“You’re saying Lieberman tried to hide it?”
“Yes, and he did a very clumsy job of it, given his training and background.”
“Excuse me?” Reightman was not sure she’d heard the Doctor’s words correctly.
“He took a very ham-fisted approach to it, Detective. Let me see if I can put it a different way.” Evans folded her hands on the desk in front of her and searched for the right words. “Although members of our profession don’t practice surgery in the traditional sense, coroners are usually fully trained and qualified medical professionals. The exceptions are instances where the coroner is an elected position, rather than an appointed or contacted one. Elected coroners are often medical professionals, but there are still a few instances when they’re not. Thankfully, those are becoming increasingly rare as advances are made in forensic science, and proof of guilt is often reliant on facts found in the morgue.” She checked to make sure they were following her explanation before she continued. “Any of us trained and qualified by today’s standards are perfectly capable of covering up a wide variety of evidence.” She paused for a moment, considering the best way to explain. “Detectives, if I were to choose to muddy the trail, so to speak, I could very well do so, and in a way difficult for anyone to discover, or even suspect. Given his background, I feel Doctor Lieberman would’ve been able to do the same. Why he didn’t, is puzzling.”
“Maybe Riley was watching him too closely,” Jackson suggested.
“Ah, yes, the unfortunate Dr. Riley. A man of honor, it appears, but very little sense. Dr. Riley may in fact have stymied some of Lieberman’s efforts, but his presence doesn’t fully explain it. Perhaps there was a subconscious block preventing Lieberman from doing his best work in this instance. I understand that he was involved with the victim in a personal, presumably physical manner.”
“That’s correct, or at least the evidence suggests it,” Reightman confirmed.
“Well, if it’s indeed the case, there will likely be more evidence. As I mentioned, there’s still some work to complete before I’m satisfied we’ve learned all there is to learn from Mr. Guzman’s body.”
“You mentioned contributing factors, Doctor Evans. What are they?” Jackson asked as he reviewed his notes.
“I suspect the toxicology results will show that Mr. Guzman was drugged with some substance before the attack. There are very few signs of defensive wounds. Usually, a victim fights back with significant force if they’re able, and in this case, Guzman was a heathy man in excellent shape. I find it surprising he didn’t and suspect we’ll find he was drugged with some substance which rendered him unable to defend himself.”
Reightman thought back to the original impressions she’d received at the crime scene and the notes she’d reviewed since, and nodded her agreement. “That would be consistent with the evidence at the scene. There was a lot of blood, but it was fairly well confined. Even the spatter patterns were remarkably controlled. If Mr. Guzman had put up a fight, there should have been more of a ….”
“Mess,” Jackson finished.
“Not quite the word I was looking for, Jackson, but it’ll do. Anything else, Doctor?”
“Not at this time. Doctor Bridges and I will continue work this afternoon when she returns.” She considered for a moment. “Why don’t you join us?” When they both shifted uncomfortably in their seats, she added, “I think it may prove to be enlightening, and it’ll give you a different perspective on things. However, it’s only a suggestion.”
The two detectives exchanged a quick glance and Reightman turned back to the coroner. “What time would suit, Doctor?”
Evans consulted the no-nonsense watch strapped to her wrist. “I think Dr. Bridges should be back by 2 PM, so why don’t we plan for about 2:45?”
“We’ll be here shortly before then,” Reightman confirmed as she and Jackson rose to their feet. “Thank you for your help, Doctor Evans.”
“That’s my job, Detective. And about the little introduction earlier…”
“Yes?” Reightman raised a brow.
“Don’t be too hard on your partner. You’ll think of some appropriate retribution, but don’t go to extremes. I don’t want to find him wheeled into my morgue.”
“Oh, I don’t want him dead, Doctor – I just want him suffering.” Jackson flinched slightly and she smiled all the way back to their desks.
Once seated, Sam cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Hey, Melba…”
She smiled brightly. “Yes, Sam?” Syrup wouldn’t melt in her mouth.
