Q. Now, Doctor, I will ask you to state just what you found as a result
of the autopsy?
A. On the neck was a large wound, beginning at the posterior border of
the right sterno-cleido-mastoid muscle, that is the muscle that is
attached here to the edge of the sternum and runs up back of the arm.
This muscle on the right side was cut practically through, and the wound
extended across the neck to the anterior part of the left
sternocleido-mastoid muscle, which muscle on the left side was cut into
but not severed on the right side. The length of the wound was five and
three-quarter inches.
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Q. Was there any way of ascertaining whether the wound was made from
left to right or right to left?
A. I think if you will allow me to describe the wound more fully it will
answer that question. The sterno-cleido- mastoid muscle, the vagus
nerve, common carotid artery, internal jugular vein, external jugular
vein, and the small muscles of the anterior part of the neck, in fact
all of the structures in front of the sterno-cleido-mastoid muscle are
cut, and the spinal cord is partly severed. On the left side of the
center line the carotid artery, vagus nerve, internal jugular vein, are
cut, the incision extending into the border of the sterno-cleido-mastoid
muscle, which is not cut entirely through on this side. The trachea and
esophagus are severed, the cartilage of the lower end of the third
cervical vertebrae had a piece cut off it. It was cut clear and clean as
though it had been cut with a very sharp instrument. The muscular tissue
lying in front of the fourth cervical vertebrae is cut one-half inch
below the cut between the third and fourth cervical vertebrae. Passing
to the right this cut diverges downward.
Q. Diverges downward from what?
A. From the first cut. Mrs. Beecham's throat was cut twice. The blow or
blows must have been struck from the right side of the body. The
instrument of death must have entered on the right side. The deeper
injuries are on that side, and the knife passed through, and when it hit
the vertebrae, it gradually edged out from it. The left edge of the
wound is not as deep as the right, but tapers off. The second blow
starts with the nick in the upper border of the wound.
Q. So you are saying the killer is left-handed?
A. That inference may be drawn, yes, sir.
Q. What else did the autopsy discover?
A. On removing the scalp, a contusion is found in the fascia over the
left parietal bone. There was no fracture of the skull that we could
see, either of the base of the skull or of the skull cap. In removing
the top of skull, the surface
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of the brain just back of the frontal portion shows a congealed
condition of the blood vessels.
Q. What inference may be drawn from this finding, Dr. Davidson?
A. That there had been some blow on the top of the head sufficient to
cause insensibility, the blow on the head indicating that it must have
been with a blunt instrument, such a wound as could have been inflicted
with this stone in the glove.
Q. From your examination of the body what would you say caused her death?
A. The cutting of her throat.
Q. What is your best opinion as to whether the wound in the throat was
inflicted after or before she had been struck with the rock in the glove?
A. I should say after.
Q. Why?
A. Because there was still circulation at the time the blow on the skull
was struck, to cause the contusions on the fascia and the hemorrhagic
spots in the brain matter.
Q. In your opinion, what was the position of the body when the blow was
struck that cut the throat?
A. I think the body was lying on the floor.
Q. Why?-
A. There is no staining of the body in front, and no splashing of blood
apparent; it evidently just flowed out on the floor. If the body had
been elevated, it would have run down, and there would have been stains
on the front of the body.
Q. You found no evidence of a struggle?
A. No. The blow on the head must have been struck from behind.
Q. Thank you, Dr. Davidson.
A. I should judge Mrs. Beecham to have been struck down over twelve
hours prior to the discovery of her body. Rigor mortis-
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Q. Thank you, Dr. Davidson.
A. Rigor mortis was well established. The house was cold and the blood
had congealed around the head. Of course a body will cool a little more
rapidly when there is no clothing or covering.
Q. Thank you, Dr. Davidson.
[Here the manuscript ends. Nothing further to be found in the Beauchamp
inquest file.] Seal of the Archives of the State of Alaska, Juneau, Alaska.
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The gym was packed when they got there. Nothing draws out a crowd in
Bush Alaska like a basketball game. Attention was focused on the floor,
where the Kanuyaq Kings were battling out the first half with the
Cordova Wolverines. When the buzzer rang, both teams hit the locker
rooms bloody but unbowed, a bare five points' difference in the lead.
