Cause Of Death ks-7

by Patricia Cornwell

  "He thinks with the head God gave him," Marino said.

  "The one between his legs."

  "Like I said," Danny replied, "he's been down here a couple of times before, bothering Dr. Mant about things.

  But what I didn't tell you is he always talked to him upstairs. He never would come down to the morgue."

  "I'm shocked," Marino drolly said.

  "I heard that when he was in the police academy he called in sick the day they were supposed to come down here for the demo autopsy," Danny went on. "Plus, he just got transferred over from juvenile. So he's been a homicide detective for only about two months."

  "Oh, now that's good," Marino said. "Just the kind of person we want working something like this." I asked him, "Can you smell the cyanide?"

  "Nope. Right now all I smell is my cigarette, which is exactly how I want it."

  "Danny?"

  "No, ma'am." He sounded disappointed.

  "So far I'm seeing no evidence that this is a diving death. No bubbles in the heart or thorax. No subcutaneous emphysema. No water in the stomach or lungs. I can't tell if he's congested." I cut another section of heart. "Well, he does have congestion of the heart, but is it due to the left heart failing the right-just due to dying, in other words? And he does have some reddening of the stomach wall, which is consistent with cyanide."

  "Doc," Marino said, "how well did you know him?"

  "Personally, really not at all."

  "Well, I'm going to tell you what was in the bag because Roche didn't know what he was looking at and I didn't want to tell him."

  He at last slipped out of his coat and looked for a safe place to hang it, deciding on the back of a chair. He lit another cigarette.

  "Damn, these floors kill my feet," he said as he went to the table where hookah and hose were piled, and leaned against the edge. "It must kill your knee," he said to Danny.

  "Totally kills it."

  "Eddings' got a Browning nine-millimeter pistol with a Birdsong desert brown finish," Marino said.

  . "What's Birdsong?" Danny placed the spleen in a hanging scale.

  "The Rembrandt of pistol finishes. Mr. Birdsong's the guy you send your weapon to if you want it waterproofed and painted to blend with the environment," Marino answered. "What he does, basically, is strip it, sandblast it and then spray it with Teflon, which is baked on. All of HRT's pistols have a Birdsong finish."

  HRT was the FBI's Hostage Rescue Team. I felt sure that given the number of stories Eddings had done on law enforcement, he would have been exposed to the FBI Academy at Quantico and its finest trained agents.

  "Sounds like something Navy SEALs would have, too," Danny suggested.

  "Them, SWAT teams, counterterrorist, guys like me."

  Marino was looking again at the hookah's fuel line and intake valves. "And most of us have Novak sights like he's got, too. But what we don't have is KTW metal-piercing ammo, also known as cop killers."

  "He's got Teflon-coated ammo?" I glanced up.

  "Seventeen rounds, one in the chamber. All with red lacquer around the primer for waterproofing."

  "Well, he didn't get armor-piercing ammo here. At least not legally, because it's been outlawed in Virginia for years. And as for the finish on his pistol, are you certain it's Birdsong, the same company the Bureau uses?"

  "Looks like Birdsong's magic touch to me," Marino replied.. "Course, there are other outfits that do similar work."

  I opened the stomach as Marino continued to close like a fist. Eddings had seemed such a fan of law enforcement. I had heard he used to ride along with the police, and go to their picnics and their balls. He had never struck me as gung-ho about weapons, and I was stunned that he would have loaded a pistol with illegal ammunition notorious for being used to murder and maim the very people who were his sources and perhaps his friends.

  "Gastric contents are just a small amount of brownish fluid," I continued. "He didn't eat near the time of death, not that I would have expected him to if he planned to dive."

  "Any chance fuel exhaust could have gotten to him, say if the wind blew just right?" Marino continued studying the hookah. "Couldn't that also make him pink?"

  "Certainly, we'll test for carbon monoxide. But that doesn't explain what I'm smelling."

  "And you're sure?"

  "I know what I'm smelling," I said.

  "You think he's a homicide, don't you," Danny said to me.

