Mortal Remains Read Free Page B

her disappearance and the wife of Charles Braden IV, currently Chief of Cardiology at New York City Hospital.
    According to Hampton Junction coroner, Dr. Mark Roper, Ms. Braden was the victim of foul play. “A fracture of her skull indicates she sustained a blow to the head prior to going in the water. Whether she died of head trauma or drowning is impossible to distinguish,” he said yesterday, when results of his examination and testing were announced. Sheriff Dan Evans confirmed that heavy items found on and near the bones of her legs suggest her body was weighted and bound when disposed of in the deepest waters of the lake.
    Her parents, Walter McShane, founder of the prestigious firm McShane Securities, and Samantha McShane, have demanded the police reopen the investigation of their daughter’s case, but refuse to say anything further at this time. Ms. Braden’s husband, Charles Braden IV, was unavailable for comment, but according to press reports at the time of the disappearance, claimed to have last seen his wife in the early evening of Wednesday, August 7, 1974, when she left his father’s country estate near Hampton Junction to catch a train for New York. They’d taken a few extra days’ holiday, and Ms. Braden habitually followed this schedule when she had early-morning classes the next day. Dr. Braden, whose office hours began in the afternoon, did not return to the city until late Thursday morning.
    Ms. Braden’s disappearance attracted a great deal of attention. Highly regarded by her instructors, and popular with her fellow students, she was at the top of her medical school class. Speculation at the time centered on a troubled marriage, which Dr. Braden vigorously denied, and a deliberate disappearance by Ms. Braden. The case yielded few leads. The strongest was provided by doormen at the couple’s exclusive Park Avenue apartment building, who saw Ms. Braden get into a waiting cab with a man in the backseat on Wednesday evening. She returned the following morning, leaving several hours later with a suitcase, again by cab, but alone. She was never heard from again. The identity of the man who picked her up Wednesday night is unknown.
    He lowered the paper, his stomach in free fall.
    ER faded from his mind, and the usual noises outside his door – the beeping of monitors, the chatter, someone retching – became tinny and distant.
    He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He couldn’t say for sure how long he sat there, his thoughts and emotions reeling.
    A knock, and Susanne pushed open the door. “Sorry, Dr. Garnet, but we’re starting – My God, are you all right? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
    “I’m fine,” he said, trying to give a reassuring smile. “It’s just my stocks tanked again.” He downed the dregs of coffee from his cup in a gulp, tucked the paper into his briefcase, and joined the assembly of residents and staff who were gathered around the chart rack listening to a resident summarize the cases. Those coming on duty looked as tired as the ones who were going off. The main differences between the two were the crisp white coats and pleasant body-wash scents of the newcomers compared to the wrinkled clothing and stale odors hanging about those who’d been working all night.
    “… presented with a squeezing chest pain radiating up the side of his neck. We gave him half an aspirin, stabilized him with oxygen, nitro, and IV morphine…”
    “I need IV caffeine,” whispered one of the medical students standing nearby.
    “Sign me up,” murmured another.
    Earl barely heard any of it. The voices seemed to come at him through a hose. He thought of hair the color of sunlight turning scarlet, and felt his stomach lurch.
    “… the next patient is a man who claims his partner shoved the vibrator in too far…”
    Had she been tortured, raped, died screaming?
    He’d seen a lifetime of victims come through his ER, and needed no prompting to imagine how bad it could get.