Doc Gruesome tilted his head back and laughed. “Not today. So, John Doe was already relaxing when the tech wheeled him in here last night. So, he would have been killed ten to twelve hours before. Unless,” Doc Gruesome bit off a piece of Snickers and a spot of caramel clung to his mustache, “he had struggled violently the last moments of his life, rigor would have come on quicker. The sooner rigor sets in, the faster it begins leaving the body. So, to make it more confusing,” he took another bite, “he might have drowned. In warm water, which also speeds up rigor, even without a struggle.”
“So, not in Oglala Lake,” Willie volunteered.
“The lake was thirty-four degrees last night,” Manny said. “So we’re looking at a bathtub drowning?”
“Could be. Or some other body of warm water.”
“Only warm water hereabouts is in Hot Springs,” Willie said.
Doc Gruesome tossed his wrapper in the trash and held the rest of the candy bar between his fingers. “Then your chief might give you an all-expense-paid trip to Hot Springs, which is how far?”
“Sixty-five miles is all.”
“Look at the bright side,” Manny patted Willie on the back, “you won’t have to pack your overnight bag if Lumpy sends you there.”
Doc Gruesome set the rest of his candy bar on the stool and made the Y-incision. Gases escaped from the decaying chest cavity. Manny turned away, while Willie covered his nose and eyed the proceedings from the opposite end of the table.
“Your evidence tech was right: tache noire had set in. Come here,” he motioned for Willie. “I’ll show you.”
Willie remained unmoving, staring at the victim.
“Come on, sissy. You’ll learn something,” Doc Gruesome said.
Willie warily approached as Doc Gruesome used his thumb and finger to pry wide the victim’s eyelids. “Those eyes were as dry as summer in the Badlands. He didn’t get that way being face-down in the water. And these petechiae,” he pointed with his pen to the victim’s neck. He moved aside so Willie and Manny could see. “These tiny dark spots tell me that John Doe’s carotid may have been constricted at one point. Like he was choked.”
Manny turned to Willie, who had backed away from the examination table. “You all right?”
Willie looked sideways at Doc Gruesome slicing away the victim’s skin to get to the breastplate. He turned to Manny, who had come closer to look over Doc’s shoulder. “This is only my fifth autopsy,” Willie said. “My only floater. Ever get used to it?”
Manny shook his head. “Never. And when I do, insist I retire from the human race.” He prodded Willie. “But we owe the victim the cojones to step up and see for ourselves what the Doc uncovers.”
Doc Gruesome grabbed his pruning shears and began whistling. “A snip-snip here, a snip-snip there.” Bones crunching under the shears’ jaws reminded Manny of a chalkboard. A very cold, dead chalkboard. But at least one that wasn’t as grisly as most of the autopsies he’d attended. The pathologist put the spreader against the sternum and performed another indignity on John Doe as ribs cracked and split under the force, laying the chest organs exposed.
“Water in the lungs is consistent with drowning,” Doc Gruesome said into the recorder as he took a sample with a syringe. He labeled it before setting it on tray on the table.
“Hemorrhagic foam in trachea.”
“So he did drown?” Willie moved closer and looked over the pathologist’s shoulder, close enough to learn.
Doc Gruesome was holding the victim’s detached lungs in his hand. He turned them over and pointed to dark blood coloration on one side of a lung. “This is consistent with the post mortem stain showing John Doe laid on his side for hours.”
He turned to Manny and winked. “No sense for you guys to stay in here. All’s I got to do is some measurements. Some slicing and dicing.”
“Like the Julia Child of the autopsy kitchen.” Manny said.
The pathologist winked. “I like that.”
*****
Doc Gruesome entered the waiting room whistling the same cheery song he had before. He’d taken off his bloody lab coat and put on his double-breasted cowboy shirt, much like ones that Willie wore. Except Willie could actually sit on a horse without falling off.
The doctor propped his silver inlaid cowboy boots on the edge of the desk, and his hands came together in a tiny tent on his wide belly. “The physiological cause of John Doe’s death is hypoxia: He ran out of air. I’ve never ruled a death by drowning yet because it’s nearly impossible to prove, so I rule out every other cause before I do. But I have to rule that this victim died as a result of drowning.”