Everyone else got in line for popcorn at the Pep Club booth. Not much
had changed since Kate had gone to school here, although her school had
been brand-new and this one was more than a little scuffed around the edges.
Somebody got on a microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, it is my very great
privilege to announce that we have both candidates running for the Park
senate seat in the house this evening. Pete Heiman, take a bow!" Pete
grinned and waved from where he was already working the crowd, shaking
hands with elders, winking at every pretty girl, admiring if not
actually kissing every baby. There was a wave of polite applause, Kate
thought more indicative of the mood Niniltna's five-point lead had given
the crowd than of any general approval of the incumbent. "And his
challenger, the lovely and talented Miss Anne Gordaoff!"
Anne rose to her feet from the third row of bleachers on the Kanuyaq
side, her tight smile indicating she had not missed this relegation to
the ranks of beauty-pageant contestant. The applause for her was a
little louder but not much. Park rats by definition were cynical when it
came to
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politicians. They would be polite to both candidates and no more. Kate
wondered how many of them were registered to vote. She guessed maybe
fifty percent, and knew she was being generous.
Jim Chopin was there, standing next to Dandy Mike. For someone who drank
most of his meals, Dandy Mike was one good-looking man, muscular,
graceful, thick dark hair falling over smiling brown eyes, and a grin
with two adorable dimples. He was grinning at her. Her eyes passed over
him to Jim, who gave her a cool nod and answered a question asked by
Cheryl Jeppsen, one of six or eight women loitering with intent near the
two men.
"They'll be here through the half," the voice boomed, which Kate thought
was Billy Mike's, "ready to answer any questions you might have. Don't
be shy, that's wh
at they're here for." Whoever it was got off the mike,
and there were modest surges toward both candidates. Anne made her way
down the bleachers and stepped onto the floor. Something further up the
bleachers caught Kate's eye, a thin, older man with a Chevron cap tugged
low over his eyes. She stared, trying to figure out what seemed odd
about him, and then realized he still had his jacket on, a down jacket
that should have been far too hot for sitting through an entire
basketball game. She started moving toward the bleachers without knowing it.
"Kate?" Dinah said, close behind her. She heard the squeak of tires.
"Stay here, guys," she said, not taking her eyes off the man. She'd seen
him before. Where the hell had it been, Ahtna, Cordova? The NRA dinner
in Valdez?
She cast a quick look at Jim, who looked up from Cheryl to catch her
eye. She jerked her head toward the bleachers and kept going. The gun
show in Nabesna?
She came up to the crowd surrounding Anne. "Excuse me," she muttered,
twisting between two bodies.
"Well, excuse the hell out of me, too, girl," Old Sam
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Dementieff drawled, bright eyes curious in his wizened-up face. His
nasty grin faded when he took in the expression on her face. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing, probably, but get back, Uncle, okay?" For maybe the millionth
time in her life she cursed her height. All she had ever wanted to be
was six feet tall, so she could wear three-inch heels and tower over
everyone and intimidate the hell out of them. And see over the top of a
crowd. She might have made a mistake wading into this one.
The crowd parted for a moment, and she caught sight of the man,
descending the bleachers, almost to the floor, his hand pulling out of
his pocket. "Gun!" she shouted, and rammed her way forward into the
center of the circle, catching a very surprised Anne Gordaoff around the
waist and bringing her down to the floor.
There were yells and screams. Jim went past in a streak of blue and
gold, nine-millimeter Smith & Wesson drawn and ready. Dandy was right
behind him with a .357 in his hand. Old Sam pulled out a Colt .45 that
Kate knew for a fact had come over the Chilkoot Trail in 1898 and waved
it around and from the floor it looked like someone had rolled out a
cannon. Auntie Vi had a .38 and Auntie Balasha a palm-sized automatic
that looked like it should have been tucked into a bra. Other weapons
were flourished, although nobody seemed to be all that sure which way to
point them. Every second person in the crowd was armed, which on a night
when everyone would be going home late at a time of year when the bears
were still up, in a state where a permit for carrying a concealed weapon
was easy to come by, was not very surprising. Kate picked herself up to
see Jim disarming the man she had spotted, who was carrying a handgun
she didn't recognize.
