Bitter Past

by Caroline Fardig

  She clapped her hands together. “You got to consult on a real case? That’s great! The most fun I’ve had in years was when I got to help out the department after they found that skeleton buried at that old farm in Sheridan.”

  “Yes, well, it’s not the kind of fun I like to have anymore. He offered me a consulting gig, but I told him I didn’t want to make it a recurring thing. I’m done with real-life forensics.”

  Sam gave me a sympathetic smile. “Bad memories, huh?”

  “Yeah,” I muttered, getting up from the table, my lunch for the most part untouched. Something wasn’t sitting well with me about Cooper, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. “I need to do some prep work for my lab this afternoon. See you later?”

  “Yeah, later.” She pointed to the uneaten muffin on my tray. “You gonna eat that?”

  “Nope. Knock yourself out.”

  I wandered back to my office, mulling over the two conversations I’d heard Cooper having this morning. His discussion with Tyler was troubling, and it bothered me that he thought running away could even be an option. I’d done what I could to convince him to speak to the police, but I was afraid he had no intention of taking my advice. More disturbing was the incident with Tristan, especially since he’d accused Cooper of killing Vasti in front of a couple dozen students.

  There was something else Tristan had said that stuck in my head. He’d said Cooper used Vasti and broke her heart, which meant he knew about their affair. I wondered how many other students knew about it or had now figured it out from Tristan’s rant. Gossip like that could hurt Cooper beyond losing his job and his good name. If the affair became widespread public knowledge and he were to be charged and tried for Vasti’s murder, it could damage his chances at finding impartial jurors and ultimately cost him his freedom. And what had Tristan meant about almost having Vasti out of her shell? I would never have described her as someone who had a shell—she was more outgoing than practically anyone on campus.

  This tangled web was getting more and more dramatic by the day. I didn’t envy the detectives on this case. There were too many extraneous issues clouding the facts. The evidence would have to speak for itself. Cooper was going to have one tough road ahead of him, and I decided I couldn’t accompany him down it, given my unfortunate involvement with the situation. I had too much to lose to get sucked into the center of a murder investigation, especially since I had Rachel and Nate to think about. I hated to have to do it, but I felt it necessary to distance myself from Cooper—both personally and professionally. The next time I saw him, I would have to break the news that I needed to step down as his assistant for his research facility.

  ***

  I went through the motions of instructing the students in my Criminalistics 1 lab. My mind slipped in and out of focus, and my emotions were in an upheaval over making the decision to cut a friend and colleague out of my life. I forgot what I was saying several times, my notes were in disarray, and to top it off, I dropped a brand-new bottle of luminol, a chemical used to detect bloodstains, on the floor. The plastic cracked, and some of the liquid leaked out onto the floor, so I had to don protective gear, clean up the spill, and safely dispose of the broken container.

  Once the chemicals were put away and my students were making notes about their lab findings, I slipped out the door and into the ladies’ restroom. Splashing some cool water on my face, I willed myself to calm the hell down. I resolved to treat this case like I used to treat the cases I worked as a criminalist. I would simply shut down my personal feelings, mentally detaching myself from the people and the circumstances.

  Dudley Cooper was a suspect—a valid one according to the information that had surfaced so far. And as a witness to the crime scene and the body of the deceased, I shouldn’t be around him under any circumstances. The two of us being seen talking to each other could be twisted in court to make it seem that he and I conspired together throughout the whole situation, which could make him look even guiltier. It could ruin my credibility as well, which could also hurt him if I had to testify to his state of mind when we’d found Vasti. My decision to stay away from him was for his own good, and sometimes being a friend meant making hard choices. Drawing a deep breath, I took a hard look at myself in the mirror. I could do this. I just had to find that magic switch I had inside that could turn off my emotions. It was in there, but it was rusty.

