Allison Brennan - Playing Dead

Was Taverton involved in any gang- or mob-related prosecutions? Sacramento didn’t have a “mob” problem in the traditional way New York and Chicago and, to a lesser degree, nearby San Francisco did. But there was a powerful criminal Russian community in Sacramento and Stockton. But would they or any other petty criminal have set up such an elaborate frame?

She pulled out her father’s letter. Frank Lowe. She knew nothing about him except what her father said: that he was someone Chase Taverton had cut a deal with. How would Lowe be able to clear her father?

Was he dead, like Oliver?

She needed to see the evidence against her father. She was an investigator and while she didn’t investigate murder, she knew what was staged and what was real. Like Ben Holman’s arson. Obviously arson, staged to look like a theft.

Claire broke out in a sweat. Her father’s guilt made sense on the surface, but there were so many layers when Chase Taverton was added to the equation as more than her mother’s lover. There was a damn good chance that everyone had drawn the wrong conclusions. And Claire saw a new reality, one where she’d been deadly wrong.

Claire now saw flaws in the prosecution’s argument. Flaws that a good defense attorney should have exploited. Or was she seeing the flaws only because she wanted her father to be innocent? She rubbed her temples, feeling the pressure of a growing tension headache.

A criminal lawyer named Prescott had represented her father. She made a note to track him down and find out what, if anything, he knew or remembered from the trial, perhaps something that Claire had been too catatonic to notice at the time.

She had told the truth on the stand. The whole truth as she’d seen it. That alone may not have been enough to convict her father, but it had destroyed his life.

She would discover the truth about that terrible day no matter what it took. Once and for all, Claire had to know for certain that her father was guilty. . or innocent.

Mitch had only worked in the Sacramento regional FBI office for two years, but until now he hadn’t had reason to observe an autopsy at the county coroner’s office. Generally, the FBI simply reviewed the reports if they were involved. But Mitch wanted to be hands-on. Steve came along.

Deputy Clarkston greeted Mitch and Steve when they arrived. “Thanks for letting us come,” Steve said diplomatically.

Clarkston shrugged. “You did the heavy lifting yesterday. If you want to watch the autopsy, fine by me. My boss said whatever you need, to help. But we’re working the case, just so you know.”

“Good,” Steve said when Mitch wanted to argue. “We’ll give you whatever help you need, but it’s all yours.”

Clarkston relaxed and opened the door to the observation room.

The small room was cramped for three broad-shouldered cops. They stood, pushing the two chairs to the corners. A television high in one corner was blank. Mitch flicked a switch and static ensued.

Clarkston tapped on the window and caught the attention of a young forensic pathologist. He turned on the mic. “Can we get a visual here? And we will need two copies of the tape.”

She nodded and switched on the camera above the body.

The pathologists all wore face masks, gowns, gloves, and booties, but that was the extent of their protective clothing. The three of them in the room were all women.

Mitch wanted to tell Steve what he’d learned from Claire’s computer, but the information had been obtained illegally. Meg would have a meltdown: She was a stickler for constitutional law. You don’t bend the rules-any of them.

Mitch glanced at the dead body. They would have confirmation within the hour-the dental records from his hometown dentist had been overnighted and the chief pathologist was off right now comparing the corpse’s dental X-rays to those of Maddox.

Just last night he’d promised Steve that he would keep nothing from him, nothing that could jeopardize the capture of Thomas O’Brien. But what did he know now, really? Claire had done a few Google searches on the principals of the case. What did that tell them? It wasn’t illegal for Claire to look into her father’s case.

But Mitch knew there was more to it than that.

The external exam now over, the internal exam was beginning. The senior pathologist made the first incision.

Maddox’s body was pale, the skin having dissolved. The body was a lumpy mass of human Jell-O. Because it had been in fresh, cold water, putrefaction had slowed, but bacteria had still done severe damage. If Maddox had drowned, there was no way to prove it. Only through external investigation-accident site, damage to the car, mental state of the victim prior to disappearance-could they determine it had been an accident rather than murder. A bullet would be nice, Mitch thought, but there had been no obvious wounds on the body when they’d bagged him underwater yesterday.

And looking at the body now, Mitch couldn’t see anything obvious. There were no visible wounds that would indicate cause of death. No bullet or knife wounds. But with the skin slippage and advanced putrefaction, obvious wounds might be unnoticeable.

Mitch watched in silence as the pathologists removed and weighed organs that no longer had the color and shape they should have. How they knew what section was the heart and what was the lungs, he didn’t know.

When the senior pathologist removed the brain, she said, “Now this is interesting.”

“What?” Mitch asked.

She pulled the camera in closer and Mitch focused on the television screen over his head. “See it?”

“No.” All Mitch saw was a lump of dark mass that had the basic form of a brain.

“Here.” She took a scalpel and touched a section of the brain that was a slightly different color than the remainder.

“Okay, you got me. What?”

“This is discolored because it was bruised prior to death.”

“Are you saying he was hit on the back of the head before he died?”

“I’m saying that his brain was bruised prior to death, but there were no open wounds.”

“How can you tell?” Clarkston asked, nose wrinkled in disgust.

“The fish would have attacked his brain if it was bleeding externally at the time of death,” the pathologist said. “Though you might want a professional marine biologist to consult.”

“You’re right,” Mitch said. “Fish and other organisms in the water would have focused their feeding activities on any exposed areas. You can see that they primarily ate the face and fingers. What about his skull?”

“I’m getting to that,” she said, slightly irritated. Mitch swallowed a snide comment.

“There wasn’t anything as obvious as a bashed-in skull,” she continued, “when we made the external examination.” With the help of one of the assistants, she turned Maddox’s body on one side. She examined the skull closely. “Hmm.”

“What?” Mitch couldn’t help but ask.

“There is a fine crack in the skull. Here, right at the base.” She pulled the camera closer. Mitch could see the damage only when she pointed it out using the sharp end of her scalpel.

“That’s interesting,” Clarkston said.

The chief pathologist stepped into the room and said, “I’m done with the comparison. Your victim is Oliver Maddox. I’ll write up a report and send it to your office.” Then he was gone.

Nothing that Mitch didn’t already know, but it was nice getting the confirmation.

“What’s that?” the assistant pathologist said from the room.

Mitch turned his attention back to the table. The stomach had been removed-or what was left of it. Inside was something bright pink.

The senior pathologist placed the stomach on the scale and cut it open. She removed the object and frowned.