“Uh, never mind.” A few minutes later he cleared his throat again. “You feel like grabbing a bit to eat?”
Reightman glanced at the number of emails awaiting her attention and decided she better knuckle down and try to make a dent in them. “No, I don’t think so. I need to get through some of these, but you could bring me back a ham and cheese sandwich.”
After Jackson left, Reightman’s fingers flew over her keyboard as she worked through her email. From time to time, she smiled as she thought about all the ways she might get back at him for the little stunt he pulled with the coroner. “There are so many good choices,” she thought as she finished a reply and hit send. She intended to consider all of her options before she settled on the perfect one, but she did have a few ideas she could put into motion right away.
Sam returned about thirty minutes later carrying a white paper bag and sat it on her desk. “One ham and cheese sandwich, just like you ordered.”
She smiled up at him and opened the bag, digging out the sandwich and other tissue wrapped object. “You brought me a cookie!”
“I thought you might like one. They looked pretty good.”
“Yes, it does look good,” she agreed and picked up her mug. “I’m going for some hot water. You want me to get you some coffee?”
“Sure, that’d be great, Melba.” As she started to walk away, something awful occurred to him. “Uh Melba…?”
“Yes?”
“You wouldn’t, uh, put something in it or…do anything to it, would you?”
Bingo. “Now why would you think of something like that? Don’t worry; I’ll fix it just the way you like it…partner.” Reightman returned a few minutes later and placed the cup on the corner of his desk, and sat back down, putting a tea bag in her cup and unwrapping her sandwich. She took a hearty bite. “I was getting hungry. Thanks for bringing this back.”
“Yeah, sure thing. It wasn’t any problem – I was getting lunch anyway.”
She smiled around her sandwich when she saw him looking at the coffee with suspicion. “Something wrong?” she asked with apparent concern.
Jackson narrowed his eyes at her, trying to get a read. “Nope, not at all.” He took a small testing sip, and cradled the cup carefully, waiting.
“It doesn’t work that fast, Sam.”
He sat the cup down quickly, sloshing a few drops on the desk. “What doesn’t?”
“The caffeine, of course." She dunked her tea bag a couple of times and then removed it. She took a big drink from her own mug. “I really like this tea Zhou gave me.” He nodded distractedly and picked up his cup, cut then set it down again without taking a drink. “Sam, I’m sorry if I didn’t fix it the way you like it,” she said in a sorrowful little voice.
“No, no, it’s just perfect,” he said taking another drink.
“I thought it should be. After all of these years I ought to know how you like your coffee.” She took a final bite of her sandwich and brushed the crumbs off her hands. She then took a bite of the cookie. “Yum…this is great,” she mumbled with her mouth full.
Sam finally pushed the coffee away from him on the desk and turned to his own computer. “What’s the plan for the afternoon?”
“Well, I think I’ll walk over and see Nancy.” She stuffed the wrapping paper and napkin into the bag then tossed it in the trash. “Want to come?”
Sam considered it, thinking about all of the possible fun he could have i
f fireworks went off between the two women. Then he reconsidered, and decided he was already in enough hot water. “No, I think I’ll see if I can get through some of my own email.”
“Okay.” Melba pulled the wrapped package from her drawer. “This shouldn’t take too long.” She took a deep breath, preparing for the worst. “Wish me luck. I’m going to need it.”
“Luck,” he answered distractedly, staring off into space.
When Melba was several yards away, she turned back to watch him. He picked up the coffee cup and held it carefully between thumb and finger and poured the coffee into a small potted plant behind him. Then he threw the cup into his trashcan and wiped his hands and mouth carefully with his handkerchief. He folded it and started to put it back into his pocket, but stopped. He looked it over carefully and then placed it into the trash along with the cup. “Tomorrow morning I’ll replace that plant with a dead or dying one,” she thought gleefully. “Operation Reightman’s Revenge is underway!”
