She Never Came Home

Chapter 15

The Crowley family had learned to check the Caller ID on the phone and ignore calls since it had been ringing with annoying regularity, and most of the calls were from reporters or TV stations. When Detective DeWitt's number appeared on the display, though, Chuck picked up the receiver.

"Hello?"

"This is Dwayne DeWitt, I'm the detec – "

"I know who the hell you are," Chuck replied. "I'm Chuck, Coreen's brother. And I want to know why in the hell the media is bombarding our phone when my sister hasn't even officially been laid to rest?!"

"I apologize for that, unfortunately it's not uncommon in these cases."

"What do you mean, 'these cases'?!"

Detective DeWitt heard Chuck's voice rise in obvious anger, so he did his best to maintain a calm and reasonable tone. "Crime scenes. Unfortunately, there are a lot of media people who monitor police radio calls. Freelance photographers, newspaper stringers, reporters... They're all in search of a big news exclusive, so they show up at crime scenes when they hear a particular call sign."

Chuck's voice was now less explosive and more accusatory as he asked, "But that doesn't explain how they got our phone number. Are you sure there isn't someone on your team selling information?"

"I'm thinking that someone with a long-distance camera lens managed to take a picture of your sister's license plate before officers cleared them from the area. And then they looked up the information online..."

"Jesus Christ," Chuck grunted in disgust. "My God," he added but didn't finish his thought.

"I apologize again for the intrusive phone calls your family is receiving, but the reason I called is that Coreen has been moved to the morgue and we need two people to come down and officially identify her before the autopsy can be performed." DeWitt cringed inwardly as he spoke; there was no "nice" way to ask family members to drive down to the very sterile environment of the county morgue in order to identify a loved one.

"Yeah, what's the address?" Chuck asked. He jotted down the information on the memo pad that his mom kept on the kitchen counter near the telephone. "What are the hours? I mean, how late are they open?"

Detective DeWitt wasn't surprised by the sudden turn in Chuck's attitude – from angry to accusing to almost meek like a shopper asking what time the mall closed. He was all too familiar with family reactions.

"They're open 24 hours," he replied. "And please keep in mind that you can have the Family Liaison Officer accompany you if it would make you more...comfortable."

"OK, thanks," Chuck said rather abruptly and hung up the phone. He turned to see a family room full of expectant faces looking at him.

"That was the detective," he said. "Reeny has been moved to...um, they need two people to..." Just as abruptly as he'd switched to a business-like mode while jotting down the address from the detective, he suddenly collapsed into sobs and had trouble speaking through his tears.

"I'll go, son," Stephen said softly as he embraced Chuck.

"I will, too," Richard and Chris said almost in unison.

Stephen paused and sighed and then went to the front closet to get his coat. "Chris, you were her fiancé, you should probably be there. If you're up to it."

"Fiancé?" Carla asked after the two men left.

"It was supposed to be a surprise on New Year's Eve," Joyce replied, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. "Chris was already starting to get sick with that flu but he still drove down here and showed us the ring and asked your father and me for our blessing."

"Oh, how sweet," Carla said. "That's so much what Reeny would have wanted...!"

🙘 🙘 🙘

When Stephen and Christopher arrived at the address they'd been given, they were met in the lobby area by a young woman who'd introduced herself as Liz Someone-or-another (neither one of them were up to paying attention to formalities at the moment; they were both bracing themselves for the awful task that awaited them).

"Please follow me," she told the pair. She led them to a smallish room that was furnished with several chairs and a table. "Have a seat," she said with a gesture, and then added, "first of all, I want you to know how very sorry I am for your loss. I understand that your emotions are running every which way, which is only natural in such a difficult time."

Stephen and Chris tried to focus their attention on what she was saying; quite frankly both of them had been bracing themselves to be led into a sterile room where a body would be pulled out in a drawer, like they'd seen on so many TV shows...

"As I mentioned before," Liz continued, knowing that the two men had probably not listened to her original introduction, "I am a professional grief counselor. I will be with you both throughout this entire process. We will proceed at your preferred pace...if you want to stop at any time, just tell me."

"What do you mean, 'stop'?" Stephen asked, a little bit aggravated and directing his anger at Liz. "As in 'pull the sheet down slower'?!"

"The identification process will take place in this room," Liz replied calmly. "There are some photographs on this clipboard – "

Chris noticed for the first time that there was, in fact, a clipboard on the table. He looked up at Liz and waited for her to explain.

"They are face down. I just want to caution you before you turn the first one face up, that her head will be surrounded by a blue sheet, similar to one used in a doctor's office. But the contrasting color sometimes has an effect...that makes it look very clinical... not like the way you were used to seeing her." She paused for a moment and then added, "There might also be marks from injuries not previously sustained..." She was very careful in her wording so as not to lead the family members to believe any of the bruising or cuts were caused by some attacker. "You're not on a clock, take all the time you need before turning over the photos," she told them.

Chris reached over and flipped the first photo without consulting Stephen. The two men gasped and then tried to control their sobs. "That's Reeny," Chris said, reaching out and gently stroking the photograph.

"What is that mark on her cheek?" Stephen asked after he'd composed himself. "That, that weird bruise..."

"That's what the investigators on the case will find out," Liz replied gently. She left the two of them alone for a while before she returned with some official forms for them to sign, one of which officially identified the body, the other which consented to an autopsy.