“Accidental?”
Doc Gruesome interlaced his fingers. He paused long moments before grabbing photos and sliding them across the desk. “Look at photos D-3 through D-11.”
Manny opened the folder and set the series of photos aside. He tapped one photo with his pencil. It showed bruising on one the victim’s shoulders. “If someone put enough pressure to cause this, it had to been made ante mortem.”
“Sometime before he died.” Doc Gruesome nodded. “John Doe died by drowning, but I’m betting he had help. And it wasn’t in Oglala Lake. If he had drowned in cold water, the rigor might not even have begun yet. But John Doe here had already gone into rigor and was already becoming flaccid, even as the lab tech slabbed him last night. That tells me he died in warmer water. At least warmer than Oglala Lake in winter.” He bit into an avocado sandwich and offered them some.
“Got to meet Clara for lunch,” Manny said.
“I stay away from avocados,” Willie added. “We Lakota are carnivores.”
“You gotta’ eat healthy,” Doc said. “Go with natural foods.”
“Most people I know have died from natural causes,” Manny said.
Doc Gruesome shrugged and finished his snack. “When we compare the water from the victim’s stomach with the water samples your evidence tech took, we’ll know for certain if he was killed in Oglala Lake or not.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin and tossed it in the trash. “And you know the oddest thing with this case?” he said, leaning back in his creaking chair and shaking his head. “I can still smell the victim. As many autopsies as I’ve done, the odor’s never stayed with me like this before.”
“Doc,” Willie said, pointing to the pathologist’s mustache. “You got something stuck in your handlebar.”
Doc Gruesome brushed his hand across his upper lip and a dark brown chunk of some tissue dropped onto his desk. “Damned Stryker saw. I knew I should have kept my mask on when I cut his skull cap.”
Chapter 4
As Manny walked into the tribal police department conference room for the meeting, Pee Pee Pourier sat fitting a document into a frame. Lumpy glared at him from across the room as he stood in front of a large map of Pine Ridge Indian Reservation. Manny dropped beside Willie at the opposite end of the long table and whispered, “What’s Lumpy pissed about now?”
Willie cupped his hand and leaned closer. “Pee Pee nailed the winning bid on an authentic copy of Elvis’s birth certificate.”
“Ah,” Manny said. “Lumpy wanted it?”
Willie grinned. “The lieutenant said it would be great for his collection. But it made him madder than hell when Pee Pee got it for a song. The lieutenant’s fuming.”
“I see that. But at least he looks good fuming.”
Lumpy’s starched uniform shirt could cut paper at the crease, and his oversized boots had been spit polished to where he could see his bulging belly in the shine. His tie sported the red and white Oglala Sioux Tribe star, and he had pasted his wavy black hair down with pomade. “My guess is he’s not taking any chances with the testing for chief.”
Lumpy glanced over his shoulder at them whispering, and Willie waited until he’d turned his attention back to the map before continuing. “The lieut
enant’s gotten a look at the other applicants. There’s only one who worries him, a metro Denver police captain who’s thrown her hat in the ring.”
Manny grinned. “A lady. I’m betting Jane Wayne will edge him out in the swimsuit competition.”
Willie agreed. “But the edge in the talent competition goes to the lieutenant. Ever hear him belt out ‘Ol’ Man River’?”
“Just when he’s drunk.”
Manny walked to the coffee pot. He sniffed it once and scrunched up his nose before he set it back down on the hot plate.
“Excuse the hell out of me that I don’t run a Starbucks just for our FBI friends,” Lumpy said.
“Can we just get on with this?” Manny said. “I got other cases I’m working on.”
Lumpy tapped the map. “So you’re busy? How would you like to manage four thousand square miles of reservation land with a third of the police force you’re authorized? But we’ll get this over with, so you can get back to rubbing elbows with your federal friends and I can get back to police work.”
Lumpy walked to the table and dropped into a chair. He opened his briefcase, and tossed papers on the table. “Looks like the floater Philbilly snagged in the lake is all yours after all, Hot Shot.” He slid a Teletype across the table and resumed staring at Pee Pee fidgeting with the document frame.
