Nightmares of Caitlin Lockyer

Part 88

88

Caitlin was so worried about getting to the State Mortuary on time that we arrived way too early. It was easier to humour her than argue. I'd never seen her so nervous – not even before the interview. In the waiting room, she hopped from chair to chair, convinced that she wasn't comfortable in what looked to me to be identical seats. When she settled in one for more than a minute, I shifted to the one beside her and slung an arm around her shoulders.

"It's okay, angel," I murmured, pressing my lips to the top of her head. I could feel her bouncing a little with a rhythm only she could hear.

She didn't reply, for her eyes were fixed on a lost-looking old bloke, standing by the reception desk. I hadn't seen him come in, but Caitlin couldn't stop staring at him.

The poor old guy noticed her staring and his eyes grew wide as he looked at Caitlin. The receptionist saw him and stood up, moving around the desk to stand by his side. "I'm so sorry for your loss, Mr Dennis. Would you like me to call you a taxi, or did you drive today?" She walked with the man out the doors to the car park outside. She returned after a few minutes, looking sad.

He must have lost his wife, poor bloke, I thought.

I looked at Caitlin. Her eyebrows were down and her forehead was wrinkled. I stretched out a hand to smooth the skin, stroking her hair, too. "Don't worry, angel. We'll be out of here soon."

Her smile was tight as it turned up her mouth, as if she were trying to convince herself as much as me. "You're right, Nathan. It'll be okay." I didn't want to think what would happen if circumstances conspired to make it any less than okay.

Footsteps sounded on vinyl and the detective I'd last seen trying to interrogate Caitlin in hospital stepped up to the reception desk. The receptionist said something to him, too soft for me to hear, before he turned to look at us. "You're early," he said with some surprise.

Caitlin pressed her lips together, looking at the floor, so I answered, "Caitlin really wanted to get this over with and I was worried about parking, so we made sure we had plenty of time to get here."

"And she brought you for moral support," he went on, as if I hadn't spoken.

"Yes I did, Detective," Caitlin said with a sweet, sad smile. "I couldn't do this without Nathan." She held out her hand, a CD case clutched between two fingers. "This is what you asked for – my memories."

I looked longingly at the CD, wondering how to ask her for a copy, but I didn't say a word.

"Thank you," he said in wonder, tucking it into the folder he held stiffly at his side. "Shall we?"

My arm tightened protectively around Caitlin as she stood up and I did the same. She leaned against me for comfort as we followed the detective deeper into the building.

He led us to a waiting room for the bereaved – the same place where I'd waited to see Alanna one last time. It was my turn to hold on to Caitlin for comfort, but the pain wasn't as bad as I remembered. As if she'd filled the gap somehow.

Caitlin's eyes looked up at me in surprise for a moment, before she settled closer into my embrace. Maybe it worked for both of us right now.

The detective sat on the couch across from us, a manila folder in his hands. He cleared his throat. "I have some pictures for you. Can you tell me if you recognise any of these people?" He opened it and held up a photo.

Laura in life. "She pushed me into her car, the red Mercedes," Caitlin said in a flat tone. He scribbled notes quickly.

Laura's photo disappeared into the bottom of the file. The next one was of a man, his eyes closed in death. "The police officer who shot Nathan."