Louis tossed the paper on the desk. “My guess is this was leaked by Ross Chapman,” he said.
“Why would he do it?” Flowers asked.
“Grieving brother swoops in to bring his sister home after twenty-one years,” Louis said. “Should be good for a couple of sympathy votes.”
Rafsky was looking at Louis but then turned to Flowers. “It’s your leak, Chief. Plug it,” he said.
Flowers was about to argue, but Rafsky turned away and began reading a report. Louis noticed that Rafsky’s right hand, turning the stapled papers, was trembling. Rafsky discreetly pressed it against his side to stop it.
Joe’s voice was a sudden whisper in Louis’s ear.
I knew from the moment I saw Rafsky that I liked him. He was different . . . he respected me, respected my idealism and my position as the only woman in the department. In fact, there was a moment when I thought we might find something else, but he was married and I was . . . well, too young.
Joe Frye was a woman with class and smarts, and Louis couldn’t help but think that to get her attention Norm Rafsky must have been a very different man fifteen years ago.
“Ross Chapman’s going to be here soon,” Rafsky said. “The three of us need to figure out where we’re at with this case. I want us all on the same page when we talk to him.”
Flowers nodded, waiting. Louis was finding it hard to hide his annoyance that Rafsky had taken the lead.
“How did you make out with the missing persons list I gave you last night at the Mustang?”
Flowers picked up a folder. “We’re almost finished. Most of the girls on the list turned up alive. Two were murdered, but there was no evidence to tie them to our case. We have two we couldn’t find, but neither had a connection to the island here or Kingswood.”
Rafsky nodded as if finally satisfied with something Flowers had done.
“I’ve got more crime scene analysis and ME reports,” Rafsky said, flipping back to the first page of the report he had been reading. “First, they concluded that the remains were not moved after death. This is confirmed by the residual bodily fluids they found soaked into the concrete.”
Louis remembered the ghostlike stain he had seen on the basement floor.
“More important,” Rafsky went on, “they also found a highly degraded stream of pure blood—no decomp contamination—that ran from where the skull would have been to a drain. Which means she suffered a severe head wound that probably caused her death.”
“Any indication of other injuries?” Flowers asked.
“No,” Rafsky said.
“What about the missing skull?” Louis asked. “Was she decapitated?”
“All of the vertebrae were found with the remains,” Rafsky said. “There were no cuts or nicks on any of the neck bones. The ME believes the head detached naturally during the decomp process.”
“Okay, I know I asked this once before,” Flowers said. “But isn’t it about time that we started thinking about where the hell the skull is?”
“I’d guess the killer took it,” Louis said.
Rafsky looked up from the report.
“Killers, especially sexual predators, often come back to relive their crimes and take trophies,” Louis said. “Usually it’s within days, but this guy could have waited months.”
“Why wait?” Flowers asked.
“Julie Chapman disappeared in December, so the body didn’t start decomposing until at least spring,” Louis said. “The killer was patient. I’m guessing he waited until she was skeletonized, then came back to get the skull.”
Flowers sat back in his chair. “That’s really sick,” he said.
“Let’s move on to the pregnancy,” Rafsky said, digging out another report. “The anthropologist estimates the fetal bones are sixteen to eighteen weeks.”
“If this is Julie Chapman and she died around New Year’s, then she got pregnant in August, when she was here on the island,” Louis said.
“And that the father of the baby is our first suspect,” Rafsky said.
Louis knew the stats, knew that murder was the number one cause of death for pregnant women, and the odds were better than 50 percent that the father was the killer. Violence in intimate relationships was always about power, and a pregnancy put a woman in an even more vulnerable position. For the father who had something to lose—be it a married man worried about exposure or a kid scared of being tied down for life—killing a pregnant girlfriend was all about self-preservation.
Which meant that if the bones belonged to Julie Chapman, they needed to know everything about her life. Especially the secret parts.
Flowers had picked up the file folder. He was leafing through it when he suddenly stopped.
“Oh God,” he said.
He set a photograph on the desk, turning it so Louis and Rafsky could see it.
It was a picture of the fetal bones. Louis had seen fetal bones before, but they had always been neatly laid out by sections—long bones together, ribs fanned out, and the skull bones gathered like broken eggshells.
