The Wicked Hour

by Alice Blanchard

  Natalie nodded. “How many appointments altogether?”

  “Hold on.” His fingers fluttered over the keyboard. “Let’s see. It started three months ago. She was a walk-in for her first appointment, and Dr. Swinton was working the evening shift.”

  “He works evenings?”

  “Yes, he volunteers one evening a week. You can tell he really cares, a busy man like him. He’s a great guy.” Dr. Phelps leaned forward and asked in a hushed voice, “Why? Is something wrong? What’s this about?”

  “Just routine.”

  Dr. Phelps folded his hands together like a worried parent. Most people sensed when you were being evasive. “I’ve known Russ Swinton for a very long time. He’s a decent, hardworking guy who has a great rapport with the students. He’s a dedicated physician. If I had a son or daughter who required medical attention, I wouldn’t hesitate to put them in his care. And so I can’t imagine…”

  Natalie couldn’t, either. She thanked him and left.

  Back in the waiting room, the receptionist called her over. “I don’t know if this helps at all,” she said nervously, running her fingers over her mother-of-pearl buttons. “Some of these doctors can be such smug, out-of-control assholes, but Dr. Swinton will show up out of the blue to check in on his patients’ progress. No one does that nowadays. None of these guys will take the time of day to see how their patients are doing after the fact. It’s all … ‘what about my golf game?’”

  “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”

  But the receptionist wasn’t done yet.

  “My sister lives in Burning Lake, and she’s a home care worker. He’ll check in on his patients just to see how they’re doing. At their homes. I’m talking about some of the patients from the ICU … he obviously cares about their long-term recovery…”

  Natalie’s phone rang just then. It was Luke.

  “We have the subpoena,” he said. “I need you over there to help execute the search.”

  43

  Natalie, Luke, Lenny, and Augie spent the afternoon gathering evidence from Russ Swinton’s house. The old-fashioned six-over-six windows overlooked the woods. The high-ceilinged rooms were tastefully decorated. They didn’t find any dead bodies hidden away in the basement. No secret dungeons.

  Natalie found a number of antique musical instruments—flutes, violins, and mandolins—along with a Victorian-era doctor’s bag and surgical tools in a display cabinet. Above the mantelpiece in the living room was a picture of Russ’s dead sister posing with her violin. There were more pictures of Russ’s extended family—mother, father, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins.

  Lenny powdered for prints in the living room, while Augie searched the house for trace and Natalie and Luke gathered up the computer records, telephone records, medical textbooks, and old patient files. A total of a hundred and twenty-three items were taken from the home, including several knives, a hammer, trash bags, different-colored fibers, and several long hairs collected from various surfaces, but the small quantity of blood they found in the first-floor powder room was the most relevant piece of evidence they’d found.

  Outside, two BLPD officers were busy scouring the property with cadaver dogs, while Lenny processed the car—no blood so far, but an abundance of prints, hairs, and fibers.

  As they packed the last of the boxes into the van, Luke got a call and turned away from Natalie, answering, “Lieutenant Pittman.”

  She watched his shoulders tense.

  “Yeah? Really? Cordon off the area. We’ll be right over.” He hung up. “That was Brandon,” he said, the change in his expression profound. “The cleanup crew found human remains in the park. Severed body parts inside a violin case.”

  44

  New York’s Adirondack Mountains were created by major events that had happened over geologic time—earthquakes, volcanoes, mudslides. Strip away the buildings and foliage, and you would find a dramatic landscape full of foothills and mountain peaks shaped by untold glacial freezes and thaws. Millions of years of upheaval had conspired to create what the place was today—a beautiful inland vista full of rolling hills, mountain ranges, and lakes.

  Natalie followed Luke’s Ford Ranger back into town. Percival Burton Park was the crown jewel of the Burning Lake parks system, located on the western side of downtown. Over a century old, the park was host to year-round community events and activities, including summer rock concerts and theatrical productions.

