Page 5 of Ghost of You (Haunted Souls #24)

The atmosphere in the SUV was tense as Fitzgibbon drove to the Essex County Morgue.

Cope had devoured the Adams case file while they’d been in the office.

There were times when Jude had come home from work looking absolutely exhausted, when all he’d done all day was go over files.

Reading crime scene notes, interviews, witness statements, and viewing crime scene photos.

Cope understood exactly why Jude was a zombie at home.

His brain had reached critical mass, he’d taken all he could take, and his brain had shut down.

Cope had felt that way in relation to certain readings he’d facilitated.

Dark spirits came through more often than anyone knew.

When psychics made it to the big time and had their own shows, the spirits who wished they’d killed an entire classroom of kids aren’t the ones highlighted in an episode.

He’d spoken with husbands who’d wanted to control their henpecked wives from beyond the grave, along with other husbands who were busting a gasket over the man or men their widow had chosen to move on with.

On those days, Cope would call himself brain dead. This day was a close second.

He'd read through all of the witness statements proclaiming that Frankie was the nicest woman on the planet and that they couldn’t imagine her ever walking out on Ollie or the life they’d built together. Each interview was sunnier than the last, until the embezzlement had been discovered.

Cope had a vague memory of hearing money had been stolen.

At the time of the crime, Wolf was a toddler and once he’d learned how to walk, there was no stopping him.

Cope spent most of his time at home chasing after the baby.

There was little to no time left over to watch the news or read articles online.

Every second he was away from his son physically hurt him.

Diving into the details of how the money was stolen was eye-opening to say the least. Francesca had opened an account under her name and had begun transferring money into it over time.

Only a little bit at first, fifty or sixty dollars, but as time went on, the transfers got bigger and bolder.

The final transfer, made on the day after Frankie disappeared, was for a quarter of a million dollars.

With her flying the coop, there was no need to worry about transfers flagging in the bank or city accounts.

What was done was done. The cash had been transferred to a bank in the Cayman Islands, which was where the trail went cold.

Cope had worked with Frankie on a committee for the food pantry.

After he’d moved to Salem permanently, he needed a place to donate his stock dividends.

He never wanted to own stock in his father’s natural gas company, but as per his usual, Buford didn’t care what Cope wanted, so he donated it to charity, which was a perfect solution.

He’d always dropped his checks off with Frankie, who’d written the amount in a ledger and then wrote out a tax receipt.

Not once had Cope ever seen her eyes go wide at the amount of the checks, nor did she ever look bitter or jealous.

Francesca Adams would be the last person on earth Cope would think capable of stealing anything.

Part of the file included five years of Frankie and Ollie’s bank statements prior to her disappearance.

So far as Cope could tell, there wasn’t a penny out of place.

The only large sums of money that ever hit the account were birthday checks from Frankie’s father in the amount of twenty-five hundred dollars and their annual tax return which was around three thousand dollars.

There was no sign of the missing money anywhere in their finances.

The last thing Cope had done was to read the witness statements made after the money was discovered to be missing.

Ambrose Watson, another member of the Salem City Council had been the one to discover the theft.

His statement about Frankie pulled no punches.

He accused her of being two-faced, selfish, only out for herself, with a ‘fuck you’ attitude toward anyone who disagreed with her.

The statements of Frankie’s character only got worse from there.

Friends stated they knew something was off about her.

Others stated things had mysteriously gone missing from their houses after Francesca came to visit.

Even more wanted her to get the death penalty for what she’d done to Ollie and the City of Salem.

The only person, aside from Frankie’s parents, who’d been solidly on Frankie’s side was Oliver, and he was still the prime suspect in her disappearance.

Former friends and neighbors were convinced that Frankie and Ollie were in the scheme together.

They were all prepared for the day when Ollie flew the coop to be with his wife and the stolen money. That day had never come.

“We’re almost there, Cope,” Jude said, breaking him out of his thoughts. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay, just tired and heartsick.” Cope felt like he could sleep for a week.