  "No one should be talking about this." I pulled a cord down from an overhead reel and plugged in the Stryker saw. "Not to the Chesapeake police. Not to anyone. Not until all tests are concluded and I make an official release.

  I don't know what's going on here. I don't know what was going on at the scene. So we must exercise even more caution than usual."

  Marino was looking at Danny. "How long you been working in this joint?" he asked.

  "Eight months."

  "You heard what the doc just said, right?"

  Danny looked up, surprised by Marino's change in tone.

  "You know how to keep your mouth shut, right?" Marino went on. "That means no bragging to the boys, no trying to impress your family or your girlfriend. You got that?"

  Danny held in his anger as he made an incision low around the back of the head, ear to ear.

  "See, if anything leaks, me and the doc here are going to know where it came from." Marino continued an attack that seemed completely unprovoked.

  Danny reflected back the scalp. He pulled it forward over the eyes to expose the skull, and Eddings' face collapsed, sad and slack, as if he knew what was happening and was grieving. I turned on the saw, and the room was filled with the high whine of blade cutting bone.

  Chapter 3

  THE SUN HAD DIPPED LOW BEHIND Ika veil of gray, and snow was several inches deep and hung like smoke in the air. Marino and I followed Danny's footsteps across the parking lot, for the young man had already gone, and I felt bad for him.

  "Marino," I said, "you just can't talk to people like that.

  My staff knows about discretion. Danny did nothing to merit your treating him so rudely, and I don't appreciate it."

  "He's a kid," he said. "You raise him right and he'll take good care of you. Thing is, you got to believe in discipline."

  "It is not your job to discipline my staff. And I have never had a problem with him."

  "Yeah? And maybe this is one time when you don't need a problem with him," he replied.

  "I really would appreciate it if you wouldn't try to run my office."

  I was tired and out of sorts, and Lucy still was not answering the phone at Mant's house. Marino had parked next to me, and I unlocked my driver's door.

  "So, what's Lucy doing for the New Year?" he asked as if he knew my concerns.

  "Hopefully, spending it with me. But I haven't heard from her." I got into the car.

  "The snow started up north, so Quantico got hit first," he said. "Maybe she got caught. You know how 95 can be."

  "She's got a car phone. Besides, she's driving from Charlottesville," I said.

  "How come?"

  "The Academy's decided to send her back to UVA for another graduate course."

  "In what? Advanced Rocket Science?"

  "Apparently, she's doing a special study in virtual reality."

  "So maybe she got stuck somewhere between here and Charlottesville." He did not want me to leave.

  "She could have left a message."

  He stared around the parking lot. It was empty save for the dark-blue morgue wagon, which was covered with snow. Flakes clung to his wispy hair and must have been cold on his balding head, but he did not seem to mind.

  "Do you have New Year plans?" I started the engine, then the wipers to plow snow off the windshield.

  "A couple of us guys are supposed to play poker and eat chili."

  "That sounds like fun." I looked up at his big, flushed face as he continued staring off.

  "Doc. I went through Eddings' apartment back in Richmond and d
idn't want to get into it in front of Danny. I think you're going to want to go through it, too."

  Marino wanted to talk. He did not want to be with the guys or alone. He wanted to be with me, but he would never admit that. In all the years I had known him, his feelings for me were a confession he could not make, no matter how obvious they might be.

  "I can't compete with a poker game," I said to him as I fastened my shoulder harness, "but I was going to make lasagne tonight. And it doesn't look like Lucy's going to get in. So if-"

  "It don't look like driving back after midnight would be a smart thing," he cut me off as snow swirled across the tarmac in small white storms.

  "I've got a guest room," I went on.

  He looked at his watch, and decided it was a good time to smoke.

  "In fact, driving back now isn't even a good idea," I stated. "And it looks like we need to talk."

  "Yeah, well, you're probably right," he said.

  What neither of us counted on as he slowly followed me to Sandbridge was that when we arrived, smoke would be drifting up from the chimney. Lucy's vintage green Suburban was parked in the drive and blanketed with snow, so I knew she had been here for a while.

