Goodnight, Irene ik-1

by Jan Burke

  We found MacPherson’s office, but he wasn’t in. It was on the second floor of a building filled with labs and lecture rooms, with an occasional faculty office here or there. Between the rooms, the hallways were lined with lighted display cases. They were the old wooden-style cases, and they were all full of human jawbones and skulls. We started browsing among the displays while we waited.

  There were little tags next to each set of bones and teeth, telling about conditions that could be found in them, as well as the gender and approximate age of the former owners. There were also some historical collections of dentures and an array of rather intimidating antique dental instruments. It made me glad I was born after Novocain was invented.

  A tall, gray-haired gentleman in a tan corduroy sports jacket came walking past us, and put a key in the office door. He looked up at us as he let himself in.

  “Miss Kelly?”

  “Dr. MacPherson?”

  We both nodded yes, and shook hands. He had a nice firm grip. I introduced him to Frank, and we went into the small cubicle of an office. He sat at his desk, the windows backlighting his hair, which was done up exactly like Albert Einstein’s. He looked like God had sent him.

  “So, if you will excuse an old man for being particular, could I please see some identification, Detective Harriman?”

  Frank obliged. Dr. MacPherson didn’t just glance at it; he could have written a dissertation on the subject if he had studied it much longer. He handed it back, saying, “Well, everything seems to be in order.”

  “Dr. MacPherson,” Frank began, “I spoke with Dr. Carlos Hernandez of the Las Piernas Coroner’s Office earlier today.”

  “Then you know how I came to be involved?”

  “Yes. Dr. Hernandez told me that last month, he sent you the skull of a Jane Doe who has been unidentified since 1955. He said you might be able to learn if there was a condition called fluorosis in the teeth, and possibly to give his office information that would help to identify the woman.”

  MacPherson slammed his open palm on the desktop, making us jump. “Exactly!” he said, as if we were students. He stood up and went over to a file cabinet. From the top of it, he gathered up a box and some loose papers. He sat down and leaned back in his chair, pulling on his left earlobe. He swiveled in the chair and looked out the window. Frank and I looked at one another and shrugged.

  Suddenly he swiveled back toward us and slammed his hand on the desk again. You’d think we would have wised up, but he got us to jump the second time too. He was going to have to quit that.

  “We begin with some background. According to the copy of the coroner’s report — by a Dr. Woolsey—” He spoke the coroner’s name with a disparaging tone. “Well, let’s just say you are quite fortunate to have Dr. Hernandez now.” He found this immensely funny, and we waited for him to get himself settled down again.

  “Oh, forgive me. I just haven’t seen work this bad in years. To continue — according to the report, this is a pregnant female who was approximately twenty to twenty-five years of age. Now, the body was found — or, I should say, most of the body was found — in June 1955. That means this woman was most likely to have been born between 1930 and 1935. Most unfortunate. If she had been born just a few years later, her teeth might not have carried these stains.”

  Here he pulled out the contents of the box, and there, grinning at us with brown teeth, was Hannah.

  Although I had known what was in that box, it was still an unsettling sight. Her eye sockets staring out, areas around her nose and teeth obviously made up of fragments glued in place.

  After the first shock of seeing her passed, I felt ashamed to be looking at her. Although I had just looked at cases full of skulls, I didn’t know anything at all about those people, while I had known at least one part of Hannah’s story. It dawned on me that nothing was private for a victim like her. Everything that could be, would be examined, studied, displayed, and written up by people she had never known.

  “Just about the time she was born,” MacPherson went on, “a group of American dental researchers had figured out that high levels of fluoride in the water supplies caused this stain, but nothing was scientifically proven until about 1931, and it was sometime after that that the U.S. Public Health Service surveyed fluoride levels.