But someone in Marquette had taken the trouble to reassemble the bones so they looked like an actual fetus, and a ruler had been placed beside the bones for sizing. The skeleton—just six inches long—looked like a delicate newly hatched bird.
The three men were silent as they stared at the photograph.
A tap on the glass drew their attention to the door. An officer opened the door and looked to Flowers.
“Ross Chapman is here,” he said.
Flowers turned the photograph facedown. “Send him in,” he said.
13
Flowers came around the desk. As Chapman came in he gave each man a quick look before settling back on Flowers.
“Thank you for coming, Mr. Chapman,” Flowers said. He quickly introduced Rafsky and Louis, then offered Chapman the only other chair in the small office.
Chapman slipped off his raincoat and folded it over his knees as he sat down. He was wearing a pale yellow cashmere sweater, dress shirt, and gray trousers. Louis had the thought that despite his polished veneer the man looked like he had been punched in the gut.
“Mr. Chapman,” Flowers said, “before we go on, I’d like to apologize for contacting your family before a positive ID has been made.”
Louis glanced at Rafsky, who had retreated to a corner of the small office, arms crossed. He seemed willing to let Flowers take the lead.
“No apologies are necessary, Chief Flowers,” Chapman said. “If there is any chance this is my sister, I want to be here.”
Chapman’s voice was calm, but his hazel eyes never stopped moving—from Flowers to the officers outside the glass to the closed folders on the desk. They finally came back to Flowers’s face.
“I was told my sister was found with no skull. Is this true?” he asked.
“Yes, sir, I’m afraid it is,” Flowers said.
“My father also said you found her school ring, but he isn’t in any state to give me any other details,” Chapman said. “Could you update me on what other evidence you have that leads you to believe this is my sister?”
“Right now, the ring is all we have,” Flowers said. “Except for the fact that the remains are roughly the same height and age as Julie.”
“Could I see the ring, please?”
Flowers produced the ring from a drawer. Chapman turned it over, looked at the initials. “I remember the day she got this,” he said.
“You were there?” Flowers asked.
Chapman nodded. “There’s a ceremony at Kingswood when the juniors get their rings. It symbolizes the girls becoming women and leaders. It’s a big deal, and the girls wear white dresses and the families are invited to breakfast to see it all.”
He paused. The ring looked tiny in the palm of his hand. He let out a long breath and handed it back to Flowers.
“This isn’t enough, is it?” he said.
“Not for a positive ID,” Rafsky said.
Louis knew they woul
d have to bring up DNA testing but decided Flowers had to handle this in his own way.
“What about her clothes?” Chapman asked. “Wouldn’t they help in identifying her?”
“No clothing was found,” Flowers said.
Chapman stared at him. “You mean it all rotted away?”
“No, sir. We found no clothing at all anywhere near the remains.”
It took a moment for this to register, but when it did Chapman’s eyes darkened. “Was Julie sexually assaulted?” he asked.
“We don’t know,” Flowers said. “The lack of clothing implies it is a strong possibility.”
Chapman put a hand to his mouth. Louis subtly gestured for Flowers to continue.
Flowers cleared his throat. “There’s one more thing, Mr. Chapman, something we didn’t tell your father. Your . . . the victim was pregnant.”
Chapman slowly lowered his hand. “What?”
“Your sister was pregnant.”
“I thought you only found bones. How do you know?”
Flowers hesitated, turned over the photograph of the fetal bones, and slid it across the desk.
Ross stared at it for a long time. Whatever composure he had brought into the room was gone. His eyes welled up.
“May I have a glass of water, please?” he asked softly.
Flowers went to the door and hollered out to one of his men. An officer came back quickly, bearing a coffee mug of water. Chapman drank it in one long draw.
“Do they . . .” Chapman paused. “Can they tell how far along she was?”
“Four to five months,” Flowers said.
Louis felt compelled to break in. “We know your family was here that summer, so we know your sister got pregnant while she was here.”
“Anything you can tell us about your sister’s life here at that time would be very helpful,” Flowers said.
“Life?” Chapman said.
“Boyfriends,” Louis interjected.
“Julie didn’t have any boyfriends,” Chapman said.
“You never saw your sister with anyone that summer?” Louis asked.
Chapman shook his head slowly.
“This is a small island,” Louis said.