Nancy was at her desk typing away with a pair of headphones plugged into her ears. “She’s either transcribing something, or listening to country music,” Melba guessed. “Probably listening to music.” She approached the front of the desk, holding the present hidden behind her back, and waited for Nancy to notice her. Nancy kept typing, but Melba saw her glance sideways in her direction a few times. Melba kept waiting patiently. She’d expected this kind of cold shoulder treatment.
Finally Nancy took the earpieces out and glared her way. “What do you want?”
“I’ve brought you something.” Melba moved the package out from behind her back. Nancy didn’t respond except to sniff disdainfully and turn back to her work. “I thought maybe it would make up, at least a little bit, for the other night.” Melba held the package out towards the admin.
Nancy stopped her typing and eyed the offering. “Just because you give me something doesn’t mean I won’t still be mad.”
“I know, but I want you to have this anyway.”
Nancy took her time in considering the offering and then reluctantly took the package. “The wrapping’s real nice,” she grudgingly allowed.
Melba detected a glimmer of interest in her face. “Go ahead, open it,” she encouraged.
Nancy looked it over, and gently placed the small, wrapped box on her lap. She untied the ribbon and laid it aside. She took off the wrapping paper and folded it and placed it next to the ribbon. Then she opened the box and moved aside the tissue paper. She stared for a minute and then took the scarf out and unfolded it. She didn’t say anything.
“If you don’t like it, I’m sure you can exchange it.”
Nancy petted the delicate silk and touched one of the flowers. She then traced the outline of one of the butterflies. “It’s the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever given me,” she whispered. She looked up at Melba and gave her a watery smile. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Go ahead, put it on.”
Nancy draped the silk around her neck and tied a loose knot, fussing with it a little. “Well?”
“It looks terrific,” Melba replied, because it did. The beautiful scarf glowed against Nancy’s pale skin, and raised the caliber of her otherwise down market dress by several degrees.
Nancy pulled a large compact from her desk drawer and opened it, tilting it first one way and then another to get the full effect. Nancy closed the compact and replaced it in her drawer. She petted the scarf again, affectionately. She gave Melba a considering look and turned back to her typing. “I’m still kind of mad,” she informed her, fingers moving steadily. “Just not nearly as mad.”
Melba quickly suppressed her grin and said gravely, “Well, that’s an improvement so I’ll have to be happy with that. I really am sorry Nancy. I hope you’ll think better of me in the future.”
Nancy popped her gum, never turning away from her computer. “It’ll probably be at least until tomorrow until I get totally past it.”
Melba knew when to make her exit. She figured she’d made good progress, and anyway, the look on Nancy’s face when she saw herself in the compact mirror had been worth the full price of the scarf.
“Did the ice thaw any?” Sam asked when she returned.
“I think so, but only time will tell.” Melba glanced at the time display on her phone. “Jackson, it’s almost time to go downstairs. We don’t want to keep Dr. Evan’s waiting.”
“No, we don’t,” he agreed. He put his hand to his stomach and then reached down and opened his desk drawer, pulling out an anti-acid tablet which he popped into his mouth.
“Not feeling well?” she asked sweetly as he chewed.
“Just a little heartburn I think.”
“Gee, I hope it wasn’t the coffee.” She enjoyed his expression and nearly burst out laughing when he felt his stomach again and quickly chewed another tablet. Once her expression was under control, she motioned impatiently, “Come on, Jackson. Let’s go.”
He glared at her as he put on his jacket. She nearly lost it again as he put the entire roll of anti-acids in his pocket. “Have you heard anything from Jones or Mitchell?” she asked while they waited for the elevator.
“Yeah, Jones called in while you were with Nancy. Said they haven’t found anything yet, but they’re going to try to track down names and addresses of any possible relatives and see if they get a trail from there.”
“Sam, this is taking too damned long,” she said as they entered the elevator car. “Every minute that goes by works to Lieberman’s advantage and not to ours.”
