Death Becomes Him - 8

Trent met Dave and Janet Mathieu at the airport and drove them back to the hotel. The couple was silent most of the way, wrapped in their misery.

Once they were settled in, Rory’s parents got in touch with the detective who had called them to let him know they’d arrived. They set up a meeting and despite Trent’s offer to drive them, they took a cab. “You have your job and you’ve already spent too much time ferrying us around,” Mr Mathieu said firmly.

When they returned to the hotel two hours later they knew more about how Rory’s remains had been found. They told Trent over dinner at the hotel’s restaurant.

“It seems a man was out there treasure hunting with one of those metal detectors,” Dave said. “He got a ping and started digging. When he found the bones he told the cops he figured he’d discovered someone’s pet that they’d buried there, until he got to the license and the ring.”

“What I don’t get,” Trent said pensively, “is why there were only a few bones, from what you’ve said.”

Mr Mathieu nodded. “I asked the same question. The detective’s theory is some animal may have found the body when it was first buried. Maybe even a gator. It…” He shuddered, looking at his wife.

“Tell him,” Janet barely whispered. “I’m not going to break down again.”

He took her hand while turning his attention back to Trent. “He figures the animal ate what it wanted, then took some of the rest away with it,” he said quickly, as if doing so would somehow negate what he was telling Trent. “That’s why he figures it was probably a gator. Then time and nature covered up what was left and everything rotted away except the remaining bones, the license and the ring.”

Trent nodded. “Are they, have they, done DNA testing on the bones?”

“He said they would, but they’d need a sample of Rory’s DNA for comparison.”

“Or ours,” Janet said softly.

“True,” Dave agreed. “We’ll have to go down to the morgue to do that but I don’t see any reason to. They found his things with the bones. To me that’s conclusive enough.” He stared angrily off into space. “All I want is to get in touch with a local mortuary. They can take charge of the bones and send them home so we can have a proper funeral. They’ll never find out who killed our boy. The detective as much as admitted that. Why prolong our agony any longer.”

Trent gripped Dave’s arm. “I understand completely. There’s a mortuary a few blocks from here you can use if you want. Morbid as it sounds, I know the owner because he often makes arrangements for out-of-towners who come in for a funeral to stay here if we have room. I can call him in the morning to let him know you’ll be coming by. That is if you want.”

“Thank you. We’d appreciate that.” Dave covered Trent’s hand with his, asking, “I should have asked long before now. How are you doing? I know this is as much of a shock to you as it was to us.”

“I’m still coming to grips with it. At least now we know. I think, at least for me, not knowing and wondering if he might turn up again—hoping he would—was the worst part of his disappearing. Now I know he won’t and so there’s closure of a sort.”

Janet looked at him and nodded. “We feel the same. I guess, no matter how horrible this is, it still is better to know than, as you said, to live in hope that he was alive and just didn’t want to come… home.” 

“I wish…” Dave shook his head, only continuing when Trent asked. “I wish we knew how he died and who killed him. But after four years that won’t happen.”

“Unfortunately not,” Trent agreed, trying not to sound as angry as he felt about the idea. 

“We should go back to our room,” Dave said. “It’s been a long, emotional twenty-four hours and we have to get some sleep, if we can.”

Trent stood, waiting for them, then escorted them to the elevator. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he told them.

Janet smiled mournfully, giving him a hug. “You get some rest too.”

“I will, I promise.”

As soon as they were gone, Trent stopped at the front desk to let the clerks know he was finally going home.

When he got to the house Beau greeted him very enthusiastically. Trent chuckled, knowing it had as much to do with the dog’s needing to go out as it did with his being happy he was there. Snagging the leash from the hook by the door, he snapped it on Beau’s collar and they took off for the nearby park.

“I wish you could have met him, Beau,” Trent said a few minutes later when the dog had finally slowed his pace to a walk. “You would have liked Rory. He was good people.” Trent sighed, coming to a stop by a bench and sitting. “I thought I was over the loss, but now…” He petted Beau when he settled on his haunches in front of him. “Damn it! Why didn’t he listen to me that night? If he had, if he’d been more careful—but he thought he was invincible. He thought he knew what he was doing and no one could catch him unawares. Now…” He buried his face in his hands, all the emotions he’d felt since Rory’s father had called the night before finally breaking loose. He cried, only vaguely aware when Beau rested a paw on his knee as if commiserating with him.

Eventually he looked up, trying to wipe the vestiges of his tears away with the back of his hand. “Let’s go home,” he said quietly. Beau jumped to his feet eagerly, then much to Trent’s surprise, he put his front paws on the bench and licked Trent’s face. “Missed a few did I?” he said, chuckling softly, appreciating the dog’s loving gesture.

Beau got back down, tugging the leash, and they walked slowly back to the house.