J.T. Ellison - Where All the Dead Lie

Sam gestured toward the computer, where the file was still open. “Did you see the note Keri left about the $1,000 in her pocket?”

“Yeah, I was there when they found it. The stain? Looks like it came from a dye pack to me.”

Sam stopped and looked at Marcus. “You mean from a bank robbery?”

“Exactly.”

“Ah,” she said.

“Ah is right. So you can imagine what’s going through my head.”

She could do exactly that. In addition to phantom kiddie diddlers romancing their twisted psyches in the coffee shops, the Regretful Robber continued to wreak havoc all over Metro.

“You think she’s in on the robberies?” Sam asked, pulling on her gloves and signaling to Stuart to prep for Ms. Gonzalez. Sam went to look at the X-rays. “Typical crush injuries on the X-rays, compound fractures of the tibia and fibula on both legs, the femurs also cracked. Skull fracture. The jackpot will be her brain. I’m expecting a large subdural hematoma. All that pressure and nowhere to go.”

“I suppose it’s possible she was the robber. Though the guys in Special Crimes have been working under the assumption that it’s a man.”

“You know what happens when you assume.”

“Ass. You. Me. Got it.”

“But if she’s involved, why come to the CJC? With your family in tow?”

“They were going to force her to confess?” Marcus said.

“Maybe. Or maybe she saw something she wasn’t supposed to, or her car was one of the ones that had been stolen. The $1,000 could have been remuneration-that is this guy’s M.O.”

“Also possible. But I think it was something more. Did you see the fibers they collected from her pocket?”

As they talked, Sam did her external on the victim, looking carefully for anything that wasn’t consistent with the accident. She made notes of cuts and bruises, saw nothing out of the ordinary, and signaled to Stuart, who took up his scalpel and opened the woman like he was pulling down a zipper. Marcus took an involuntary step back to avoid the splash of blood that welled over the edges of the incision.

“What fibers?” Sam asked. “I didn’t see it in the report.”

“Sloppy of them not to include it. There was a wad of something synthetic, almost like a tangle of fishing line, but much more delicate. I thought it was hair, but Keri said no, it wasn’t organic. I have no idea what it could be.”

“I want to see it,” Sam said. “Keri wouldn’t have made that mistake, I probably just didn’t read far enough along in her report.”

Stuart was making quick work of Marias’s post; she could step out for a moment. She and Marcus crossed the autopsy suite to the evidence room. The door was hermetically sealed; there was blood evidence in here that needed special attention. She set her finger on the new biometric scanner. All evidence was now kept under lock and key after one of her MEs had been caught stealing marijuana from the evidence lockers. He’d been fired immediately, and new security measures put into place, including cameras and the fingerprint scanner. It helped her keep track of who went where in the morgue.

Keri had left everything for the case right where it was supposed to be. Sam smiled. She liked having a tightly run ship. No searching, no wasted time and effort. She opened the evidence locker, found the bags that matched her case, then went through smaller envelopes until she located the one labeled Left Pocket .

Using tweezers, she teased out the wad of fibers. It only took her a second to identify them.

“Wig hair. This is from a wig.”

“Was she wearing a wig?”

“No.”

“Does the Regretful Robber wear a wig?”

“That I can’t answer.”

“All right. But why would she have wig hair in her pocket?”

Sam thought about it for a minute. “Maybe she’s got a family member with cancer. They lost their hair, she buys them a wig. She obviously doesn’t have much money. She might not be able to afford the real-hair ones they’re making now, those are surprisingly expensive.”

“That’s solid. But in her pocket?”

“Locard’s theory. Plain old transference. She touched the wig, the strands came away, and either she didn’t realize it, or she didn’t want to drop them on the floor so she just tucked them in her pocket.”

“Head’s ready,” Stuart called out.

They tidied up the evidence and went back to the body. The hematoma was visible on the brain, right where Sam expected it to be.

“Okay, go ahead,” she said to Stuart, who proceeded to remove the brain from its cavity. There was a large squelch as it came away. Sam watched Marcus pale. She’d had seasoned detectives drop at autopsy plenty of times, but Marcus had always been unflinching.

He shook his head. “Never have gotten used to that sound. The pop when the skull comes free, either.”

Stuart placed the brain gently on the dissection tray. “Brain’s ready,” he said.

Sam punched Marcus lightly on the arm. “The body is a temple of noises, my friend. You want to stick around for the dissection?”

Sam’s cart was all assembled with her knives, ready for the afternoon’s work. She was very particular about her knives. She had a set of stainless steel Henckels. They were no different than the set she had in her kitchen, except for her workhorse: the twelve-inch blade she used for hearts and livers. She had a regular eight-inch chef’s knife, two smaller slicing blades, a set of forceps and a pair of long, delicate, gold-tipped Metzenbaum scissors. Her tools were her pride and joy. She carried them in a large black leather knife case, like a chef. She didn’t trust anyone else’s tools. She even had a brand-new Dremel that she was itching to try out. Simon had given it to her for her birthday. Love between scientists at its best.

Marcus shook his head. “I think you have it under control. Let me know the final findings, okay? I need to get down to her house, see if I can figure out what her life was about.”

“Good luck,” Sam said, making a long slice along the woman’s liver.

“You too,” Marcus replied, a smile on his face. “Don’t have too much fun with the organs.”

“I’ll try,” she said. Every body had a story to tell. It was her job to read them right.

She had a moment of guilt-she could use her work to heal. Despite the random flashbacks to the kidnapping, she was healing.

But Taylor was forced to run away. Sam couldn’t help but think that work would have been a better fix for her as well.

Memphis knocked on Taylor’s door at five minutes to seven. She’d rested up, washed her face, and changed into black wool slacks and a cream cashmere turtleneck. At the last minute, she put on her grandmother’s pearls. Memphis said they dressed for dinner, and the pearls were original Mikimotos-a beautiful, graduated, princess-length strand with a delicately scrolled platinum clasp that had a tiny, perfect pearl on it. She hoped that would be dressed enough.

She opened the door, and Memphis looked on her with approval.

“Very nice. Shall we?” He extended his arm, and she accepted it. They started down the hall. “I talked Cook out of serving downstairs in the main dining room. I didn’t feel like giving the radiators a workout. We’ll be eating in my parents’ dining room, the second dining room, we call it, instead. Be prepared, she’s gone a bit all out.”

They went down a flight of stairs, not the same ones she’d been on earlier, and entered another wide, open passageway. Delicious smells wafted out of the room at the end of the hall.

Goodness, Memphis. Just how many stairways are there in the castle?

He stopped, brows knitted. “You know…I’ve no idea.”