James Grippando - Blood Money

“Actually, I do,” said Andie. “Lord knows that if they were in touch with Sydney, we would have heard about it on BNN by now.”

Jack sensed a hint of sarcasm. “Maybe I should follow up with them.”

“No,” said Andie. “They really don’t want to hear from you.”

“I’m not surprised,” said Jack. The defense hadn’t explicitly played the “abuse excuse” at trial, but they hadn’t portrayed the Bennetts as model parents, either.

“I’ll work that angle,” said Andie. “For now, I made it clear that they need to call me if they hear from Sydney. My message to them was that Sydney didn’t do anything illegal by going into hiding, but she could be doing something really stupid if she decides to come out of hiding.”

“Oooo-kay,” said Rivera, another moo. “My turn. Just a few questions for you, Mr. Swyteck.” He removed a pen and notepad from his pocket, then started down his checklist.

“First, Agent Henning said you’ve been getting threatening phone calls. Did any of those callers sound like the guy who attacked you?”

“No. First of all, the guy had some kind of voice distorter, like he had cotton or something in his mouth. But aside from that, every call I got was from a woman. You could ask my secretary if any of the calls she took were from men.”

“Already did that,” said Andie. “All women.”

Rivera put a check mark on his list, then stumbled through a few generic questions that could have fit everything from a dog bite to a terrorist attack. He was rambling, almost as if stalling, which was annoying. Finally, a police photographer arrived, and Rivera got to the heart of the matter.

“Mind if I take a look at your neck?”

“Sorry, Dr. Henning here says I have to leave this contraption on.”

Andie rolled her eyes and said, “I’ll check with the doctor.”

Rivera and the photographer discussed the shots they needed while Andie was away. Her quick return told Jack that she had definitely flashed her badge out there in the ER jungle. A doctor accompanied her. Jack had one of those feeling-old moments, struck by the way doctors seemed to get younger every time he needed one. This one looked like a teenager.

“I’m Dr. Cohen,” she said as she removed the brace. “This won’t hurt a bit.”

“Ouch!” said Jack.

“As long as you don’t turn your head,” the doctor added.

The photographer moved in quickly for the shots they needed-straight on, side angles, close-ups.

“Keep your head just like that,” Rivera told him.

Jack’s chin was raised slightly, but with a little effort he was able to see what was going on at shoulder level. Rivera held an eight-by-ten photograph below Jack’s chin for comparison. The tone of the discussion changed, as if Jack was no longer in the room, Rivera and Andie talking cop to cop.

Rivera said, “You see the bruising pattern that is emerging here, right along his carotid artery?”

“Definitely,” said Andie.

“Now look at the photograph.”

Andie paused, seeming to study it. “Bruising is virtually in the same spot,” she said.

“Same spot as who ?” asked Jack.

Andie touched his hand, as if to reassure. “Celeste Laramore.”

Jack took a minute to absorb the comparison, but his skepticism bore out. “This is junk science, folks. Wouldn’t anyone who gets choked have a bruise like mine?”

“No,” said Rivera. “That’s the interesting thing. I asked our medical examiner to take a look at Celeste Laramore’s photos. He says the bruising pattern on her neck is more like a hanging, where the rope jerks up higher on the neck. It’s the simple force of gravity, the weight of the body pulling the victim down. Choking someone with your bare hands tends to produce a bruising pattern much lower than this. Unless you were lifting them up by the neck.”

“He didn’t lift me up. I was on the ground.”

“That’s my point. No one saw Celeste Laramore’s feet leave the ground, either.”

“You’re suggesting we had the same attacker?”

“It’s an assumption based on the M.O.”

“Strangulation?”

“More than that. It’s the way he strangles his victim. He seems to be trying to simulate the effects of a hanging with his bare hands.”

Jack gave it some thought. “Well, I don’t necessarily agree that you can ascribe an M.O. to someone in a mob who reached out and grabbed Celeste Laramore by the throat. But for the sake of discussion, let’s say you’re on to something. Why would anyone try to simulate a hanging?”

The doctor spoke up. “Possibly to involve the carotid sinus.”

“The what?” asked Jack.

“The carotid sinus is a dilatation of the lower end of the internal carotid artery,” Dr. Cohen said, gently putting her hand to Jack’s neck. “It functions as a baroreceptor, which is complicated, but basically it plays a key role in short-term blood pressure control.”

The doctor no longer seemed like a teenager to Jack. “So. . you’re saying what? The carotid sinus comes into play in hanging but not in other forms of strangulation?”

“Not exactly. But there have been studies on this, partly out of morbid fascination with what actually causes death in a hanging, which isn’t fully understood. It’s safe to say that a hanging would more likely involve pressure above the carotid sinus-like your injury. Other forms of manual strangulation might involve pressure on or below the carotid sinus.”

“Above or below-what’s the difference?” asked Jack.

“Pressure above the carotid sinus can interrupt parasympathetic pathways between the brain and heart, which can result in anything from fainting to instantaneous death.”

“To coma,” said Jack, thinking of Celeste Laramore.

“Yes. Coma is possible. Depending in part on the duration and force of the compression. Don’t get me wrong. You can get the same end result with pressure on or below the carotid sinus. But there are researchers who posit that pressure above it-as in a hanging-is more, shall we say, efficient. Or maybe ‘expedient’ is the right word.”

The doctor refastened Jack’s neck brace, but Jack was watching Andie, almost able to feel her next question coming.

“Doctor,” said Andie, “how difficult is it for someone to know how much force and compression are needed to achieve a specific result along the continuum you described?”

“Are you asking me if someone could learn how to squeeze a person’s neck just long enough to make him pass out, how to apply enough pressure to make sure he’s dead, how to stop just short of death and induce a coma?”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m asking.”

“Virtually impossible.”

“Well, you’re the doctor,” said Jack. “But isn’t controlled deprivation of oxygen the whole idea behind erotic asphyxiation?”

Andie’s mouth opened, but the words were on a few-second delay. “Not that he learned that from me .”

The detective snickered. “Henning, I knew you had a wild side.”

“No, no,” Jack said nervously. “I wasn’t implying. . Actually, this was another woman I dated who used to like to-”

Jack stopped, frozen by a glare from his fiancee that said, Way too much information.

An awkward silence hung between them. Finally, the doctor bailed Jack out.

“Mr. Swyteck raises a good point,” said Dr. Cohen. “The notion that oxygen deprivation is something you can manipulate with precision is a myth. Even when the participants know each other intimately, and the strangulation is intended only to enhance sexual gratification, mistakes happen. So you can only imagine what a guessing game it is when the victim is a stranger. There’s absolutely no way to know how far you can push it without fatal results. Too many different variables come into play. One person’s fainting episode is another person’s cardiac arrest.”