  Natalie cut her hand getting her crime kit out of the car and sucked on her torn knuckles, tasting blood. Her blouse was soaked with sweat. She followed Luke across the street, and they entered the park together.

  A ten-foot-square area of unimpeded lawn was cordoned off with yellow police tape. The Great Lawn was the site of the former Percival Burton mansion, which had burned down in 1905. The Monster Mash concert had taken place here a little under a week ago—Natalie could see where the scaffolding had been erected and taken down.

  The sprawling Great Lawn was covered in trash that had yet to be collected—rumpled flyers, food wrappers, glow sticks, and other debris. A handful of officers were doing a grid search around the perimeter, on the hunt for any additional body parts. The cleanup crew—she counted seven volunteers—were standing next to an idling dump truck on an access road fifty feet away. Several of the volunteers wore T-shirts that read “Green, Lean, and Mean.”

  Natalie, Luke, and Officer Keegan formed a tight circle inside the cordoned-off area. They were looking down at the scuffed violin case on the ground. Natalie listened to a low dull pulse inside her head as Keegan hooked his thumbs through his belt loops and explained what had happened.

  “A member of the cleanup crew found it,” he said in his gravelly voice. “He was picking up leaves and debris when he spotted it.”

  “Did he touch it?”

  Keegan nodded. “So did the first officer at the scene—Boomer Prutzman. He said it looked like a Halloween prank.”

  “They both opened the case?” Natalie asked.

  Keegan nodded. “He had no idea what was inside. I also checked.”

  She was more than a little annoyed by the news. It meant they would have to eliminate prints and trace from those who’d handled the evidence, which translated into extra work and more delays. “Did you document everything?”

  “Yeah, we both did,” he said somewhat defensively. His face was red.

  She didn’t mean to challenge his professionalism, but Natalie was laser-focused on the task at hand, and she wasn’t particularly good at hand-holding. Still, how you got along with your colleagues mattered. “Thanks, Bill,” she said.

  “Go talk to the volunteers,” Luke told Keegan. “Make sure you get their contact information, and don’t let anyone leave without giving a statement.”

  “Will do.” He strode off, leaving them alone inside the perimeter.

  “You do the honors,” Luke told Natalie.

  Her mouth was parched. Her exhaustion pulled at the muscles of her face. She noticed her hands were trembling—adrenaline or anxiety. She knelt down and studied the black oblong case. The pebble-textured vinyl cover was scuffed at the corners. She girded herself, then snapped the locks and opened the lid, bracing herself for the the stench of decomp, but there wasn’t any odor. The body parts had been mummified. The skin was leathery and coated with layers of varnish. Two mummified forearms, severed at the elbows, packed in tight; the mummified hands clasping a human heart. She leaned back and tried not to gag. She felt the heat rising in her cheeks as Luke knelt down beside her and breathed softly in her ear.

  “Looks like mummification,” he said.

  “The forearms and hands are slender. Female, most likely.”

  “Maybe Lenny can pull prints.”

  She studied the clipped, unpolished fingernails. “Most violinists like to keep their nails short, better for gripping the fingerboard. No nail polish. No fake nails. It’s a point of pride.”

  “So we have another dead violinist on our hand
s?”

  She stood up and crossed her arms. “This is obviously a staged message. We were supposed to find it. It was left here deliberately, don’t you think?”

  He stood up and brushed off his hands. “Okay, I’ll bite. What kind of message?”

  She glanced around the park. “Well, the concert was held here last Friday. You can see where the scaffolding, speaker stands, and light tower were set up. They haven’t landscaped the area yet, because they’ve been waiting for the cleanup crews to finish picking up the trash. You can see where the stage was constructed for the concert, deep furrows in the ground where the scaffolding and tent foundations were. Seating would’ve been in this general area, in front of the stage and extending all the way back. I’ve been to the Monster Mash before. People are encouraged to sit on blankets or bring their own folding chairs.”

  Officer Keegan was talking on his radio, while half a dozen BLPD uniforms were walking the grid. Closer by, a female officer held on to a metal detector, sweeping it back and forth in a zigzag pattern across the ground. They were looking for bullets, weapons, coins, or any other type of evidence that might be linked to the dump site.

