The Incumbent Page 17

  “Mayor,” he said with surprise. “What are you doing here?”

  “I understand Lizzy’s autopsy is going to be performed today?”

  “Yes. Considering the nature of the crimes, I asked that she be put at the top of the list.”

  “I’m going with you.”

  “Where?”

  “The coroner’s office, of course.”

  “You want to witness the autopsy? Are you nuts? Have you ever been to an autopsy? It’s not pretty. It’s worse if you know the person.”

  “I can take it.”

  He shook his head. “With all due respect, Mayor, this isn’t television. An autopsy looks bad, smells bad, it even sounds bad. Why would you want to do this?”

  “I want to know as much as I can and I don’t want to wait for a report.”

  He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Well, I’m sorry, Mayor. You’re a private citizen, and that means you need special permission from the coroner himself.”

  I had started to say something when a woman in plain clothes stepped into the room. I assumed she was one of the secretaries. “This just came for you, Detective. It’s from the coroner’s office.” She handed him a fax. He read it. Set it down and rubbed his eyes.

  “You are clever, I’ll give you that.”

  “I try to plan ahead,” I said with a smirk.

  “I can’t talk you out of this?”

  “No.”

  The expression on his face made it clear that he wasn’t used to having someone manipulate him. “I hope you brought a helmet.”

  “A helmet? For what?”

  “For when you faint and your head bounces off the floor.”

  “I may surprise you.”

  “I doubt it. I’ve seen it before.” He got up. “Let’s go and get this over with.” He stepped from the office and I followed close behind. I began to wonder about the helmet.

  The Santa Rita County Coroner’s Office was a ten-minute drive from City Hall. As West steered the unmarked police car, our conversation was minimal. He didn’t want me along and I didn’t want to explain any further why I was there. Truthfully, I’m not sure I could have. Somehow I felt I owed Lizzy that much. I also wanted details. It’s a fault in my personality, and I’ve driven more than one person crazy by asking for more information than they had. West had been open, holding nothing back; at least that I could tell. Still, details were coming my way in bits and pieces. I suppose that’s how it is in murder cases. Nonetheless, I needed to do something, I needed to be involved. I was committed to that.

  That commitment began to waver the moment I entered the building where the autopsy would soon take place. It is a fairly modern stitching together of glass and concrete. Neatly trimmed grass and flowers cover the grounds. Two flagpoles stretch toward the sky, one displaying the Stars and Stripes, the other the California bear on a field of white. It seemed such a pleasant place, but my mind could not escape the nagging truth of what lay inside.

  West flashed his badge at the receptionist and introduced me, then led me through a door and down a hall that reminded me of a hospital corridor. There was something in the air, an odd mix of institutional building, floor wax, and chemicals.

  “Ever been here?” he asked. His dress shoes squeaked on the highly polished sand-colored linoleum. The noise, echoing off the high-gloss, pale green walls, was unnerving.

  “Can’t say that I have.”

  “I doubt you’ll want to come back.” It was a blunt comment but offered without anger.

  We passed office doors and an employee lunchroom. I tried to imagine medical examiners, assistants, and secretaries gathered around talking sports and eating tuna sandwiches while a dozen corpses lay a short distance away. At the end of the corridor is another hall, forming a T. West turned right and I followed. He stopped suddenly.

  “One of the MEs should give you a tour, but just so you know, these doors—” he pointed to a double set of metal doors to our left—“lead to the foyer where the bodies are logged in. Just beyond is the refrigeration unit. Want to see it?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Okay.” He turned. Another pair of doors, matching those across the hall, were before us. “This is it. I don’t know how many autopsies are under way, so if you’re going to change your mind, now would be the time.”

  I shook my head, but the temptation to leave was almost overwhelming.

  “Tallyho.” West plunged through the doors. I steeled myself and followed.