“Yes, you’re right but they’ll find something, Reightman. Jones is a good detective and Mitchell will be working extra hard – hoping he gets a chance for a permanent promotion.”
“I know, but I have a feeling we’re almost out of time.”
“Out of time for what?”
“I don’t know. It’s just a feeling I have. Like something bad could happen any minute.”
“It could,” Jackson agreed as they exited and headed to the morgue. “I hope not, but you may be right.”
As they went through door, they were greeted by a woman in a set of scrubs. “Hello! You must be Detectives Reightman and Jackson.” She practically bubbled as she held out her hand. “I’m Thelma-Louise Bridges, Acting Assistant Coroner for the time being.”
“Pleased to meet you, Dr. Bridges,” Reightman shook the offered hand and Jackson did the same. “Thelma-Louise is an unusual name.”
The Doctor rolled her eyes and shook her head ruefully, dislodging a few wisps of baby fine white blonde hair from her pony-tail. “You’re telling me,” she giggled. “My momma really loved that movie and couldn’t decide which character she wanted to name me after. In the delivery room she finally decided to just name me after both.” She turned and shook hands with Jackson. “We’d better get back to the examination room. Dr. Evans is kid of picky about staying on schedule. Come on back and I’ll help you get suited up.”
They followed Bridges back into the depths of the morgue, pausing just outside the larger of two examination rooms to put on loose fitting smocks and plastic booties. At the doctor’s instruction, they pulled on surgical gloves and placed clear plastic shielded masks over their faces. Once appropriately attired to Bridge’s satisfaction, they followed her into the examination room. Reightman felt her stomach give a little flutter. Lieberman hadn’t been one to allow cops back into this part of the morgue, so it’d been a while since she’d been present for an autopsy. She wasn’t sure how she’d handle it. She steeled her nerves and looked over at Sam. His face was stoic beneath the clear plastic of his mask. He’d probably be fine.
Doctor Evans looked up as they entered and motioned them forward. Dr. Bridges took a position across from Evans and the Detectives approached and stood a short distance away.
Geraldo Guzman was laid out on the stainless steel table positioned under the middle of the room under a set of bright lights. There was a small cloth folded across his groin, and a small rolling cart wi
th various implements arranged on top was placed at one side. There was also a large rolling magnification device positioned close to the top of the table. Reightman noted the ashy, pale color of his skin, and the numerous gashes and cuts scattered across his neck area and chest. There were many more cuts around his neck than on his chest, and if Evans was right, those were probably a result of Lieberman’s handiwork.
“Detectives, come on over here. I want you to see this,” They moved to stand next her and Evans positioned the magnifying frame over the neck are and motioned them to take a look. Jackson went first, and then Reightman followed suit, peering through the lens. She noted what she thought was bruising around the neck area and what appeared to be slightly abraded skin, almost hidden beneath the series of cuts.
As Reightman stepped back, Evans explained what they had seen. “The abraded skin suggests that an object with a soft, almost smooth nape was used to restrain the victim from the neck. Something similar to silk I would guess.”
“Silk?” Jackson asked, itching for access to his notebook.
“Or something very like it,” Evans confirmed.
“Like a scarf?” Reightman immediately thought of the scarf she’d given Nancy. It didn’t seem like something so delicate would be sufficient to hold someone as well built and strong as the victim.
“No. The abrading suggests something much wider than the typical scarf, Detective, although silk fabric is incredibly strong regardless of its size. However, a swath of fabric the size of a scarf would’ve damaged the flesh more as it constricted and gathered in on itself. Whatever was used to do this was slightly thicker in texture and significantly wider than a scarf.” Evans bent down and examined the neck area closely, and then reached for the magnifier. “There are what appear to be a few very small fibers in the skin, but they may be too small and incomplete to use as a sample. Silk doesn’t usually shed, unless it is cut, and the presence of these particles suggests the fabric used was pulled and, perhaps slid or twisted, as it restrained Mr. Guzman. Such activity may have caused the material to shed these tiny fibers.”
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