Kathryn looked at the photograph, a photograph of a dead man. A photo of a man she had seen only once, when he was alive.
“Is that Ronald David Weston?” The coroner, who was in his late fifties said.
Kathryn Hall was expecting to identify the body, not the photograph of a dead man. This at least was some relief. Ronald’s body now occupies the space beneath a tombstone in Mayfair Cemetery. “Rest in Peace”, the charity organization, has a network of cemeteries throughout the state of Massachusetts that donate plots for the homeless, destitute and unidentified.
Kathryn looked up from the photo that was enlarged to life size. The coroner in the dark blue suit on the other side of the desk smiled and waited for Kathryn to say yes and sign the affidavit. Ronald’s Uncle Wiley, his wife Eula and their son Harold had already said, “Yes.”
They waited for Kathryn to say, “Yes.”
The word formed in her mind, her tongue positioned itself correctly to emit the correct sounds to pronounce the word, but she did not say, “Yes.”
Kathryn felt the eight other eyes in the room boring holes into the back of her head as she sat at the desk looking at the photograph. She looked over her shoulder at Ronald’s relatives and they looked back at her, almost pleading. Who was she to argue? Kathryn had only seen Ronald that one time, that one night.
“Miss Hall? I asked you if the person in this photograph is Ronald David Weston.” The coroner, who had been sitting across from her at the table now stood at her right shoulder. He bent over and put his fingers on the white border of the photograph as if Kathryn was a child, not understanding. She could smell his Old Spice after-shave.
“Is this Ronald David Weston?”
One night, that one night that most would say should have never been, but Kathryn was still grateful for that one night with Ronald David Weston. She had told him that he looked like another Ronald she knew, well did not really know, but felt she did after watching all his old movies. He did look like Ronald Coleman the Hollywood movie actor of the 1930’s and 40’s.
“Miss Hall? Is there anything wrong?”
The coroner asked, his smile now forced and he was as nerv-ous as she was.
“No. No, nothing is wrong. It is Ronald.” Kathryn said and part of her wished she had never found out what happened to Ronald after that one night.
The coroner let out a sigh of relief and Kathryn could have sworn so did the relatives standing behind her. The coroner handed her a black pen and slid the clipboard containing the affidavit toward her, with the relatives’ signatures already in place.
“Just sign your name as you usually do.” The coroner in-structed the distraught woman.
Kathryn signed her name, having a little trouble keeping her hand from trembling. She looked back at the relatives, who gave her, “Thank you, we are so sorry,” smiles.
“Thank you. Thank you for coming.” The trio said in unison.
Kathryn stood and forced a smile too.
“Yes, thank you for your cooperation Miss Hall.” The coroner chimed in, his smile less fragile now.
Kathryn looked at the coroner and nodded, forcing another smile and then back at the relatives who stepped aside so that she could make her way to the door. She wanted to say something. I am sorry for your loss. I thought your nephew was wonderful. See you later. But nothing seemed to fit. Instead, she smiled again and said, “Goodbye”, which was responded to by them with a single word in unison, “Good-bye”.
As Kathryn crossed the parking lot to her car her hands were not trembling, they were shaking. The cold New England wind was blowing harder now. It was too cold for August, the coldest on record so far, but it was not the cold that made her shiver. She felt the way she had when mother died and then father. She felt the way she had when her husband Matthew died. She felt like someone very close to her had just died in that coroner’s office. What was wrong? Why had she hesitated? It was Ronald in that photograph. It was.
“It was Ronald. Just forget it and get back to work!” Kathryn said in an angry, determined voice.
She cranked the heat on high trying to get warm, rubbing her hands together in front of the dashboard air vent. She just needed to get back home. It was a two hour drive from Boston to Mayfair and now she had a two hour drive back. She would stop and get some hot coffee, strong coffee. Kathryn pulled her old red Porsche 911 out of the parking lot and drove up Main Street toward the highway. The police department, the fire department, city hall, the coroner’s office were all on the same block. The red brick buildings looked like they were constructed at or near the same time, late in the nineteenth century.
She started to pull on up toward the highway, but slowed when she saw the sign, Traveler’s Inn. God she was tired, physi-cally and mentally tired. Maybe a night out of the big city would be good for her. These thoughts processed in tenths of a second as she made a hard right turn into the motel’s entrance.
It was a small motel like thousands across the country, and probably cleaner being farther away from the city. She could get up a little early and work a little longer tomorrow. Right now, she needed rest.

“Can I get your bags for you?” The handsome longhaired man behind the desk asked.
“No thanks, I can manage.” It was a motel for God’s sake.
“No trouble. It’s kind of slow.” The young man said and smiled.
Whether it was slow or not, Kathryn did not want this young man seeing her to her room, though he seemed pleasant enough. Besides she did not want him to know she had no luggage. Why, she was not sure.
“Thanks anyway. But I travel light.” She said as she moved quickly to her Porsche.
“Suit yourself Miss Hall. Have a pleasant stay.”
Kathryn nodded as she exited, surprised at the man’s use of her name. The young man’s manner was pleasant enough, but there was something that seemed odd about him. Oh, maybe he was just hitting on me. Still, he was only twenty or so. Then it would not have been the first time a brash one took a shot. You’re just paranoid. Get some rest, she told herself.