  The autopsy room is bright, its illumination provided by overhead fluorescent lights. Four metal tables stand perpendicular to the wall. Each table butts up to a square metal sink. The floor is the same light-brown linoleum but the walls are white. To one side of the room is a set of shelves that holds scores of small jars filled with fluid and containing things I don’t want to know about.

  “Hey, Doc,” West said as he strolled in. Clearly he had been in such places many times before.

  A tall man with a completely bald head and a thick yellow mustache turned. “Ah, Detective West, hero of Santa Rita.” He was standing next to the closest table, on which was a body covered with a thin white sheet. The tall man’s eyes were a bright blue, and his easy smile revealed crooked teeth colored by too many years of smoking. “I see you brought a guest. Detectives are getting prettier every year.”

  “She’s not with the department. This is Maddy Glenn, mayor of Santa Rita. Mayor, this is Dr. Donald Egan.”

  I said I was pleased to meet him. He studied me for a second. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, too. Forgive me, but—”

  “She’s been cleared,” West explained. He pulled the fax from his pocket and handed it to Egan, who studied it and frowned. Then he shrugged. He gave the paper back to West.

  “You staying for the whole thing?” he asked West.

  “No, just the gross and maybe a little more.”

  “Okay, let’s rock and roll.” Egan snatched the sheet off the form on the table.

  It was Lizzy. She was naked and I felt embarrassed for her. She lay on her back, gazing at the acoustic tiles on the ceiling through unblinking eyes covered with a white film. Her skin was blue and her mouth was parted as if she were about to speak. Her hair was a mess of tangles. In death she looked alien and barely recognizable. I felt my breath catch.

  Egan folded the sheet and set it to one side. He then took a small tape recorder and pushed a button. I expected to see a microphone hanging from the ceiling, like on television shows, but there was none. Maybe the bigger cities and counties have the high-tech stuff. Here things seemed simple and awkward.

  Egan began to speak, first stating the date. “Autopsy begins at nine-o-six and is being conducted by Dr. Donald Egan, Assistant Medical Examiner, County of Santa Rita. In attendance are Detective Jerry West—”

  “Judson West,” West corrected. “Jerry West was a basketball player.”

  “Correction,” Egan said without missing a beat, “Detective Judson West of the Santa Rita City Police Department. Also in attendance is Mayor Maddy Glenn of Santa Rita City. Autopsy is being performed in compliance with mandates of the state of California and at the request of the Santa Rita Police, Robbery and Homicide division. Subject is Elizabeth Stout, a female Caucasian, forty-six years of age and weighing one hundred and forty-five pounds. Positive identification was made by her husband. Subject was found in a situation suggestive of homicide. An active investigation is under way. All limbs, fingers, and toes are present. No tattoos, no obvious sign of drug abuse. On cursory examination, cause of death is not apparent.”

  He began to touch her and I again felt great embarrassment on her behalf. First he pressed on different areas of her skull, then bent over to peer at her hair. “No indication of trauma to the head; no sign of blood in the hair.” He lifted her head and moved it from side to side, spoke about levity and cervical spine being intact. I felt my face flush and I was beginning to get hot. Egan looked at her eyes, in her ears and her nose and her mout
h. He paid special attention to her neck. “No signs of strangulation.” He returned to her mouth and pointed out change in the texture of the skin.

  “Tape,” he said to West, who stood on the other side of the table. I remained several steps back. “She was gagged and for some time, I would say. It looks like her skin developed a rash from the tape. Some tests might reveal the type of tape.”

  “There was no tape on her mouth when we found her,” West said. “It’s another reason we think she was dead before being tied to the pier.”

  “Logical. I checked the sinus for water and didn’t find any. I’ll see what fluids we have in the lungs in a few minutes, but I’m betting she didn’t drown.”

  Egan continued his exam, poking and pushing and taking samples with swabs on long, thin wooden sticks, like giant Q-Tips. He worked his way down her body and my embarrassment grew. It all lacked dignity. Lizzy was a proud woman. The thought of lying naked on a steel table while two men examined every inch of her body would have mortified her.

