Imogen's Feather Part II

They sat in front of an old television, whiskey in hand.  The channel was the local news and they were trying to glean more on the Jane Doe.  The hat sat on the coffee table, almost taunting them with puzzlement.

“And now to Greenhaven County where the body of an elderly woman washed to shore,” said the anchorwoman.

Imogen stopped listen to whatever Anders was saying and slapped his leg so he’d stop talking.

“A fishermen’s hook caught on to her dress, apparently prying her loose from the trunk of a tree that hid her.  She was dressed in a black dress, an old dress, authorities are saying from the 1930s or so, and a hat with feathers that matches the same time period,”

“Barbara,” said the anchorman, “The authorities have a sketch, is that right?”

“Yes Don, here is a sketch of the woman and if anyone has…”

“That’s my grandmother!” screeched Imogen, jumping up to her feet. 

“I don’t understand.  That’s Gram, how could she be, I mean, we buried her twelve years ago.”  Imogen sat back down.  She was giddy and worried and sad and confused.

Anders finished off his whiskey in a final gulp.

“Well, you gotta go to the police.  I mean, we know it’s not your grandmother but did she have a sister or a cousin that looked like her?”

“Not that I know of and I’d know wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know, would you?  You grew up with them,” said Anders.

“I guess I have to go to the station now.”  Again Imogen got up, but this time slower.

“Coffee first, you shouldn’t smell like whiskey entering a police station.”

“You’ll make some lucky man a good wife someday,” said Imogen smiling.

An hour after the news report Imogen found herself speaking with a detective.  It wasn’t much like the movies and television shows; for one, the station was a lot dingier.  Not dirty but very used and bland, with the low partitions creating half cubicles around uniform desks that housed pen jars and telephones.

Detective Ryan was a nice but tired man.  He was guardedly hopeful when told someone had information about his Jane Doe.  Only to be disappointed because the young woman before him had more questions then answers.

“So she is not your grandmother?”

“No, but she looks exactly, I mean, according to the sketch, exactly like her!  And, she had a hat just like the one the dead woman has, um, had.”  Imogen dug into her bag and pulled out her grandmother’s hat and set it on Detective Ryan’s desk.

He let out a low whistle and gingerly picked it up.

“This is just the same.”

“I know.  That’s what I’m telling you.  But we buried my grandmother years ago.”

“Forgive me for being crass, but are you sure it was she you buried?”

Imogen looked at him incredulously.  “You think someone stole her body? Or she faked her death?”

The Detective shrugged his shoulders.  “Sounds crazy, I know, but I’ve seen crazy and this wouldn’t touch the tip of the crazy iceberg.  How would you feel about going down and looking at this woman?”

Imogen hesitated.  Twelve years ago she came home to a policeman knocking on her door.  It was the worst day of her life; standing on the porch, listening to him explain the car crash, hearing his rote condolences which were heartbreaking because she could see that he was really sorry and didn’t know how to express himself except through these empty words.  Now here she was again, speaking with a policeman again and potentially loosing her grandmother again.

Detective Ryan sat patiently and watched Imogen take in what he was asking.

“Look, it is highly improbable that it is your grandmother but now that the question has been brought up, we have to cancel it out.  There might be something you recognize that could help us find who she really is.”

Imogen stood in a room mostly filled with stainless steel.  Her attention was not on her surroundings however, but on the body covered with a sheet that occupied one of the autopsy tables.  She waited for the coroner to gently pull back the sheet himself.

Feelings do not come one at a time; they don’t wait their turn.  Imogen’s feelings rushed forward like a tidal wave; fear it would be her grandmother, revulsion to the bloated face, confusion about the situation, relief it wasn’t her grandmother and sadness for the woman on the table.  The water distorted face was her grandmothers, which made her heart jump, but then there was a giant freckle on the woman’s left ear and Imogen knew certainly it was not her grandmother.

“No.  That’s not her.”

“Mind if I ask you a few more questions?  Upstairs, of course?” He was already leading her away from the autopsy table where the coroner was covering the old woman’s face again.

The coffee wasn’t as bad as one would think, thought Imogen. The warm cup felt good between her hands as she sat down again at Detective Ryan’s desk.

            “So that wasn’t your grandmother.  That’s a good thing,” he said he smiled at her.  Imogen nodded.

            “Did she have sisters?  Cousins?” he asked.

Imogen shook her head.  “No.  I grew up with Gram and Gramps and they never mentioned her having a sister,” she replied.

            “Is your grandfather still alive?” asked Detective Ryan.

            “They both died in the same car accident, twelve years ago.”

            “I’m sorry to hear it,” said Detective Ryan.

            “It was, well, for me, it was loosing my world.  I didn’t know my parents.  They were my parents.”

            “Did anything strange happen afterwards? Old family members contact you?”

            Imogen sipped as she thought.  “It was so long ago and honestly it’s fuzzy.  I remember sadness, lots of people offering help but nothing about relatives getting in touch with me.”

            “How would you feel about giving us a DNA sample?” he asked.

DNA is a curious thing.  Deemed by some as the ultimate proof, it can tell quite a bit about a person or to whom they are related.  What surprised Detective Ryan wasn’t so much that the old woman from the river was related to Imogen, but how closely she was related to her.  According to the tests, this old woman was most likely her grandmother.  Except Imogen was sure that wasn’t her grandmother.   

The telephone on Detective Ryan’s desk rang, pulling him out of his reverie.

“Detective Ryan,” he said.

“This is Jim Marcert, the director of Golden Years, a nursing home an hour or so away from you.  We filed a missing persons report on a resident a couple of days ago.  I got a call from our local police telling me you have an unidentified elderly woman?”

Sometimes, thought Detective Ryan, just sometimes the job goes right.

“Yes, we do.  Does she match the description of your missing resident?” asked Detective Ryan.

“Yes sir, she does.  Listen, I can leave here in half an hour, does that work for you?”

“Perfect.  See you then.”  He hung up the phone and smiled.  Every once in a long while, a person got a break.  It looked like today it was Detective Ryan’s turn to get one.

“Oh man,” said Jim Marcert.  He quickly looked away.  The coroner put the sheet back over the woman’s face and Detective Ryan looked at him expectantly.

Jim looked back at the body, now covered.

“Yeah, that’s her.  The staff will be sorry, she was a favorite,” said Jim.

“May we continue this upstairs?” asked Detective Ryan as he motioned with his arm.

Jim nodded and followed the detective back up to his desk.  Sitting down he began giving Ryan the details.

“Her name is – was – Florence Delgard.  She came to us five years ago when a neighbor convinced her she couldn’t take care of herself anymore.  She wasn’t happy about it but settled in okay.  Was always super nice to the staff, kept herself clean…”

“Did she ever have visitors?” asked Ryan.

Jim thought about it for a moment.  “I don’t think so.  I’ll have to ask the staff.”

“Did she ever try to run away?”

Jim shook his head definitively.  “No never.”

“And what about family?  Who was paying for her to be there?”

“A daughter?  I think?  There are pictures of Florence when she was younger, with a young woman that I always assumed was her daughter.  The payments, well, I’ll have to check on that.”

“I’d like to come up and speak with your staff, say tomorrow?  I might have a relative of hers with me,” said Ryan.

“Yeah, sure, no problem.”

“Thanks for driving all this way,” said Ryan as he handed Jim a card with his number on it.

“I’m just glad we found her, even if she is dead, at least we know.  That’s the worst isn’t it?  Not knowing?”

Ryan nodded his head wearily.  It was the worst and unfortunately it happened too often.  So many families were out there, not knowing.  The What Ifs piled high the dark corners of their minds.