  Feeling better, I returned to the lab and finished my instruction, focused and in control. After the students left, I reset the lab for my next Intro to Forensics class, relieved that all I had to do was duplicate the trace collection exercise from this morning’s class session. I had three of those Intro classes in all, and some days it got tedious teaching the same lesson three times. However, today I was grateful to be able to sail through the class on autopilot.

  As I’d predicted, word had travelled fast about the incident between Tristan and Cooper. As students began filing into the room, every conversation I overheard was on the same topic.

  Once everyone was seated, I said, “I know you all have questions and that gossip is spreading like wildfire all over campus. Vasti Marais’s murder is an active investigation, so discussing it in a classroom setting would be inappropriate. If you need counseling, please contact your Resident Assistant or your Residence Hall Director. They can point you in the right direction. If you have information you feel is pertinent to the case, please contact the Hamilton County Sheriff’s Department. If you only want to spread gossip for the sake of entertainment, you need to re-evaluate your decision to pursue a career in forensics. There is no forensic job on the planet that doesn’t require strict confidentiality.”

  From their frowning faces, I could tell my students were bummed that I had shut down their gossip session, at least for the next hour. There was some grumbling, but they settled down enough to concentrate on the lab.

  I picked up one of the bags from the nearest table and repeated my instructions from this morning’s lab. “Each group has a sack containing one article of clothing with hair and fibers on it. You are to collect the loose trace evidence with lift tape, use your microscopes to determine what you’ve found, document all the types of trace, and then correctly bag and tag the evidence. Let’s get to work.”

  About halfway through the lab practicum, as I was helping a group focus their microscope, the door opened. I glanced over and stopped short. It was Detective Baxter, a grim look marring his face. He beckoned me to him.

  Anxiety washed over me again. I said to my class, “Um…keep doing what you’re doing. I’ll…be right back.”

  Once I got out into the hallway, I realized there was no chance this was a social call. Jayne was here. The Sheriff didn’t come out unless it was a big deal.

  She said, “Hi, Ellie. Sorry to bother you during class, but this is urgent. Is there somewhere we could go to talk privately?”

  “Yes…my office,” I replied, leading them down the hallway on shaking legs. Once we were inside my office, I closed the door, apprehensive about what they had to say. Both of their faces were deadly serious.

  Jayne began, “We need you, Ellie. I’d like to call this a friendly request, but…” She sighed. “I’m going to lay it out for you. There’s been another death.”

  My breath caught in my throat. “Oh, no,” I whispered. My stomach rolled as I wondered who it could be.

  Baxter said, “It appears to be a suicide, but something feels off. I want you to work the scene with me.”

  They were both adamant about me helping them. Had it been anyone else, I would have said no, but I owed my career to Jayne Walsh. And after getting to know Baxter, I felt a desire to help him as well. He was one cop who would go the extra mile to make sure justice was served. I didn’t relish the thought of going back to the life I’d left, though. The only bright side was that suicides, or apparent suicides, were not terribly grisly scenes if found quickly. As crime scenes went, this one wouldn’t be one of the worst I’d seen, but the thought of workin
g any death scene still disturbed me.

  “Jayne, you know what you’re asking of me…” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

  She nodded. “I know. And if I thought Durant could handle it, I wouldn’t be here. You know that.”

  “I know.” I took a deep breath, trying to gain some focus. “I’ll do it,” I said finally. “But you have to tell me who the victim is first.”

  Baxter said, “It’s Tristan Sellers.”

  My heart sank. “Poor kid. Are you sure it isn’t a suicide? It would make sense. Vasti Marais was his girlfriend. He was an absolute wreck when I saw him earlier today.”

  “His day got worse from there.”

  Using every last ounce of willpower I had, I flipped that emotion switch.

  ***

  After dismissing my current class and cancelling my last class of the day, I followed Jayne and Baxter across the street and down a block to an off-campus student apartment building. Emergency vehicles peppered the parking lot, lights flashing. The second floor balcony was cordoned off by police tape, as were the stairs. A sheriff’s deputy stood guard at the bottom of the stairwell. An outer perimeter had been cordoned off as well, encompassing most of the parking lot. Gawkers and reporters were lined up at the border, hoping for a glimpse of the action.

