Free Sinister Sudoku by Kaye Morgan Page B

If it’s all the same, I could—”
    Mrs. Halvorsen drew herself up to her full height, which brought her up to about Liza’s shoulder. “I suppose I should appreciate your offer, but this is something I have to do.” The insistent tone in her voice brooked no argument, so Liza didn’t offer one.
    “Come this way,” Doc Conyers said. The doctor was wearing his usual baggy suit with a pipe sticking out of the breast pocket like some sort of sooty periscope. He offered Mrs. H. his arm as he led the way into a chilly tiled room that smelled of antiseptic. Directly ahead of them stood one of those floor-to-ceiling curtains you usually see in hospital rooms, except this one seemed heavier, as if it were backed with rubber . . .
    Ewwww, I don’t think I’m going to like this, she thought.
    “They don’t go for much in the way of amenities,” Doc Conyers apologized. He pulled the curtain over to reveal what looked like an operating room.
    No, Liza realized, this wasn’t what she saw on the doctor shows. This was more like crime-scene TV. It was an autopsy room. A row of four small doors lined the far wall. They were all closed, but a hospital gurney stood in front of the last one. A sheet obscured the fact that someone lay on the stretcher.
    Doc Conyers led Mrs. H. toward the gurney with slow steps. “I think you should get on her other side,” he told Liza. Without thinking, Liza took the older woman’s arm. The doctor stepped round, took hold of the top of the sheet, and gently brought it down so that only the face was exposed.
    At least they had closed those horrible, staring eyes.
    Mrs. Halvorsen began crying again. “That’s my brother,” she said.
    “Yes, it’s Chris Dalen.” Liza was surprised to find her own voice choking up. Liza suspected this was not a part of the job Doc Conyers enjoyed. He led them away from the body with a flow of medical jargon that would have sounded like nervous babbling from a young intern.
    “We’ll need to do a complete postmortem. But on initial examination, it appears Mr. Dalen was attacked and subsequently strangled. That might be the cause of death, but it’s possible that the stress brought on a fatal myocardial infarction.”
    “So it could have been another heart attack?” Mrs. H. asked faintly. “He wasn’t—”
    “I’m afraid it’s murder, dear,” Doc Conyers sounded grimly serious now. “Whatever killed your brother, someone else made it happen.”
    Doc Conyers had a couple of forms for Mrs. H. to sign, and then they were out of there. Liza might have considered it the bum’s rush, except she was glad to leave the creepy environs of the morgue.
    They drove most of the way back to Hackleberry Avenue in silence, until Mrs. Halvorsen finally said, “Chris was charming, even amusing. But he was a criminal. He told me that years ago, when he first wound up in prison, he had to fight and nearly got killed. I shouldn’t take it as such a big surprise.”
    “He was an honest crook, Mrs. H.” Liza found herself repeating her dinner conversation with Kevin. “Everyone in my class had good reason to be in Seacoast Correctional. But Chris was the only one to face up to that and admit it. And he was your brother.”
    Did that change things? Liza didn’t want to think about it. Knowing Ava and Michelle, both of them would keep pushing her to look into the case. They’d both provide what information they could.
    Guess it wouldn’t kill me to use that, Liza thought as they arrived back at Mrs. H’s house.
    “I don’t suppose you’d like to come in for a cup of tea, would you?” Mrs. Halvorsen asked.
    Liza suspected her neighbor was more in need of company than refreshment. “Be glad to,” she said.
    They lurched over the plow-created snowbank at the end of the driveway, got out of the car, and walked along the shoveled path to the front door. “I was wondering,” Liza said. “You said earlier that you’d gotten letters from your brother. Did you