  Luke scratched the back of his neck. “So—we’re standing where, exactly?”

  “Center stage. Where the performances took place last Friday evening. If the setup is similar to last year’s, then the judges’ table would be off to one side. Over there.” She pointed at the honeysuckle bushes. “The violin case is pointing in that direction.”

  “So he’s sending a message to the judges?”

  “It looks that way, doesn’t it?”

  Luke studied the scene. “Okay, but Swinton was one of the judges this year. If he’s guilty, then why would he be sending a message to himself?”

  “He wouldn’t,” she agreed. “Whoever did this left the violin case right here on the spot where the contestants would’ve given their performances. Which means we need to interview all of this year’s finalists.”

  “You think one of them did it?”

  “We can’t rule it out.”

  He grew visibly aggravated. “You don’t think Swinton is guilty anymore? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “You have to admit, this is a game changer, Luke. Besides, the evidence we have on him so far is circumstantial. I’ve known him all my life. People lie. People do dumb things. That doesn’t prove he tried to abduct her. And now this.”

  “What if the blood in the wastebasket turns out to belong to Morgan Chambers?”

  “It only proves she was in his house. It doesn’t prove anything else.”

  A tree swallow swooped territorially above their heads. She could see the gears turning in Luke’s brain, his shoulders beginning to slump with resignation. “All right. I’ll have Augie compile a list of finalists,” he said, taking out his phone.

  She tried to imagine a scenario in which Russ Swinton could’ve hacked up and mummified a body. It seemed insane. And yet—what was that old cliché about serial killers? He was such a nice guy, according to the neighbors. Friendly. Quiet. Kept to himself.

  Luke put his phone away. “Augie’s getting started on the list, and I’ve authorized Mike to do the interviews. We’re also pulling the cadaver dogs off Swinton’s property and bringing them over here.” He shook his head, his frustration peaking. “I still don’t get it. What kind of a fucking message is this supposed to be?”

  She hesitated to say it out loud. “I realize this is a leap, okay? But look. The two hands in the case are holding a heart. What does that say to you?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve got my heart in my hands?”

  “I’m sure it’s common to most performers, but after her auditions, Bella used to say, ‘I played my heart out for them.’”

  Luke gave her a skeptical look. “That’s the message to the judges?”

  She nodded. “‘I played my heart out for you.’”

  45

  They parked their vehicles in the underground garage of an aging government building, then took the elevator down to the basement, where Natalie followed Luke into the chilly morgue. The body parts were laid out next to the violin case on a stainless steel table—two slender forearms holding a mummified heart. The faux-suede accessory compartments of the violin case were empty. On a nearby table was a cadaver—an elderly man who’d died of natural causes.

  Coroner Barry Fishbeck lit a stick of incense to mask the odor of decay, but a morgue was a morgue. You couldn’t disguise the fact. A Mozart piano concerto was playing in the background, and beyond the cedar-smelling incense, a foreign odor filled Natalie’s nostrils. Decaying flesh, talcum powder, and disinfectant—the awkward, intrusive combination of smells that signified an extinguished human life.

  “The victim’s prints were viable,” Barry told them. “She was in the system from a previous DUI, and we were able to make a positive match. It’s Lily Kingsley.”

  Natalie’s hands were balled into fists. She’d suspected all along that it could’ve been Lily, but the news hit her with dull shock. “Any idea how she died?” she asked.

  The coroner shook his head. “I hate to be a Debbie Downer, but we may never know unless we find the rest of her, and even then. However, I still have a lot of testing to do—toxicology, X-rays, bloodstains, hair, and fiber. You know the drill. An attempt was made to preserve the body parts, as you can see,” he said, lines in his brow deepening. “Nature’s pretty good at breaking down corpses. When the blood stops pumping, everything begins to decompose, but you can slow down the process if you’re determined enough.”

  “You mean mummification,” Luke said.