  Once we were allowed inside the perimeter, Jayne took off toward a group of people clustered near the stairs, including Jason Sterling and the coroner, Dr. Berg. Baxter motioned for me to follow him to a Sheriff’s Department SUV. Opening the back hatch, he produced a forensics field kit and handed it to me.

  I took it in my trembling hands. “I’m also going to need a jumpsuit and a hat. And an elastic band for my hair, if you can find one.” I wasn’t dressed for the occasion, having worn a skirt and blouse to work today. At least I’d had a pair of sneakers in my office to trade out for my sandals.

  He scrounged around in the back of the vehicle and produced two full-length navy jumpsuits and gave one to me. He removed the ball cap from his own head and placed it on mine. It had the Hamilton County Sheriff’s Department insignia embroidered on it.

  “Thanks. Give me one sec,” I said, hopping in the back of the SUV and closing the hatch. Inside the cramped quarters, I shimmied out of my skirt and pulled on the jumpsuit, grateful for the privacy of the SUV’s tinted windows.

  When I emerged, Baxter was suited up and had found another hat for himself. He was armed with a box of disposable gloves, two respirator masks, two pairs of protective booties, and a camera. He fished in his pocket and handed me a well-used rubber band. “Sorry, this was the best I could do for your hair.”

  “It’s fine. Thanks.” I took it, removing my cap and twisting my hair into a messy bun at the nape of my neck. It was going to be hell to get the rubber band out later, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

  “I’m going to work the scene with you, but you’re in charge. Sterling is on the case, too, but I told him to steer clear of you while you work.”

  Putting the cap back on my head, I replied, “You don’t have to protect me from Sterling.”

  Smiling, he said, “Oh, I wasn’t protecting you—I was protecting Sterling.”

  “Very funny.”

  “Ready?” he asked, his face expectant but tinged with worry.

  I nodded, afraid my voice might have warbled if I’d verbally responded to his question. After we signed ourselves in, a deputy held the tape up for us and ushered us into the secured area. Baxter shot photos of the stairs and walkway, and I followed behind him, looking for anything out of place. The stairs had a normal amount of dirt and debris for an outdoor stairway. We made our way toward an open door protected by another deputy I recognized from years ago. My heart pounded in my chest as I steeled myself to enter apartment twenty-eight.

  Baxter greeted the officer and gestured to me. “This is Ellie Matthews. She’s the consulting criminalist on this case.”

  Deputy Carlos Martinez scribbled some notes in his notebook and returned it to his pocket. He smiled at me. “Long time no see, Matthews.”

  “Hey, Martinez,” I replied, relieved that he was the one securing the area where I’d be working. Martinez was a tough guy, and he would let no one in who didn’t absolutely need to be here. I’d seen him turn away law enforcement officials who outranked him without even batting an eye.

  After we put on our gloves, masks, and shoe covers, Baxter handed me the camera and took my field kit. “You said you like to take in the whole scene first. I’ll be right behind you. Nothing has been moved or touched, besides the first responding officer checking the body for a pulse. Sterling and I have been just inside the front door. When we realized something seemed wrong about the scene, we left so as not to contaminate it. Dr. Berg is hanging back so we can get plenty of photos before he moves the DB.” His use of the term “DB” referred to our dead body.

  “Who called this in?”

  “A friend of the vic’s. She came over and found him, and she’s been in hysterics ever since. She won’t say much of anything besides ‘he’s dead.’ We don’t even know her name yet. The Sheriff is going to see if she can coax the girl into talking to us.”