  “As anyone who has waited for the tooth fairy knows, teeth are developed in childhood. The staining appears to occur partly from surface contact, but mainly from fluoride in the bloodstream. During the years of dental development — that is to say, in children under ten — those who ingest too much fluoride are likely to develop fluorosis. So your Jane Doe — I believe Mr. O’Connor called her Hannah — Hannah was most likely to have received these stains from the water she drank as a child.”

  He stood up and paced the two or three steps he could pace in the area behind his desk. He gestured as he spoke, a natural showman.

  “Fluoride occurs naturally in a great many substances. It occurs in varying levels in water supplies, generally low in most areas, especially in the Great Lakes region. There are primarily three regions of the country where the levels would be high enough to produce fluorosis.”

  “So we might narrow down the areas she could come from by knowing she had this condition?” I asked.

  “Precisely!” Bang! went the hand again. I won’t say we didn’t jump, but we were starting to brace ourselves whenever we saw him raise his hand near the desk.

  “As I told Mr. O’Connor, your most likely candidates are three regions.” He counted them off on his hand. “They are: one, that part of the Midwest comprised of Indiana, Ohio, and Illinois; two, the Rocky Mountain area, especially South Dakota and Colorado; and three, the Southwest — Texas, New Mexico, Arizona.”

  I didn’t think this did much narrowing, although I supposed it was better than nothing. Dr. MacPherson must have noticed my disappointment.

  “You give up too easily, my dear. Your friend Mr. O’Connor was not so easily dismayed. Now, within these regions, there are only so many places with fluoride levels that could produce fluorosis this severe. But setting that aside for the moment, I must tell you that your previous coroner really did not follow up on a great many clues to her identity.”

  “Such as?” Frank asked.

  “According to the autopsy report, her skin was fairly tanned. This makes the Southwest the most likely candidate of the three regions, although she could have been from a farm or worked outdoors in the others. But we have other evidence that she was from the Southwest.

  “The autopsy report also indicates that the time of death was about seven P.M. the evening she was found. Her stomach contents showed she had been killed shortly after she ate her dinner. Guess what she had eaten?”

  Frank and I shrugged.

  “Tacos!” he shouted, slamming his hand on the desk again. It must be harder than hell to doze off in this guy’s classes.

  “This blond woman ate tacos for dinner in southern California in 1955! Now, there were Mexican restaurants then, of course, but Mexican food was not available through big chain restaurants all over the country.

  “This is just a hypothesis, of course, but I believe that this woman may have spent at least some of her childhood years in a sunny border state, somewhere with a considerable Hispanic population. It had to be an area where high fluoride content in the water stained the local children’s teeth. I would say that narrows the field to Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas.”

  “Can we be certain that she didn’t get the stains from fluoride added to the water supply or by fluoride tablets from a dentist?” Frank asked.

  “Certain? No, nothing is certain. Reasonably sure? Yes. Fluoride wasn’t added to water in the United States until the mid-1940s, and Hannah here probably would have been too old to receive these stains then. But the most compelling reason to doubt it is that fluoride additions to water supplies are done very carefully, and at low levels. I believe stains like hers would be from a source three to four times higher in flu
oride than the highest fluoride addition.”

  “Is there any kind of listing of communities that might fit that level of natural fluoridation?” Frank asked.

  “Of course. I’ve had copies of a fluoridation survey of the Southwest prepared for you.”

  He thumbed through the papers and handed over a few pages. “I gave a copy of this same report to Mr. O’Connor. I’ve highlighted the communities which are the most likely candidates for this degree of fluorosis.”

  “Thank you, Dr. MacPherson,” said Frank, glancing at the report. I tried to read over his shoulder.

  “Of course,” MacPherson said as we read, “you’ll also want her picture.”

  “What!” we shouted in unison, both startled into looking up at the old man.

  MacPherson couldn’t have been more pleased with himself.

  “The picture is what took so long. Amazing what these computers can do. I sent copies of the photos from the autopsy and measurements of the skull to a fellow who is quite good at visual reconstructions.”