“So our Johnny Doe might be Johnny Apple,” Manny read aloud. He turned it so Willie could read it. “Johnny Apple went missing two days ago from Fort Washakie, as reported by his daughter to the Wind River police.”
“Wind River Reservation’s way on the western side of Wyoming,” Willie said. “What would he doing over here?”
“I just deliver the Teletypes,” Lumpy laughed. “Finding out why Johnny Apple was here is Manny’s job. And good luck getting the croaker to talk.”
“Is there any confirmation their Johnny is our Johnny?” Willie asked.
“I sent our Johnny’s prints to the Wind River police by carrier pigeon,” Pee Pee said, not bothering to look up from the picture frame he admired at arm’s length. “This is gonna look bitchin’ on my living room wall. Don’t ya think, Acting Chief?”
Manny wondered where Pee Pee intended to hang it. He recalled the last time he stepped into Pee Pee’s apartment. There hadn’t been any place that wasn’t cluttered with junk. In the end, he knew Pee Pee would just toss it in a pile. Pee Pee secretly detested Elvis memorabilia. But Lumpy loved anything connected to the King, and that was enough for Pee Pee to collect anything he could just to parade it past Lumpy’s nose.
Pee Pee set the frame aside and turned his chair to face Manny and Willie. “The age and physical description of our Johnny is close to the age on the Teletype. I faxed John Doe’s picture to the tribal police, but they haven’t caught up with the daughter yet.”
“So our Johnny might belong to Wind River police?” Willie said.
Lumpy slammed his hand on the table and leaned closer to Willie. “He isn’t your Johnny. He’s Manny’s Johnny. For all we know, Johnny was kidnapped from Wind River.” Lumpy leaned back in his chair, and brushed dust off his boots with a tissue. “Didn’t you say Doc Gruesome said he didn’t drown here? That the lake water was too cold for the rigor noted?”
“That’s what he believes,” Manny answered. “He’ll know for sure when he can compare water samples.”
“Either way, Johnny didn’t just dive into the lake. Someone had to have dumped him there. And I doubt he drove that stolen car from Rapid City in the shape he was in when Philbilly reeled in his catch of the day. So it’s FBI jurisdiction,” Lumpy winked. “You got one more case on your hands, Hot Shot.”
“Not so fast.” Pee Pee set Elvis’s birth certificate on the table so Lumpy could see it better. “If Johnny’s drowning was merely an accident, and if someone got scared and tossed him in the lake after he died—”
“What kind of cockamamie notion is that?”
“Pee Pee’s right,” Manny said. “All we have now is a John Doe floating in your lake. There’s nothing to indicate it was a homicide.”
“But Doc Gruesome’s opinion— “.
“That all it is. An opinion.” Manny picked up Pee Pee’s framed Elvis birth certificate and held it to the light. “Until we find out definitely if your Johnny Doe is even Johnny Apple, it’s still your tribal case.”
Lumpy shoved the picture frame back across the table to Pee Pee. “Then why the hell did you butt in if you think it’s our jurisdiction?”
“You’re lucky I did. At least the tribe didn’t get stuck with the cost of the autopsy. Besides,” Manny nodded to the picture frame, “where else could I hold an authentic copy of the King’s birth certificate?”
Lumpy stood abruptly. His velvet Elvis chair rolled back and hit the wall. Manny could almost hear the King scream in protest. “Okay, Hot Shot. It’s our case. For now. But when we find that Johnny Apple was the John Doe dumped here, it’s back in your lap. And you’ll pay hell if you think I’ll be able to spare an officer to help.”
When Lumpy slammed the door in leaving, Pee Pee slumped in his chair, and closed his eyes. “Thank God he’s gone.”
Willie leaned across the table. “Hard night?”
Pee Pee groaned and buried his head in his arms on the table top.
“You going to be able to stay awake the rest of the day?”
Pee Pee rubbed his forehead. “That morning after we worked the floater all night, the Legion manager in Hot Springs called. He needed a band on short notice for some soldier’s homecoming. We played all night, and I got to bed at three in the morning. I still haven’t recuperated yet.”