  “Obviously something was done. Ancient Egyptian techniques are taught in high school nowadays—how to mummify a chicken, for instance. It’s pretty straightforward. Anyone can Google it. You soak the carcass in a saline solution and store it in a cool, dry place. The salt will absorb all the moisture, leaving the chicken dry and desiccated. It takes about a month. Then you apply coats of glue or varnish to seal the deal.” He shrugged. “Boom. You’ve got yourself a homegrown mummy.”

  Natalie tried to subdue the thud of her heart. “If it works for chickens, will it work for a human being?”

  “That’s a little more complicated. For a human body, of course, you’d need a bigger container. Like a bathtub. Then you’d have to remove the organs and pack the body cavity with natron salt. The ancient Egyptians had a unique way of removing the brain through the nasal passages. I suppose this technique could be used today if you had the stomach for it. It also helps to place the body in a cold environment afterwards, like a freezer—that’ll turn off any remaining bacterial or enzymatic action.”

  “What about embalming fluid?” Luke asked, and Natalie remembered the Victorian embalming table that Justin Bertrand had mentioned.

  “That’s a more elaborate enterprise.” Barry lowered his face mask. “Hopefully, I’ll have some answers for you after the autopsy. I’ll put a rush on the tox report and let you know if I find anything.”

  Luke nodded. “Thanks, Barry.”

  Out in the hallway, while waiting for the elevator, Natalie turned to Luke and said without hiding her sarcasm, “I didn’t see any embalming fluid in Russ’s house, did you?”

  “He’s a doctor. How hard would it be for him to mummify a body?”

  “But we found no evidence to support that on his property.”

  “I just found out he owns a cabin in the Adirondacks. We’re working on a search warrant for it now.”

  The air had grown chillier. She felt grimy and exhausted.

  “I spoke to Swinton’s attorney about the blood drops in the bathroom,” Luke said, holding the elevator door for her. “They claim he could’ve cut himself shaving. Lenny sent a sample off to the lab for DNA testing, but that’ll take a while, so I’ve asked for a blood type. We should know soon.”

  “Even if it’s Morgan’s blood, that still doesn’t prove anything.”

  “It’ll prove she was inside
the house, in case he decides to lie to us again. And who knows? Maybe there was an altercation. Remember those unexplained scrapes on her knees?”

  “Or maybe she had her period or a paper cut or a bloody nose.”

  “Let’s see what other evidence Lenny comes up with.”

  She nodded and rubbed her foot against her leg, feeling nervous and on edge. “What about Morgan’s phone records?” she asked.

  “I’ve assigned them to Jacob. He’s out in the field right now, but the chief has approved us for overtime, so we’re guaranteed another busy week.”

  “Did anything else show up on the CCTV?” Natalie asked. “The Walking Dead zombie or Hollis Jones?”

  Luke shook his head and crossed his muscular arms. “We’re still reviewing the security tapes from all of the venues, including Blondie’s and the Howard Street lot. Nothing so far, but it’s still early. You’re talking hundreds of man-hours to go.” He ran his hand through his slightly greasy hair. Luke’s thick brown hair grew out fast, and it was getting to that in-between stage. “Why, Natalie. What are you thinking?”

  She shrugged. “My cynicism is inbred. We don’t always know the people we know. But I’m trying to understand what could’ve motivated Russ to act this way. His sister died in an accident years ago, but that’s not enough of a reason to target violinists, is it? Sure, the connections are there—we can connect the dots from the clinic to the two victims, Morgan and Lily. He treated them both for wrist injuries. And the women share a lot of connections—they both grew up in Chaste Falls, were gifted violinists, attended the conservatory. Physically, they could be sisters—attractive, petite, early twenties, long red hair.”

  “Swinton had access to drugs,” Luke added. “All those burnouts from the West Side OD’ing and being admitted to the ER. He must deal with narcotics on a daily basis. He could have easily gotten his hands on GHB. Besides, he lied to you repeatedly. That has to count for something, Natalie.”