  “No obvious signs of rape,” Egan said. “But I’ll take samples.”

  He did.

  “I’m especially interested in seeing her back,” West said. “I would like your opinion.”

  “Fine with me. Help me roll her over.”

  West donned some latex gloves and helped pull Lizzy onto her side. I could see her back from where I stood. It was darker than the rest of her body.

  “The blood pooling is interesting,” Egan said. “She was seated when you found her?”

  “Yeah. A rope held her back against the post under the pier.”

  Egan looked at me and explained, “When someone dies, the blood moves to the lowest parts of the body and settles into the tissues. If she was killed in a seated position, the blood should have settled into the buttocks. That tissue can hold a lot of blood. But I’m seeing a more even distribution. I’d say she was supine when she died.”

  “What do you make of the marks?” West asked.

  I watched Egan bend over and place his face near Lizzy’s back. He blocked my view with his body. I was strangely grateful. He stood up and while holding her body in position, reached for a magnifying glass. Then he returned his attention to the wounds. Seconds oozed by as Egan studied each injury, tilting his head from side to side. I wondered how a man could do this work every day. He set the glass down and began probing each cut with his finger.

  “Hmm. They’re not deep, but then I didn’t expect they would be. You told me on the phone that you saw these wounds at the crime scene and thought they were caused by mussel shells?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I’d say you’re correct. What’s odd is that they’re relatively smooth and shallow. None of the wounds are ragged, which would indicate tearing.”

  “So she didn’t fight against the rope or the rising water. I figure the tide action pressed her against the mussels repeatedly, developing the gashes we see. If she had been alive at the time . . .”

  “She would have struggled to free herself, even panicking as the water continued to rise. Her back should be shredded but it’s not.”

  “More proof she died elsewhere.”

  “That gets my vote. Hold her up while I take some shots.” Egan removed a digital camera from the nearby counter and started snapping pictures of Lizzy’s back. Then, with West’s help, he lowered the body to its original position. I kept waiting for Lizzy to protest, but I knew she never would. It’s odd how the mind continues to deny truth even in the presence of undeniable facts. Egan recited his findings for the recorder, continuing in the same dispassionate tone.

  “Okay,” he said to West. “If she didn’t die at the scene, then she was killed elsewhere. That’s your problem. My problem is discovering how she died. There are no marks around the neck to indicate strangling. The skull is whole and undamaged, so blunt force to the head is out. I find no bruises on her body, beyond that left by the rope which held her to the pier, and some ligature marks around the wrists and feet, indicating forced restraint. If she had been beaten, I would expect more bruising.” He placed a gloved hand on either side of Lizzy’s rib cage and worked his fingers around. “No fractured ribs. I don’t think she was abused by her captors.”

  “Any guesses?”

  “In the absence of gunshot wounds, knife wounds, evidence of beating, bludgeoning, or strangulation, I’d guess suffocation by something like a plastic bag, or maybe poison.” He paused and bent over Lizzy’s face again. “Usually forced suffocation causes capillary breakdown around the face, especially the mouth and nose. I don’t see that.” He began searching her body again but he seemed to focus on her arms. He pulled at the skin on her shoulder. “Bingo!”

  “What?” West said.

  Egan reached for the magnifying glass again. “Take a look at this.” West rounded the metal table. Egan put a finger on Lizzy’s shoulder, then handed the glass to West. “Looks like an injection mark. Could be a bite. After a night in the water, it’s hard to tell.”

  “I see that. It’s high on the arm, not likely to be self-inflicted.” West turned to me. “Was Mrs. Stout a diabetic?”

  My first attempt at words came out like a croak. I cleared my throat and said, “Not that I know of.”