“Was there a big crowd this time?” Willie asked.
Pee Pee rubbed the stubble he hadn’t knocked down this morning. “Big crowd. Not like last time. Funny, though: the guest of honor never showed.”
“Imagine that,” Manny said, and Willie kicked him under the table. “But stay with it. You got a good group.” Manny kicked Willie back. “All you need is someone to give you a chance.”
“Pee Pee!” Willie shook him awake before he fell out of his chair. “You need to go home and get some sleep.”
Pee Pee used the edge of the chair to stand, rubbing the sleepers from the corners of his eyes. A wry smile crossed his face, and he twirled his thin, gray ponytail. “Not before I tell you what I would have told our acting chief if he’d have stuck around.” Pee Pee opened a manila folder and handed Manny a fax. “Doc Gruesome tested the water samples I took from Oglala Lake that night.”
Pee Pee shuffled to the coffee cart and grabbed a donut from the box. “You want one?” he called over his shoulder.
Manny eyed the donut and shook his head.
“Me neither,” Willie said. “That half empty box has set around so long the donuts have grown hair.”
Pee Pee dropped back into his chair and started nibbling on the pastry, crunchy with time. “See, that’s where we’re different: I see the box of donuts as half full.”
Willie held his nose. “Half-full about two weeks ago.”
“Doc Gruesome?” Manny pressed.
Pee Pee took another bite. It was as crunchy as a corn chip, and he dunked it into his coffee cup to soak. “Doc Gruesome said the water in John Doe’s lungs definitely didn’t come from Oglala Lake.”
Willie grabbed the fax and turned it over as if the answer were written on the back. “Where’d he drown then?”
Pee Pee shrugged and nibbled on his donut before sticking it back into his coffee for another soaking. “He can’t know without a sample from wherever John Doe drowned. The thing he did calculate is the old guy’s blood alcohol was point-one-five.”
“Nearly twice the legal limit.”
Pee Pee looked at Willie. “Presuming he drove to the lake.”
“What if John Doe didn’t steal that car and drive from Rapid City?”
Willie said.
“Are you suggesting someone else drove it besides that old man?” Manny asked.
“All’s I’m saying,” Willie answered, “is it’s too convenient, that car parked at the lake. I’m saying someone else could have driven it there, and it crapped out.”
“Possibility,” Manny agreed. “Maybe someone else stole the car, with Johnny inside. If that was the case, where’d they go? I’m pretty savvy with tracks, but all our tire tracks around the scene made it impossible to tell if there was another car involved.”
Pee Pee unfolded his pocket knife and tried slicing through the donut before giving up and tossing it in the round file with a resounding thud. “When I processed that car, I found prints up the wazoo— “.
“What’s a wazoo?”
Pee Pee turned his back on Willie. “There were enough latent prints in that car to fill a file cabinet. But none that matched our croaker. And the seat position was odd.” Pee Pee took his teeth out and began picking at them with a paper clip. Teeth never seemed to fit Pee Pee. Probably because he always got them at the dental college for nothing. “John Doe was a little fart. Five-four. Yet the seat was shoved back as far as it will go.”
“Does the seat latch work?” Manny asked. “Maybe it’s stuck, and that’s not even significant.”
Pee Pee shrugged. “I never checked. But I’ll run to the impound lot and see.”
“Save yourself the trip.” Willie buried his face in his hands. “I released the car to the owner this morning.”
Pee Pee threw up his hands. “You didn’t. You big, dumb—”
“I thought you were done processing it.”
“I was.” Pee Pee slipped his teeth back in. They didn’t seat right, and he started lisping. “Until just now.”
Manny scooted his chair between them. “We can check with the owner later.”
“I doubt he’ll cooperate.” Willie leaned his thick forearms on the table top. “The owner, Bobo Groves, was none too friendly this morning when he came to pick up his piece of shit Cavalier. He demanded we find the thief. Said he’d sue the entire tribe if we didn’t. I told him even most folks here on the rez wouldn’t be caught dead behind the wheel of that thing. He threatened to kick my butt right there behind the justice building.”
Death Etched in Stone Page 3