  "I don't understand," I said to Marino as we slammed car doors shut. "I called three times."

  "Maybe I'd better leave." He stood by his Ford, not sure what to do.

  "That's ridiculous. Come on. We'll figure out something. There is a couch. Besides, Lucy will be thrilled to see you.

  "You got your diving shit?" he said.

  "In the trunk."

  We got it out together and carried it up to Dr. Mant's house, which looked even smaller and more forlorn in the weather. At the back was a screened-in porch, and we went in that way and deposited my gear on the wooden floor.

  Lucy opened the door leading into the kitchen, and we were enveloped by the aroma of tomatoes and garlic. She looked baffled as she stared at Marino and the dive equipment.

  "What the hell's going on?" she said.

  I could tell she was upset. This had been our night to be alone, and we did not have special nights like this often in our complicated lives.

  "It's a long story." I met her eyes.

  We followed her inside, where a large pot was simmering on the stove. Nearby on the counter was a cutting board, and Lucy apparently had been slicing peppers and onions when we arrived. She was dressed in FBI sweats and ski socks and looked flawlessly healthy, but I could tell she had not been getting much sleep.

  "There's a hose in the pantry, and just off the porch near a spigot is an empty plastic trash can," I said to Marino.

  "If you'd fill that, we can soak my gear."

  "I'll help," Lucy said.

  "You most certainly won't." I gave her a hug. "Not until we've visited for a minute."

  We waited until Marino was outside, then I pulled her over to the stove and lifted the lid from the pot. A delicious steam rose and I felt happy.

  "I can't believe you," I said. "God bless you."

  "When you weren't back by four I figured I'd better make the sauce or we weren't going to be eating lasagne tonight."

  "It might need a little more red wine. And maybe more basil and a pinch of salt. I was going to use artichokes instead of meat, although Marino won't be happy about that, but he can just eat prosciutto. How does that sound?"

  I returned the lid to the pot.

  "Aunt Kay, why is he here?" she asked.

  "Did you get my note?"

  "Sure. That's how I got in. But all it said was you had gone to a scene."

  "I'm sorry. But I called several times."

  "I wasn't going to answer a phone in somebody else's house," she said. "And you didn't leave a message."

  "My point is that I didn't think you were here, so I invited Marino. I didn't want him to drive back to Richmond in the snow."

  Disappointment glinted in her intense green eyes. "It's not a problem. As long as he and I don't have to sleep in the same room," she dryly remarked. "But I don't understand what he was even doing in Tidewater."

  "Like I said, it's a long story," I answered. "The case in question has a Richmond connection."

  We went out to the frigid porch and quickly swished fins, dive skin, wet suit and other gear in icy water. Then we carried all of it up to the attic, where nothing would freeze, and placed it on multiple layers of towels. I took as long a shower as the water heater would allow, and thought it unreal that Lucy, Marino and I were together in this tiny coastal cottage on a snowy New Year's Eve.

  When I emerged from my bedroom, I found them in the kitchen drinking Italian beer and reading about making bread.

  "All right," I said to them. "That's it. Now I take over."

  "Watch out," Lucy said.

  I shooed them out of the way and began measuring high gluten flour, yeast, a little sugar and olive oil into a large bowl. I turned the oven on low and opened a bottle of Cete Retie, which was for the cook to sip as she began her serious work. I would serve a Chianti with the meal.

  "Did you go through Eddings' wallet?" I asked Marino as I chopped porcini mushrooms.

  "Who's Eddings?" Lucy asked.

  She was sitting on a countertop, sipping Peroni. Through the windows behind her snow streaked the gathering dark.

  I explained more about what had happened today, and she asked no further questions, but was silent as Marino talked.

  "Nothing jumped out," he said. "One MasterCard, one Visa, AmEx, insurance info. Crap like that and a couple receipts. They look like restaurants, but we'll check. You mind if I get another one of these?" He dropped an empty bottle into the trash and opened the refrigerator door.

  "Let's see what else." Glass clattered. "He wasn't carrying much cash. Twenty-seven bucks."