  “Diabetics don’t shoot insulin into their arm,” Egan said. “Usually they insert the needle in the thigh. It could be nothing more than a flu shot. We won’t know until the toxicology report comes back. I’ve already sent the blood in.”

  “When do we find out?” West wondered.

  “I put a rush on it. Of course, everyone puts a rush on these things. I let them know that other lives might be in danger. That should get it on the top of the list. With any luck, I’ll be calling you this afternoon.”

  “That would be great.” West handed the glass back to Egan, who set it on the counter. He then stepped to one side, where a metal tray was resting on a wheeled cart, and pulled the cart close. I had paid it no notice when I first came in, because I could barely take my eyes off Lizzy’s form. Now I took more notice than I wanted. The oblong tray held several scalpels, and tools that looked more suited for the garden than for a medical procedure. I had to remind myself that this was no medical procedure. There was nothing curative about it.

  Egan snatched up a large scalpel, placed his index finger on the back of the blade, and positioned it just south of Lizzy’s left collarbone. My blood chilled and my stomach roiled. I wanted to close my eyes, but I had told West I could take it. Now I had serious doubts.

  West grabbed Egan’s wrist. “Hang on a sec, Doc.” The detective studied me for a moment. I tried to appear calm and strong. “You need to leave, Mayor. You do not need to see this. Lizzy was your friend. The last thing you need is the image of her autopsy burned into your brain.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re not. Dr. Egan is about to cut open someone you know, and that’s the easy part. It gets worse from there. Trust me on this, Mayor. I’ve been to more of these than I can count and I still can’t sleep at night. You need to go. Wait in the waiting room.”

  “But—”

  “No. No buts or pulling rank. You can order the chief to fire me if you want, but I’d much rather explain why I kicked you out than why I let you stay until you tossed your cookies or passed out. Go. Get out.”

  There was nothing harsh in his voice, no anger in his words, but the determination was unmistakable.

  “He’s right, Mayor,” Egan added. “Truth is, you’re making me nervous.”

  I shook my head, turned, and exited without a word. I was ashamed at the relief I felt. Thirty steps later I was seated in the lobby, having placed myself under the closest air-conditioning vent. I felt hot on the outside and frozen on the inside. It was all I could do to hold down breakfast.

  I picked up a People magazine and tried to lose myself in the lives of the famous, but the only image my mind would allow was that of Lizzy strapped to the pier, the water covering her lifeless body.r />
  West emerged a half hour later. “Ready to go?”

  “Done already?”

  “Dr. Egan is still working, but I’ve seen all I need to. Now I wait for his report.”

  I rose from my seat and walked with him into the parking lot. After a few moments I said, “You can be pretty bossy, you know.”

  “It’s a character flaw.”

  “Thanks.”

  He opened the car door for me and waited until I was safely in before closing it. One minute later we exited the lot and headed back to City Hall.

  “Did you learn anything new?”

  He shook his head. “The real evidence will probably be in the blood.”

  I hoped he was right.

  chapter 15

  Let me ask you something,” West said as he pulled the car onto the freeway.

  “Sure.” I was glad to be out of the coroner’s building. I wanted to shake the image of Lizzy on the table, which seemed to be flash-burned into my brain.

  “Was Mrs. Stout a . . . difficult woman?” He made a face. Apparently, the words failed him.

  “Difficult?”

  “Bad word choice.” He drove in the far right lane, slower than the rest of the traffic. “What I mean is, was she headstrong, determined?”

  “Oh, she was that, all right, and some more. She was a savvy businesswoman and didn’t take guff off anyone. At the same time she was kind and considerate. Still, if she had an opinion, it was destined to see the light of day.”

  West pressed the issue. “If someone had threatened her, how do you think she would have responded?”

  “I don’t know. I imagine she wouldn’t have taken it lying down. I once saw her chew the ear off some guy who suggested that her commission was too high. It was at a Chamber of Commerce meeting. The man left knowing how the cow ate the cabbage.”

  “How the what did what?”