Aaron Elkins - Where there's a will

DT: He said… I think he said “they.” I’m not sure, I can’t remember.

PW: Did he say how your brother had been killed?

DT: (Shakes head.)

PW: Did he say there’d been a fire?

DT: I-I’m not sure. I don’t think so. Maybe he did, I’m just not sure. It was all so PW: Okay. And what else did he say?

DT: He said he had to leave. He said he’d come back as soon as he could. He said he loved me. He was… he was very excited, I could hardly…

PW: Just take your time, ma’am. Would you like some water or DT: He said they were after him, too, and PW: Ma’am, why did you wait so long to tell us this? Why didn’t you tell the police about it last night?

DT: He told me to wait.

PW: Your brother told you to wait?

DT: Yes, until today. Magnus said don’t tell anyone what he was doing until today.

PW: Anyone? Or just the police?

DT: Anyone. I keep telling you, he was afraid they were coming after him, too, and he needed a chance to get away.

PW: Did he tell you that? That “they” were coming after him?

DT: No, he didn’t say exactly that. Well, I don’t think so. It was very quick, only a few sentences. He was so excited.

PW: And did he say where he was going?

DT: (Shakes head.) He was taking the plane, that’s all he said.

At this point, Sarah returned. “Mission accomplished.” She put another clasp envelope, a thinner one, on the table. “Autopsy photos. And here”-she waved a thick sheaf of paper in her other hand-“is the autopsy report itself. It was less hassle to copy it than to check it out, so I made you one you can keep. Don’t tell anybody.” She slapped it into Gideon’s hand. “Enjoy.”

Dr. Meikeljohn, the deputy coroner, might not have been the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he couldn’t be faulted on exhaustiveness. Or wordiness. His problem was organization. There was no breakdown into external examination and internal examination, no evidence of injury section, no evidence of medical and/or surgical intervention section, no pathology section, no put-it-all-together findings and opinion sections, no explicit structure of any kind. The report was simply twenty-two pages (compared to the usual four or so) of disorganized, densely typed observations, along with many lengthy stream-of-consciousness detours into conjecture, speculation, and hunches that were usually-and for good reason-not found in autopsy reports. It was difficult for Gideon even to locate the part in which the condition of the toes was described. Looking for it, his attention was caught by a few pages that described in fastidious detail the courses and locations of the two bullets found in the body.

Despite the charred condition of the external remains, a five-by-three-centimeter gunshot wound is visible in the ventral aspect of the thorax at the level of the third intercostal space, four centimeters to the left of the lateral border of the sternum. Because of tissue destruction of the dermal layers due to post-mortem thermal injury, the forensically pertinent characteristics of the wound, e.g., the existence or lack thereof of marginal abrasion, soot deposit, stippling, and other adjunct features are not possible to determine.

Subsequent dissection shows that both projectiles entered through this entrance, penetrating the left pectoralis major and proceeding medio-dorsally, grazing the superior border of the fourth costal cartilage and perforating the superior lobe of the left lung. Entering the medial mediastinum, the projectiles transpierced the heart through the right ventricle and the left atrium, separated the descending thoracic aorta “No problem positively identifying the cause of death, anyway,” Gideon murmured.

A few paragraphs before, he’d read that no soot or other carbon material had been found in the respiratory passages, proof positive that the victim had no longer been breathing at the time of the fire; he’d been dead when it started. And Meikeljohn’s description of the bullets’ horrific path made the reason for that crystal clear.

Gideon told John what he’d read, eliminating the jargon. “Shot right in the heart, huh?” John said, looking up from the case file.

“Right through the heart. Twice. And if that wasn’t enough, the bullets destroyed the aorta, too. You can’t get much more killed than that.”

“Two bullets,” John mused. “Both in the heart. Well, there you go, see? You had a couple of shooters who knew what they were doing. The cops did get one thing right, Doc. These were professionals, not one old crank shooting another.”

“Mm,” Gideon said and silently went back to the report.

– separated the descending aorta, and lodged in the corpus of the eighth thoracic vertebra (T8), one above the other, three millimeters apart. The projectiles were found to be somewhat deformed, medium-sized, non-jacketed lead bullets of different calibers, with the inferior, smaller one showing some fragmentation. Among the interesting circumstances associated with them was the presence of a cartridge case partially embedded in the intervertebral fibrocartilage separating T8 and T9. Various possibilities come to mind to account for its presence there…

And off the good doctor went on another of his roundabout excursions into supposition and surmise. Gideon paged on until he found what he was looking for at the bottom of page thirteen.

“Here we go, John.” He read aloud. “‘The right foot was naturally examined with especial care. External examination of the toes was not possible, inasmuch as the partially melted boot had fused to the skin. Therefore-’”

“Ah, there, you see?” exclaimed John, jabbing a finger in Gideon’s direction. “He was expecting to find those amputations. He already had them in his mind. Why else would he ‘naturally’ examine the right foot with ‘especial care’?”

Gideon nodded. “That’s a good point.” He continued reading.

Therefore, a partial deep dissection of the anterior dorsum was accomplished to reveal the condition of the toes. It was found that parts of the second and third toes had been amputated, resection having taken place approximately one centimeter from the distal ends of the medial phalanges.

He turned the page, scanned the next one. “I don’t believe it,” he exclaimed, flipping to the following page, and then the one after that. “You’re kidding me.”

“What’s the problem?” John asked.

“The problem? The problem is, that’s it: ‘On the right foot, parts of the second and third toes have been amputated, resection having taken place approximately one centimeter from the distal ends of the medial phalanges.’ Here this guy takes pages and pages describing every sulcus and pimple on the bladder, but when it comes to something important, something that could make or break an identification, what do we get? ‘On the right foot, parts of the second and third-’”

“Okay, okay, I heard you the first two times.” John shook his head, puzzled. “But I don’t get it. Isn’t that what you were looking for? I mean, the toes aren’t there anymore, what else is there to say?”

“There’s a lot he could have-should have-said. Was there any callus formation on the stumps? Was the medullary cavity open or capped? Was there any atrophy? All the things that would give us some idea of whether it was post- or antemortem.” He stood up, slammed the sheaf onto the table, and stormed around the room.

“Gee, Doc, don’t get yourself in a-”

“Was there anything to suggest whether it was a clean surgical procedure or some kind of amateur boondoggle? Was there-”

The door opened and Fukida walked in wearing a Colorado Rockies baseball cap and carrying a paper bag. “Problem?” he asked.

“Nah,” John said. “He gets like this sometimes. Don’t worry, he’s usually not violent.”