The Mourning Mail (FINAL)

Chapter 28

Marci remained quiet as our server left us. She continued scrolling in silence through the images displayed on the laptop screen as she read. Occasionally, she'd return to a previous image to re-read a section. Finally, Marci sat back in her chair and repositioned her cast on the seat, not saying a word for several moments. Her eyes were closed, her hands pressed together almost as if in prayer, middle fingers touching the underside of the tip of her nose, thumbs under her chin. Instead of showing surprise and excitement, as I'd expected, her countenance had become stern. Her lips were pursed in concern, and her brows were knitted together.

She opened her eyes and sat forward, looking at me as she might one of her older children who had done something seriously wrong. Her expression showed apparent frustration mixed with genuine care. Her tone was one of compassionate authority.

"Debra Ann, you know I love you and am so proud to have you as a friend. I understand you and think I get what you were trying to accomplish here. I can see how you might perceive what you've done as a good thing. In some ways, it is. We didn't have the connection between the Cantor homicide and Ainsworth until you gave it to us, and I appreciate that.

"Still, you're a journalist. People handle these things differently in your world than in mine. You've been very good at what you do for a long time, and you should know where the boundaries are."

"I don't understand; I thought you'd be thrilled...," I began.

"Debra Ann, please, hear me out. You and I both know you have had issues in the past coloring between the lines. There are some rules you've broken here that you should have understood and followed. I get your father's situation. He didn't know about any criminal behavior described in those letters until he got the last one he'd ever see. By that time, his illness trumped other considerations. Had he survived with his mind clear and able to process what that last letter told him, I know he would have engaged law enforcement sooner rather than later."

Marci's words completely blindsided me. Why was she attacking me and my work? And why was she insinuating that my father had done anything other than everything he could?

Yes, Marci was my friend; she had every right to take issue with something she thought I'd done. After all, I was sitting right here with the opportunity to defend myself. But suggesting Dad could have done more when she didn't have the complete story was out of bounds.

"Dad did engage law enforcement, Marci," I said indignantly. "He called twice from what would end up being his deathbed, trying to get someone on the force to take these letters seriously. The department wouldn't even show him the decency to take his statement, much less the letters, either time." The old anger was rising within me; I needed to keep it at bay. I'd lost too many friends and didn't want to lose this one.

Marci pursed her lips again. "I'm sorry, but I see evidence critical to three murder investigations. And when it's presented to me eight or ten months after it might have done some real good...," Marci began her apology, but as an introduction to further complaints. Seeing the expression on my face, she realized that wasn't the way to go and tried to correct course.

"Okay, look, I forgot that your father had called it in. I should've remembered he'd have acted immediately. The department didn't follow...."

But I wasn't interested in hearing excuses.

"And why do you think that was?" I interrupted. "That last letter Dad read and tried to tell them about says nothing specific about what Brian saw. The letter only says that he witnessed, primarily just heard, three people he thinks were hiding a body in the darkness. There's a 'when,' but no 'where.' There's no definitive ID of anything or anyone.