“Every time I took Ten to a place like this he’d toss his cookies and then want fifteen tacos on the way home.

He said he could feel the evil soaked into the walls of the jails we’ve visited.

Morgues were only slightly better, the difference being that a lot of the spirits milling around wouldn’t accept that they were dead.

Over time, those spirits could get pretty pissy. ” Ronan grimaced at the thought.

“I’ve never had any kind of reaction like that, but I’ll let you know if being in there is too much for me.”

“The good news,” Fitzgibbon began, “if this can be called good news, is that the remains are skeletal. There’s nothing left but bones. Some of the autopsies we’ve all seen over the years would make your hair curl.”

Cope nodded. He didn’t want to know what Fitz and the others had seen. Even though Frankie was just bones, he’d known, liked, and respected this woman. All he could do was help to make sure her remains and her spirit were at rest.

Fitzgibbon pulled into the lot and parked the SUV. “Here we go. Cope if you need to leave the room, just go, there’s no need to be a hero. Got it?”

“Got it, Cap.” Cope was all business now. He’d seen Jude and Ronan morph into cop mode dozens of times, but this was the first time he’d experienced that from this side of the equation. “I’m here to do a job. My eye will be on the prize. One question though?”

“Shoot,” Fitz said with a good natured grin.

“What do I do if spirits start talking to me? Do I just answer them in front of the medical examiner or do I pull the spirit out into the hall?”

“That would be best. The ME has to testify to anything he did, saw, or said during the autopsy. The last thing we need is for him to start telling tales of the probationary officer from the Salem Police Department who spoke to people who clearly were not there.”

“Ten came up with a solution to that problem,” Ronan said. “He would pull out his phone and make like he was talking to someone on the other end of the line. Worked like a charm. Give it a try.”

“That’s really clever. Thanks, Ronan.”

“No problem, rookie.” He waggled his eyebrows and hopped out of the SUV.

It was go time. Cope hadn’t felt nervous or scared until this moment.

Hearing that something he did or said could influence the criminal case, should one be brought, was humbling.

He wasn’t only doing this for the Salem Police station, but for Frankie herself.

Cope didn’t want to let either of them down.

The building which housed the morgue was several stories tall.

Not only did the county medical examiner have an office in the building, but so did several other state agencies.

Fitzgibbon held the door open for everyone to enter.

Cope followed Jude down the corridor to a bank of elevators.

When they were inside, Jude pressed the B button.

Of course the morgue was in the basement.

It was a bright, sunny day outside, but none of that feel-good sunshine reached inside the basement level. It was like Cope was trapped in a black hole. Jude stopped at one of the autopsy rooms and knocked on the door.

“Come in!” a voice hollered from inside.

When Jude pushed through the door, AC/DC blasted into the hall.

Cope couldn’t decide if it was badass or just plain creepy that the ME was listening to “Highway to Hell.”

“Hey, Cam, good to see you.” Jude bumped elbows with the doctor, who wore scrubs, an apron, a surgical cap, and a mask.

He also wore glasses that made his eyes look as big as baseballs.

Cope assumed they were for magnification.

“Cope this is Doctor Cameron Dobbs. Doc, this is my husband, Cope. He’s on a ride along with us today. ”

“Nice to meet you.” Cope didn’t offer his elbow for a bump. He was scared of what he might see if he touched the doctor who’d performed countless autopsies.

“Jude talks about you all the time. It’s nice to put a name with the face.” Doctor Dobbs smiled, making him look all the more cartoonish.

Cope wished he felt the same. With the surgical mask and the magnifiers the doctor wore, all Cope could see were his blue eyes. He wouldn’t be able to pick the man out of a lineup.

“You’re here to talk about Francesca Adams?” Dobbs asked.

“We are,” Fitzgibbon agreed. “Chief Jackson assigned the case to us.”

The doctor whistled. “That’s a pretty big feather in your cap.”

“Only if we solve this crime. What can you tell us about the remains?” Fitz asked, taking out his notebook.