  "What about photographs?" I asked, kneading dough on a board dusted with flour.

  "Nothing." He shut the refrigerator. "And as you know, he wasn't married."

  "We don't know that he didn't have a significant relationship with someone," I said.

  "That could be true because there sure isn't a hell of a lot we know." He looked at Lucy. "You know what Birdsong is?"

  "My Sig's got a Birdsong finish." She looked over at me. "So does Aunt Kay's Browning."

  "Well, this guy Eddings had a Browning nine-mil just like what your aunt's got and it has a desert brown Birdsong finish. Plus, his ammo's Teflon-coated and has red lacquer on the primer. I mean you could shoot the shit through twelve phone books in the friggin' pouring rain."

  She was surprised. "What's a journalist doing with something like that?"

  "Some people are just very enthusiastic about guns and ammo," I said. "Although I never knew Eddings was. He never mentioned it to me-not that he necessarily would have."

  "I've never seen KTW in Richmond at all," Marino said, referring to the brand name of the Teflon-coated cartridges. "Legal or otherwise."

  "Could he have gotten it at a gun show?" I asked.

  "Maybe. One thing's for sure. This guy probably went to a lot of them. I ain't told you about his apartment yet."

  I covered the dough with a damp towel and put the bowl in the oven on the lowest setting.

  "I won't give you the whole tour," he went on. "Just the important parts, starting with the room where he's apparently been reloading his own ammo. Now where he's been shooting all these rounds, who knows. But he's got plenty of guns to choose from, including several other handguns, an AK-47, an MP5 and an M16. Not exactly what you use for varmint hunting. Plus, he subscribed to a number of survivalist magazines, including Soldier of Fortune, U.S. Cavalry Magazine, and Brigade Quartermaster.

  Finally"-Marino took another swallow of beer-"we found some videotapes on how to be a sniper. You know special forces training and shit like that."

  I folded eggs and Parmesan reggiano with ricotta. "Any hint as to what he may have been involved in?" I asked as the mystery of the dead man deepened and unsettled me more.

  "No, but he sure as hell se
emed to be after something."

  "Or something was after him," I said.

  "He was scared," Lucy spoke as if she knew. "You don't go diving after dark and carry along a waterproof nine-mil loaded with armor-piercing ammo unless you're scared. That's the behavior of someone who thinks there's a contract out on him."

  It was then I told them about my strange early-morning phone call from an Officer Young who did not seem to exist. I mentioned Captain Green and described his behavior.

  "Why would he call, if he's the one who did?" Marino frowned.

  "Clearly, he didn't want me at the scene," I said. "And maybe if I were given ample information by the police, I would just wait for the body to come in, as I usually do."

  "Well, it sounds to me like you were being bullied," Lucy said.

  "I believe that was the overall plan," I agreed.

  "Have you tried the phone number this nonexistent Officer Young gave you?" she asked.

  "No," I said.

  "Where is it?"

  I got it for her and she dialed it.

  "It's the number for the local weather report," she said, hanging up.

  Marino pulled out a chair from the checker cloth-covered breakfast table and straddled it, his arms folded on top of the back. Nobody spoke for a while as we sifted through data that were getting only stranger by the minute.

  "Listen, Doc." Marino cracked his knuckles. "I really gotta smoke. You going to let me or do I have to go outside?"

  "Outside," Lucy said, jabbing her thumb toward the door and looking meaner than I knew she felt.

  "And what if I fall into a snowdrift, you little runt?" he said.

  "It's four inches deep out there. The only drift you're going to fall into is the one in your mind."

  "Tomorrow we'll go out on the beach and shoot cans," he said. "Now and then you need someone to give you a little humility, Special Agent Lucy."

  "You most certainly will not be shooting anything on this beach," I said to both of them.

  "I guess we could let Pete open the window and blow smoke out," Lucy said. "But it just shows you how addicted you are."

  "As long as you smoke fast," I said to him. "This house is cold enough as it is."

  The window was stubborn, but no more so than Marino, who managed to get it open after a violent struggle. Moving his chair nearby, he lit up and blew smoke out the screen.