  From his papers, he pulled out a computer-generated drawing that, across the desk, did not look unlike a photo.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “allow me to introduce Hannah.”

  16

  LOOKING BACK AT US from the photo was an attractive young woman with medium-length, curled blond hair and a tan complexion. She had high cheekbones and dark, arching brows over dark eyes. The computer artist had given her make-up and a hairstyle circa 1955, and, with an understanding of human frailties, a closed-mouth smile.

  The professor had several other views, a couple with smiles showing the stained teeth; there were even some with slightly different noses.

  “The nose suffered the most damage in the violence done to her face,” MacPherson explained. “Interestingly, the eyes weren’t touched. As I said, this case was, in my opinion, badly mishandled. Had the head been severed and removed from the scene with the hands and feet, then I could understand the lack of progress. But this type of battering is not impossible to reconstruct — indeed, someone did take the time to remove the flesh from the skull, to painstakingly glue her skull back together, but then, it seems, did not proceed from there. The photos from the autopsy wouldn’t be a pretty sight for the lay person, but to someone who works in a field which constantly exposes him to the very worst sorts of damage human beings can suffer, it would not be so bad.”

  At this point, he pulled out one of the autopsy photos. I guess I’m still a lay person; to me it looked awful. Frank didn’t flinch, though, so I suppose the professor was right.

  “I’ll let you take all of this,” MacPherson said, carefully replacing the skull in the box and gathering up the papers. “I will be happy to answer any questions which arise after you’ve had a chance to read the material. Would you please make sure that Hannah’s skull is safely returned to Dr. Hernandez?”

  “Certainly,” Frank answered, taking the box. I was glad he had handed the box to Frank. I’m not especially squeamish, but the idea of riding back in the car with a skull in a box was enough to give me the willies.

  “Dr. MacPherson,” I said, “I know this would have meant a great deal to Mr. O’Connor. You’ve undertaken a lot of work here on his behalf. We do appreciate it.”

  “Not at all, not at all. Your friend had a way of piquing one’s curiosity. I am the luckiest of men. I find this type of work fascinating, and sometimes I’m even paid to do it. Please let me know what you learn.”

  We all shook hands and Frank left his card, in case Dr. MacPherson had questions of his own later on. We started to leave, when Frank hesitated, then said, “One other thing, Dr. MacPherson. We have to advise anyone even remotely connected with Mr. O’Connor on this case to be very careful. Mr. O’Connor’s son has been critically injured. Shots have been taken at Miss Kelly’s home. We’re dealing with a very violent person here.”

  “Detective Harriman, when you have testified against as many psychopaths as I have, you become cautious by habit. But how interesting! I would have thought the odds of the killer still being alive and in the area slim, but this is obviously not the case. When Miss Kelly told me Mr. O’Connor was killed, I considered it, but complications from such an old murder case seemed unlikely. It raises a number of questions.”

  “We’re not sure it is in connection with this case, sir, but we are following up on any possibilities.”

  “In that case, it is I who should advise you to be careful. Anyone desperate enough to kill a journalist won’t think twice about harming an officer of the law.”

  We said good-bye again and walked out to the car. Frank tucked the box under one arm and fished in his pockets for his keys.

  “For God’s sakes, Frank, don’t drop her.”

  “That was quite an experience, wasn’t it?”

  “Not at all what I expected.”

  Frank started to put Hannah’s head in the trunk, then thought better of it. “She might roll around back there and get damaged. Let’s put her on the floor of the backseat.”

  I was relieved not to have to hold her on my lap.

  As we drove off, I looked at my watch. “We might get back in time for me to make deadline.”

  “You think they’re going to want to print the pictures of her? It’s not as if this is really fresh news.”

  “The murder itself is old news, but the pictures and the progress in identifying her are another story. Our readers have been seeing articles on this woman at least once a year for the past thirty-five years. I think they’ll be curious.”

