically states that Rachel Anderson is not allowed to participate in murder investigations.”

“Did you know I played basketball in high school?”

“Let me guess … point guard.”

“How did you know that?”

“Just a hunch. Did you get much playing time?”

“Started every game my senior year.”

“And ended up on the bench in foul trouble by halftime?”

“Elliot …”

“Another lucky guess?”

Rachel neither confirmed nor denied Elliot’s speculation.

“Dad loved to watch me play. He couldn’t wait to check the paper the next morning to see if I was mentioned or had my picture taken.”

“Rachel, I really don’t know of anything you could do.”

“You help me run Anderson’s … well, sort of. There has to be some way I can be a part of what you do.”

“Keep in mind that I’m not a forensic pathologist. I’m a garden-variety general pathologist working in a community hospital, and this Haskell business is a fluke.”

“I realize that, Elliot. But I don’t see how I can help you look at Pap smears or troubleshoot problems in the lab. I do think I could do a little background research on Leslie Haskell.”

Elliot wasn’t sure where this was all leading. It seemed prudent to start maneuvering for an acceptable compromise.

“Okay … what have you got in mind?”

“We used to get four different newspapers here at the store because we had regular customers from all of the surrounding counties. Dad thought it was good business to be able to discuss local issues with whoever came in. He put clippings up all around showing stringers of fish, trophy deer, turkeys … whatever from wherever.”

“Your dad was a good businessman.”

“He was … and I miss him and Mom. Anyway, I went ahead and renewed my subscriptions to those papers. In return, they all gave me online access to their archives.”

“That’s nice, but I still don’t know where this is going.”

“I thought I would do a little online research and see if I could find anything.”

“I’m listening.”

“Leslie was featured in the sports pages of all those papers at one time or another during the three years or so that she ran. Some of the articles included personal interviews. I also think it would be interesting to know where and with which teams she competed prior to the assault.”

“I’m sure someone has looked at all of that.”

“Maybe. I don’t see how looking at it again would hurt anything. There was also a ton of stuff posted when it happened … official and unofficial. I can put all that information together and see if something falls out.”

“Do you have any idea what you’re looking for?”

“Not really. But there has to be a missing link. How likely is it that some tub-of-lard truck driver jumped out of a stealth semi that no one saw and ran down a state-class high school athlete prior to forcibly administering a mix of drugs and then raping her? And why the landscape timber with noise and a big mess if she was incapacitated by drugs? Why not quietly strangle her? If I find anything at all, I’ll have more than you guys.”

Elliot smiled and paused for a few seconds to assess damage. Rachel had become mildly irritated, and he had no intention of testing the waters beyond that. To say the least, her observations were valid and her plan of action reasonable.

“Rachel, what am I going to do with you?”

“Let me help.”

“Okay. But don’t go one step beyond what you’ve suggested.”

“I won’t.”

“Stay anonymous.”

“I will.”

“Don’t be talking to anybody about this … not even Ellen.”

“I won’t.”

“Let me clarify … ‘stay anonymous’ means no phone calls or e-mails.”

“Elliot, I understand.”

“I’m not sure what we’re dealing with here, and neither is Schmidt. I do know there is somebody out there willing to beat a sixteen-year-old girl to death with a piece of wood. And although it would probably compromise his standards, he might be willing to do the same for a thirty … how old are you now?”

Elliot lunged for the back door just ahead of a molded plastic cricket tube launched his direction with surprising speed and accuracy.