  I stepped into the apartment. There were no lights on, but there was a decent amount of afternoon sunshine filtering in through the half-drawn window blinds. I began to take wide-angle photos of the apartment, trying not to focus my attention on the young man ten feet in front of me hanging by his neck from a pull-up exercise bar attached to the top of the doorframe. Baxter had been right—something about this death scene was amiss. My eyes zeroed in on a metal folding chair that was upended several feet from the body. After taking some photos of the chair, I glanced at the body, trying to get a feel for the distance between the two. I took a few mid-range shots of the room, and when I zoomed in to take a closer shot of the body, I did a double take.

  My disbelieving eyes still trained on the body swinging from a knotted jump rope, I called, “Nick…you said this was Tristan Sellers. Who ID’d the DB?” I turned around to get his answer.

  Wrinkling his forehead, he said, “Well, technically no one, but this is Tristan Sellers’s apartment, so…”

  “I hope no one’s tried to contact his parents yet. Because this isn’t Tristan Sellers.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Baxter stood motionless, taking in my words. “That’s not Tristan Sellers?”

  Taking another look at the body to confirm, I replied, “No, it’s Eli Vanover. He’s the editor of the college newspaper.”

  “Damn it,” said Baxter, clearly disgusted with himself.

  “Don’t beat yourself up. All hipsters look alike.”

  He didn’t react to my joke. He shook his head. “I need to go talk to Sterling. Will you be okay by yourself?”

  “As long as Martinez is outside, I’m fine.”

  When Baxter left, I approached the body for a closer look, careful not to step on anything in my path. Tristan did not keep a tidy apartment. It would take me hours to go through all the crap strewn around the place, trying to determine if the killer had dropped a trail of candy wrappers on the floor or if they were simply strays that didn’t make it to the trash. I dreaded the thought of shining a UV light around this place. By default, Tristan was going to be in a heap of trouble. Since this was his apartment and he was nowhere to be found, he would be the prime suspect. In order to find as much evidence as possible, however, I would have to keep an open mind and assume that the killer was a nameless stranger.

  I opened the field kit and retrieved a voice recorder. Turning it on, I rattled off the standard case information. I slipped the device in the breast pocket of my jumpsuit, leaving it on so I could record my findings instead of having to write out my case notes here at the scene. I got out a flashlight and shined it on Eli’s hands.

  “The victim has fresh wounds on his hands, and there is blood under his fingernails, one of which has been ripped off. The coroner will collect a sample during the autopsy.” The sta
te of his nails suggested a struggle, and the blood could belong to the killer. I moved my flashlight up to Eli’s neck. “The instrument of death seems to be a black jump rope, which has been wrapped around the victim’s neck three times and tied to a doorway pull-up bar situated between the living room and a short hallway. The exercise bar is fastened to the top of the doorframe, roughly seven feet above the floor. The victim has a new wound on his left temple, evidenced by clotted blood around it. There are scratches on the victim’s neck, as if he may have tried to claw the rope loose. It’s possible the blood under his fingernails is his own.” This was no suicide. It wasn’t even a convincing staging. I snapped several dozen photos of the body and the noose, and when I was finished I let Martinez know that the coroner could come in to retrieve the body.

  I returned to snapping photos, and Baxter appeared at the door. “Sterling went out looking for Tristan Sellers. What can I do for you?”

  “Dr. Berg will be here any second, so if you could help me decide on a path for the gurney, that would be great.”

  Disgusted, he looked around the messy room. “There’s nowhere to walk in here without tripping over something.”

  “Right. We probably need to keep the direct path from the body to the door as untouched as possible.”

  There was a knock at the open door. It was Dr. Berg. “Ellie, I’m happy to see you again, but of course not under these circumstances. It’s nice to have you back, though.”

  “Oh, I’m not back,” I protested. “This is only a favor.”

  He punched Baxter jokingly on the arm. “She’s on the hook, son. Now all you have to do is reel her in.”

  Baxter chuckled, and I threw him a glare. He sobered and began instructing the coroner on the path he and his assistant could take to get to the body. I took it as my chance to go outside and get some air. Once the assistant coroner came in with the gurney, it would be too crowded in the tiny apartment, and I was happy to be able to remove my mask if only for a few moments.