  “Something tells me your boss will want to save this up for one of those anniversary stories.”

  “No, I’m going to write it up as a possible link to O’Connor’s murder. Maybe Wrigley will go for it. It won’t work as the kind of ‘help us find her’ story; too many years have gone by, and I doubt she was in Las Piernas for very long before she was killed. Otherwise, someone would have noticed she was missing.”

  “Maybe you’re right.” For a moment he seemed distracted, glancing at the side and rearview mirrors.

  “Somebody following us?” I asked, willing myself not to turn around.

  He was quiet, concentrating on getting onto the Harbor Freeway, and subtly checking the mirrors again. “No, I guess not,” he said at last.

  He looked over at me. “Hey, you okay?”

  “Yeah, just jittery, I guess.”

  “Sorry.”

  We rode in silence while I tried to find my gumption. We reached the 405, and Frank did the routine with mirrors again, and there went any nerve I was building.

  I was beginning to wonder if two years in PR work had ruined me for being a reporter. Where was all that spunk I had shown in other crime cases? Okay, so I had never been a target, but you had to have a certain amount of grit if you were going to succeed in the business.

  “It’s okay to be scared, you know. It keeps you from being foolish,” he said, looking over at me. I was going to have to give up poker if I kept showing everything I was feeling.

  “I was just wondering if I am going to be able to cut it as a reporter. Maybe I’m getting too old for this stuff.”

  “Well, Granny, hold off on the retirement party. Benefits are lousy when you’ve only put in one day and quit before you’re forty. Stop being so tough on yourself all the time.”

  “How many pep talks a day are you geared up for?”

  “Whatever it takes.”

  After a while I settled down and started thinking about Hannah again. I kept coming back to one of MacPherson’s comments.

  “Frank?”

  “Mmm?”

  “If the person we’re after is Hannah’s killer, why do you think he stuck around?”

  “I’ve been asking myself the same question. Assuming it is a ‘he’ — and this would not be the kind of action you’d expect from a woman, true, but we should keep that option open — anyway, I guess there could be any number of reasons and they’d apply to either sex. F
irst and foremost, he or she got away with it, and is still a long way from being discovered, let alone convicted of anything. That in itself might keep him in the area. Second, he may have some job or position that requires him to be in Las Piernas — or maybe he’s dependent on someone here. Third, leaving might have attracted more attention than staying.”

  “Something else,” I said. “If Hannah came from another city or part of the country, and it has always looked like she did, then her killer went to a lot of trouble to make sure no one could trace her back to her home. Maybe he can be connected to the same place.”

  “Maybe. Woolsey’s behavior in all of this is damned odd as well.”

  “All those years of O’Connor pestering him, and he was still holding back.”

  Frank took the off-ramp at Shoreline, the street that runs along the cliffs by the ocean in Las Piernas.

  “Taking the scenic route?” I asked.

  “You might say that,” he said, looking in the mirrors again.

  After three or four minutes, he said quietly, “Make sure your seat belt’s snug.”

  I did, glancing at my side mirror long enough to see a big blue Lincoln two cars behind us.

  17

  “NOW WHAT ?” I asked.

  “Let’s see what they have in mind. Keep your eyes open for a black-and-white — we may want to attract some attention.”

  He accelerated slightly, and began to work his way in and out of traffic. The Lincoln stayed with us.

  “If I get a chance, I’ll try to get you out of the car. But I don’t want to make you a target if he’s got his gun with him.”

  “Forget it, Frank. I’m not getting out of this car.”

  “Goddamn it, Irene, you’ll do as you’re told.”

  “That line only worked for my father, and he wore it out in less than fifteen years.”

  He sat there clenching the wheel, seething and muttering under his breath. But soon he was concentrating on the Lincoln again, which was making a move to close the distance between us. I realized that traffic had fallen off — we were entering an industrial area near the harbor. Quonset huts and old brick warehouses lined the streets.