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Stabenow, Dana - Shugak 11 - The Singing Of The Dead

Page 31

by The Singing Of The Dead(lit)


  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.

  246

  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

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  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,

 

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