"Are you okay?" Jim said to Kate.
"Yeah. What is that?"
He looked down at the gun. "A Glock. Automatic, ten
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rounds in the clip. Good thing you spotted him. He could have done some
damage."
"Who is he?"
"No ID."
"I told you to stay home," Parka Man said to Anne. "But you wouldn't
listen, you godless whore."
"Anybody got any duct tape?" Jim said, snapping on the cuffs.
"In my truck," Old Sam said, "on my way."
"Anne!" Darlene cried, and pushed Kate out of the way so roughly that
she lost her balance and came down hard on her right elbow. Kate bit
back a curse.
Darlene didn't notice, helping Anne to her feet. "Are you okay?"
"Yes, I-yes, I'm fine, Darlene, don't fuss." She winced.
"What? Where are you hurt? Show me!"
"I'm just a little bruised, I think."
Darlene rounded furiously on Kate. "I hired you to protect Anne. You
failed. You're fired."
"That's okay," Kate said, "you're under arrest."
"Don't try to change the subject, Kate! I said you're fired and I meant it!"
"Kate," Jim said.
"For the murders of Jeff Hosford and Paula Pawlowski," Kate said. "Not
to mention intent to murder me."
"Kate," Jim said again.
"Darlene's maiden name is Turner. Darlene Turner Shelikof."
The name meant nothing to him. It did to Pete Heiman, who had come up to
stand behind Jim. "Turner like the bank?"
"Yeah. And Turner like the dance hall girl down to the Northern Light,
who got murdered back in April 1915."
There was an electric silence. Darlene's face turned an ugly red and
without warning she launched herself at Kate, shrieking, "No! Don't-no,
it's not true, it's not true!" She
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came kicking and punching and caught Kate a good clip on her right
elbow. Kate saw a little red herself and snapped out a hand to hook a
finger in Darlene's mouth, twisting her cheek hard between finger and
thumb. Darlene screamed. Kate pulled her to her knees, and she went down
without hesitation. Kate, elbow smarting, kept her there until Old Sam
got back with the duct tape.
"No, Darlene!" Anne cried as they taped her wrists together. "Not you,
no, you couldn't have done it!"
Darlene smiled, or at least tried to, all the fight gone out of her. "It
seems I may have, Anne."
"Don't hurt her," Anne said, sagging against the wall. "Please don't
hurt her."
Jim muscled Darlene and Parka Man out of the gym, which was now filled
with the wondering murmur of the crowd. Pete Heiman looked around at the
avidly listening crowd and said, "Gee, thanks, Kate."
At that moment two sets of cheerleaders cartwheeled out into the middle
of the floor, followed by two teams of basketball players, and the crowd
moved on to more important things.
"Explain yourself," Jim said.
They were back in the conference room of the Niniltna Native
Association. Darlene was huddled in a chair. Billy Mike and Anne
Gordaoff were also present, Billy by virtue of having loaned them the
room and Anne because she had insisted. Jim, no fool, knew he was facing
down a woman who might one day be voting on the budget for the Alaska
Department of Public Safety, so he let her.
Parka Man was handcuffed to the toilet in the men's room. He had
displayed a tendency to drool when he yelled, so Jim hadn't gagged him
with duct tape for fear he might drown in his own spit. Now and then
they could hear him through the air vent, bellowing something about being a
251
tool of God and how the spawn of Satan were interfering with his mission.
Kate folded her hands on the table in front of her, and forbore to look
at Darlene, at the red fading to a bruise where Kate had snagged her
like a spawning salmon. She didn't like Darlene, she never had, but
she'd known her a long time and they'd gone to school together, and,
well, there was just something indecent about a strong woman being
brought low. That Kate had been the one to bring her low didn't help.
On the other hand, Darlene had committed murder. She had committed
grievous bodil
y harm upon Kate's own person. Kate began to feel better,
Stabenow, Dana - Shugak 11 - The Singing Of The Dead Page 31
