Дэвид Балдаччи - Absolute Power

Frank stood up and moved around the room, his hands stuck deep into his pockets, a habit of his when thinking intently. “And the crime scene was so fucking clean I couldn’t believe it. There was nothing left. And I mean nothing. I’m surprised they didn’t operate on her and pull out the other slug.

“I mean, come on, this guy was a burglar or maybe that’s what he wants us to believe. But the vault was cleaned out. About four and a half million taken. And what was Mrs. Sullivan doing there? She was supposed to be sunning in the Caribbean. Did she know the guy? Was she screwing around on the side? If she was, are the two incidents related in any way? And why the hell would you waltz in the front door, knock out the security system, and then use a rope to climb out the window? Every time I ask myself one question another one pops up.” Frank sat back down, looking slightly bewildered at his outpouring.

The Medical Examiner leaned back in his chair, twirled the case file around and took a minute to read over it. He took off his glasses and wiped them on his sleeve, tugged at a corner of his lip with his thumb and index finger.

Frank’s nostrils quivered as he watched the ME. “What?”

“You mentioned nothing being left at the crime scene. I’ve been thinking about that. You’re right. It was too clean.” The Medical Examiner took his time in lighting up a Pall Mall — unfiltered, Frank noted. Every pathologist he had ever worked with had smoked. The Medical Examiner blew rings in the air, obviously enjoying this mental exercise.

“Her fingernails were too clean.”

Frank looked puzzled.

The Medical Examiner continued. “I mean there was no dirt, nail polish — although she was wearing it, bright red stuff — none of the ordinary residues you’d expect to find. Nothing. It was like they had been scoped out, you know what I mean?” He paused and then continued. “I also found minute traces of a solution.” He paused again. “Like a cleansing solution.”

“She’d been to some fancy beauty salon that morning. For a nail job and all that.”

The ME shook his head. “Then you’d expect to find more residue, not less, with all the chemicals they use.”

“So what are you saying? That her nails were deliberately cleaned out?”

The Medical Examiner nodded. “Someone was real careful not to leave any ident material behind.”

“Which means they were paranoid about being identified, somehow, by the physical evidence.”

“Most perps are, Seth.”

“To a degree. But squirting out fingernails and leaving a place so clean our E-vac came up basically empty is a little much.”

Frank scanned the report. “You also found traces of oil on her palms?”

The ME nodded, looked closely at the detective. “A preservative/protective compound. You know, like you’d use on fabrics, leathers, stuff like that.”

“So she may have been holding something and the residue was left there?”

“Yep. Although we can’t be sure exactly when the oil came to be on her hands.” The Medical Examiner put his glasses back on. “You think she knew the person, Seth?”

“None of the evidence points that way, unless she invited him over to burglarize the place.”

The Medical Examiner had a sudden inspiration. “Maybe she set up the burglary. You know? Tired of the old man, brings in the new bedroom buddy to conveniently steal their nest egg and it’s off to Fairy Tale Land?”

Frank considered the theory. “Except they have a falling out or there’s a double cross all along, and she gets the business end of some serious lead?”

“It fits the facts, Seth.”

Frank shook his head. “From all accounts the deceased loved being Mrs. Walter Sullivan. More than the money, if you know what I mean. She got to rub shoulders, and probably other parts of her anatomy, with famous people all over the world. Pretty heady for somebody who used to flip burgers at a Burger King.”

The ME stared at him. “You’re kidding?”

The detective smiled. “Eighty-year-old billionaires sometimes get strange ideas. It’s like where does the eight-hundred-pound gorilla sit? Anywhere he damn well pleases.”

The Medical Examiner grinned and shook his head. Billionaire? What would he do with a billion dollars? He looked down at the ink blotter on his desk. Then he put out his cigarette and looked back at the report, then at Frank. He cleared his throat.

“I think the second slug was a semi- or full-metal jacket.”

Frank loosened his tie, put his elbows on the desk. “Okay.”

The Medical Examiner went on. “It blew through the right temporal bone of the cranium and burst through the left pareital bone, leaving an exit wound over twice the size of the entry.”

“So you’re saying definitely two guns.”

“Not unless the guy was chambering different types of ammo in the same gun.” He looked keenly at the detective. “That doesn’t seem to surprise you, Seth.”

“It would have an hour ago. It doesn’t now.”

“So we probably have two perps.”

“Two perps with two guns. And a lady how big?”

The Medical Examiner didn’t need to refer to his notes. “Sixty-two inches tall, one hundred and five pounds.”

“So a little woman and two probable male perps with heavy-caliber hardware who try to strangle her, beat her up and then both open fire on her, killing her.”

The Medical Examiner rubbed at his chin. The facts were more than a little puzzling.

Frank glanced at the report. “You’re sure the strangulation marks and beating came before death?”

The Medical Examiner looked offended. “Positive. Pretty mess, isn’t it?”

Frank flipped through the report, making notes as he went. “You could say that. No attempted rape. Nothing like that?”

The Medical Examiner didn’t answer.

Finally Frank looked up at him, took off his glasses, put them down on the desk and leaned back, sipping the black coffee he had been offered earlier.

“The report doesn’t say anything about a sexual assault,” he reminded his friend.

The Medical Examiner finally stirred. “The report’s correct. There was no sexual assault. No trace of seminal fluid, no evidence of penetration, no overt bruising. All that leads me to conclude, officially, that no sexual assault occurred.”

“So? You’re not satisfied with that conclusion?” Frank looked at him expectantly.

The Medical Examiner took a sip of coffee, stretched out his long arms until he felt a comforting pop deep within the confines of his aging body and then leaned forward.

“Your wife ever go in for a gynecological exam?”

“Sure, doesn’t every woman?”

“You’d be surprised,” the Medical Examiner replied dryly, then continued. “Thing is, you go in for an exam, no matter how good the ob-gyn is, there’s usually some slight swelling and small abrasions in the genitalia. It’s the nature of the beast. To be thorough, you have to get in there and dig around.”

Frank put down his coffee, shifted in his chair. “So what are you saying, she had her gynecologist visit her in the middle of the night right before she got popped?”

“The indications were slight, very slight, but they were there.” The Medical Examiner paused, choosing his words carefully. “I’ve been thinking about it ever since I handed in the protocol. Understand, it could be nothing. She could have done it herself, you understand what I’m saying? To each their own. But from the looks of it, I don’t think it was self-inflicted. I think somebody examined her shortly after her death. Maybe two hours after, maybe earlier.”

“Checked her for what? To see if something had happened?” Frank did not try to hide his incredulity.