As her former husband, Lucas was one of the first questioned. He tried not to be too insulted. It was rough, especially when he flashed back to that morning in Jack Sullivan’s hotel room and Caitlin’s insistence that the spouse was usually guilty. Only the fact that this would get the investigators one step closer to discovering who killed his ex-wife kept him cordial during the tedious process.
When they finally let him go, they gave him one nugget of good faith information to tide him over. The ME who was taking care of Caitlin had recovered the bullet. God willing, they’d figure out what gun fired it.
Lucas didn’t mind that someone else was doing his job. In fact, that was one of the favors he called in personally. When it came to Caitlin, he wouldn’t work on her. He couldn’t. Not when only a week ago he joked with her about seeing her on his slab. As Hamlet’s only acting medical examiner, he was no stranger to dead bodies. But this wasn’t just a DB, a gunshot victim. This was his ex-wife.
Someone else had to do it.
Luckily, over the course of his career, Lucas had made many contacts and bonds with plenty of others in the same field. Within hours of Caitlin’s murder, he had countless offers from those willing to come into town and take over his duties so that, for once, he didn’t have to be the only doc. He could grieve.
Not that he spent much time doing that. Keeping busy was a perfect balm to obsessing over this newest and most awful tragedy.
When he wasn’t making arrangements with her deputies, Lucas spent most of his time at Ophelia. He tended to his sister, who was traumatized after watching Caitlin die, and he talked with Tessa Sullivan. The poor woman eyed the world warily now, as if she suspected anyone and everyone of being behind these terrible deeds.
As much as it went against everything he believed in as a doctor, Lucas overmedicated them both. Tessa still couldn’t sleep without a little extra help. The anxiety that plagued Maria after her attack came back with a vengeance. He raided his limited pharmacy, trying to keep the women calm.
The anti-anxiety meds left Maria drained and more than a little dull, and she spent most of the time sleeping in a vain attempt to cope.
Tess fought sleep until he threatened to shove a sleeping pill down her throat. The first night, she took it. The second, he really thought she’d make him follow through with his threat before she finally gave in.
Lucas couldn’t remember the last time he got more than a few hours down. It didn’t matter. He could sleep when he was
dead.
He made the mistake of saying that to his sister the morning after Caitlin’s murder when Maria pointed out his five o’clock shadow and the circles under his eyes. She burst into tears. He immediately borrowed one of her rooms, showering and shaving so that he looked human.
After that, he put her back on her medicine, keeping her mildly sedated as he pushed on. So many things to do, so little time. The busier he was, the easier it was to simply forget that someone killed Caitlin. It wasn’t callous or cold but, rather, just his own coping mechanism. If he stopped to think about what happened, he’d crash. He didn’t have time for that sort of luxury. Not now.
Tessa was the only one in Hamlet who understood how he felt. When Maria locked herself in her room, she sat with him in the kitchen, keeping him company. The homey room they returned to Thursday night after he'd been forced to pronounce his ex dead on the scene became the center of their unspoken vigil. Neither could say what it was they were exactly waiting for.
Then, on Saturday afternoon, Maria’s radio buzzed. And it seemed as if they’d been waiting for something just like that.
Lucas stiffened at the unexpected sound. He recognized it immediately. It was the emergency signal, the one reserved for the sheriff’s department, and it was playing on his sister’s radio.
Maria was sitting on the same side of the table as Tessa. Her long dark hair was mussed from the nap she took earlier that morning. Blue eyes were glassy and unfocused as she absently nibbled on the cheese sandwich Lucas slapped together for her. She’d taken to carrying her radio with her. It was propped up next to her plate while she struggled to eat something. When the radio started its chirp, she set the sandwich back down.
No one reached for the communicator. It continued to sound, the frequency growing higher in pitch. Tessa shook her head back and forth. Maria blinked before nudging the radio with her forefinger, moving it away from her. She scooted it in front of Lucas.
He sighed. Picking the damn thing up, he pressed the answer button. “Yes?”
Crackle. “Who is this?”
“Lucas De Angelis speaking.”
“Doctor. It’s Deputy Collins down at the station. I was hoping you were still with your sister. I thought you’d both like to know.” He paused. In a curiously emotionless voice, he continued, “There’s been an arrest.”
Lucas nearly dropped Maria’s radio.
It had been less than forty-eight hours since Caitlin was slain. Her wake was scheduled to be held all day Monday, her burial the morning after that. He expected the investigation to drag out until the collective anger at her murder faded into a sad acceptance that she was gone. Since learning of her death, he prayed for the best and prepared for the worst. After his own questioning, he hadn’t had much hope that they could find the culprit without a little help.
Could it be that they had? And so soon?
Maria clasped her hands in front of her in a silent prayer. Tessa, strung as tight as piano wire, seemed to vibrate in place as she silently implored Collins to spill.
His hand shook so bad that his finger slipped off of the receiver button. “Collins? You there, Deputy?”
Static filled the room, then the morose voice of the stunned deputy.
“It was supposed to be routine. They asked us all for our weapons to make sure that none of them matched the bullet that shot the sheriff. But one of ‘em did so Detective Rodriguez just came and took him.”