Allison Brennan - Sudden Death

“Thanks.” Megan slid them on her flats and continued to walk toward the voice.

“What about ‘restraining order’ do you not understand?” Simone said, hands on her hips, as Megan rounded the corner into the cold storage room. Rows of bodies on steel gurneys, most of them covered with sheets with only their feet showing, lined the huge refrigerator.

Megan was surprised to see that Matt had beat her to the morgue. She nodded to her brother, and to the pathologist who was standing next to Simone.

All eyes went to her. Megan quickly assessed the situation and realized that she was likely the ranking opposition, for lack of a better word. She extended her hand to the man in the suit-military lawyer, she pegged. “Hello, I’m Supervisory Special Agent Megan Elliott with the FBI. I think we can work something out where we all get what we want.”

The lawyer said, “Lieutenant Paul Stork. Your victim is our primary suspect in an attempted murder case. Private First Class Price has been AWOL for five years. And, as I was explaining to the district attorney, section-”

Megan cut him off. “I understand, Lieutenant. And I respect your need to investigate your own crimes. May I suggest that we find common ground so we-”

Stork interrupted. “There is no common ground, Agent Elliott.”

Megan appealed to his sense of justice. “Price was the victim of a serial murderer who has killed two other men-in Texas and Nevada. The evidence is crucial not only to this investigation, but to those investigations. We need to make the link-”

Stork put his hand up. Megan realized the gesture was the same one she often used when she wanted someone to stop talking, and it irritated her intensely. She vowed she wouldn’t do it again, and planned on apologizing to her ex-husband at her first opportunity.

“Agent Elliott, if there is any evidence pertinent to the Sacramento Police Department’s investigation into this homicide, my office will forward it to”-he looked at his notepad-”Detective John Black.”

“I think we can do better than that,” Megan said.

Stork’s phone rang. He answered it without excusing himself. He listened, then said, “Thank you,” and hung up.

“If-”

He put his hand up again and Megan wanted to slap it back down. Stork motioned for the two soldiers standing sentry over Price’s body to move him out.

“That was the DOD,” Stork said. “I have confirmed authority to take over this investigation. The FBI does not have jurisdiction in this matter, as I’m sure both you and the district attorney are aware.” He turned to Si-mone, who was red-faced. The pathologist had a hand on her shoulder, his knuckles white as he restrained her as subtly as possible.

“Ms. Charles, I have sent over a team to collect the evidence stored at the Sacramento Police Department. If you make this difficult, I’ll have you taken into custody for obstruction of justice.” He said to the pathologist, “Mr. Ward, if you would please retrieve all clothing, evidence, and material you removed from Private First Class Price’s body, post haste.”

Post haste? Who spoke that way?

“It’s logged in with-” Ward began.

“Please bring it to me. I have a busy day ahead and need to arrange transport of the body to our facilities.”

Ward didn’t bat an eye and left the room.

“Nice try, Mr. Elliott,” Stork said. “I assume you were trying to help your wife out, but you should have known better.”

“Sister,” Megan and Matt said simultaneously.

Matt added, “This is still my county, and that man, AWOL or not, was murdered in my jurisdiction. I will likely be prosecuting his killer at some point-before or after you. I hope you’ll consider that when you process the evidence and ensure that Ms. Charles and Detective Black have a copy of all your records and files.”

“We’ll provide what we can,” Stork said, noncommittally.

“You jumped on this real quick,” Megan said. “We’ve had the case for less than twenty-four hours.”

“Your office contacted the army,” Stork said.

“Excuse me?” Then Megan remembered. “When we were confirming his identity and seeking next-of-kin records.” Dammit, her diligence got her case yanked.

“The CID still moved faster than I’ve ever seen the army move,” Matt said. “Who’s Price’s victim? A general?” Megan noted the sarcasm in her brother’s voice.

“Price is wanted for the attempted murder of his commanding officer.”

Ward walked back in and handed a sealed box to the soldier Stork indicated.

“Thank you, Mr. Ward. You have been very helpful.” He nodded to them, then motioned for the soldiers to leave with him. “Have a nice day.”

Simone didn’t restrain her scream of frustration as Stork left with their victim. “Asshole!”

Matt said, “I know Stork’s type. He can make your life hell if he wants to.”

“I’ve never been in the military,” she snapped. “I don’t take orders well.”

Matt turned to the pathologist. “Good to see you again, Phineas. Have you met my sister, Megan Elliott?”

“I have now.” He shook her hand.

“I can’t believe we’re just standing around here doing nothing!” Simone said. “That’s my body they’re taking. You can kiss any prosecution good-bye.”

“Don’t take it out on the D.A.,” Phineas Ward said. “He delayed them long enough.”

“What does that mean?” Megan asked.

Ward shrugged. “When we process the body, we take certain samples. I forgot that I’d put the vials in the lab, and the lab director is already processing them.”

Simone wrapped her arms around him and kissed his cheek. “You’re wonderful.”

“It still won’t help with a prosecution,” Matt said. “Without physical evidence for the defense to test independently, most judges will throw it out.”

“But it can help with victimology,” Megan said, admiring Phineas Ward’s foresight. “Was Price on drugs? Drunk? Did he have any illnesses? Did the killer drug him in any way? There’s a connection between Price and the other two victims, and this is one way, albeit small, that we can try to figure it out.”

“Exactly,” Simone said. “And,” she added smugly, “the security tapes didn’t come in yesterday. I’m supposed to get them at nine a.m., and the damn CID will already be back on their base or in Hell or wherever they’re going.”

Megan turned to Ward. “Did you inspect the body? Did you see anything strange?”

“Other than collecting blood and hair samples, I only performed a visual examination, weighed, and measured him. Six feet tall, one hundred seventy pounds, forty-five to fifty years of age. I don’t have a positive I.D. on him, other than the identification on his person. But I collected fingerprints and already sent them off for processing.”

“So at least we’ll be able to confirm his identity,” Megan said. “You remembered those details?”

“My mind is full of useless trivia.”

“Not so useless,” Simone said, taking notes.

“I don’t think he died from the bullet in his skull.”

“What?” Megan and Simone said simultaneously.

“There wasn’t enough blood. Was there a lot at the crime scene?”

“He lost a lot of blood when his hamstrings were cut,” Simone said.

“But that didn’t kill him. The blood was clotted behind his knees, and you’d be surprised at how little blood can come from a wound like that. It tears the muscle but doesn’t hit any major arteries. The blood would clot quickly, yet the victim would be completely incapacitated. Not to mention being in intense pain.

“There was no clotting around the head,” Ward continued, “at least I didn’t see any. There might have been contamination, or perhaps a postmortem ritual of cleaning the body, but I think I would have noticed something like that.” He shrugged. “It’s just a guess.”