“And you and your sister ran with a small, exclusive group of kids,” Flowers added.
Still Chapman said nothing. Then he let out a long breath. “Okay,” he said. “I didn’t think about it at the time, but something was different that summer. Julie was very moody. One minute she was sky-high, the next she would lock herself in her room and cry.”
Louis noticed Flowers nodding. “I have teenage girls. What you’re describing sounds pretty normal.”
“Except she got pregnant,” Rafsky said.
Chapman’s eyes swung to Rafsky. “I don’t remember Julie seeing anyone or even talking about anyone that summer.”
“What about a girlfriend, someone she might have confided in?” Flowers asked.
“I . . . I don’t know, really. We were at separate schools at Cranbrook,” Chapman said.
Flowers reached into his drawer and pulled out the yearbook from Kingswood. “Could you take a look, please?” he asked. “Maybe you’ll see someone whose face rings a bell.”
Chapman hesitated, then took the yearbook. The office was quiet as he turned the pages. After a few minutes he closed the yearbook. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t recognize anyone. It was a long time ago.”
“What about here on the island?” Louis asked.
Chapman shook his head. “I don’t remember seeing her with anyone special.”
“Your father mentioned a housekeeper that came up here with you every summer,” Louis said. “We’ll need to talk to her. Can you tell us where we can find her?”
“She’s at the cottage with my father.”
Louis glanced at Rafsky. He had assumed that the black woman with Edward Chapman had been a health aide.
“How long has—?” Louis paused, unable to remember the housekeeper’s name.
“Maisey,” Chapman said.
“How long has she worked for your family?”
“Forever,” Chapman said.
“Can you be more specific?” Rafsky asked.
“Since I was two,” Chapman said.
“Would Julie have confided in her?” Louis asked.
Chapman shook his head. “No, Maisey’s just the housekeeper.”
Louis had seen the tenderness between Edward Chapman and Maisey. This woman was not just a housekeeper. He made a mental note to talk to her later—alone.
Chapman set the mug on Flower’s desk. His eyes were fixed on something on the wall over the desk. He seemed to be staring at an old photograph of Mackinac Island’s Main Street. Finally he looked back at Flowers.
“When can I take my sister home?” he asked.
Rafsky stepped forward. “I’m sorry, but the remains cannot be released until we have a positive ID.”
“So you’re telling me there’s nothing I can do?” Chapman said.
This was wrong, Louis thought. Wrong and unnecessary. Ross Chapman just wanted to take his sister home and bury her. Edward Chapman had waited twenty-one years and didn’t have time to wait any longer.
“Actually, there is something you can do,” Louis said. “Have you heard of DNA testing, Mr. Chapman?”
Louis could feel Rafsky’s eyes on him, but he kept his own on Chapman.
“Yes,” Chapman said. “They use blood or tissue to identify bodies.”
“Bones can also be used,” Louis said.
“How does it work?” Chapman asked.
“We would need some DNA that we were positive belonged to your sister for comparison, like hair from her brush,” Louis said. “That’s impossible in this situation.”
“But you said—”
“We can test the bones for what is called mitochondrial DNA,” Louis went on. “That is DNA passed on to children by their mothers. It’s exactly the same for each child. We can take DNA from you, and if it matches the DNA in the bones, we know the remains belong to your sister.”
Chapman stared at him. “I don’t understand. Why didn’t you just tell me this when I walked in?”
Rafsky took the question. “It’s not as easy as Mr. Kincaid makes it out to be. The genetic material could be too degraded or contaminated. Also, testing takes a long time, and it is extremely expensive. With all due respect, Mr. Chapman, this is not something the state is prepared to do at this time.”
“You’re telling me I can’t bury my sister because the state is too damn cheap to do a test? You expect me to go back and tell my father that?”
“Mr. Chapman—”
Chapman cut Rafsky off with a raised hand, then looked at Flowers. “I want you to make this DNA test happen. I want to know for sure it’s Julie. I will pay for it. I don’t care what it costs.”
Flowers made it a point not to look at Rafsky before he spoke. “Yes, sir. I will get things in motion immediately.”
“What about the fetal bones?” Louis asked.
Chapman’s eyes swung to Louis.
“Do you also want to pay for testing the fetal bones?”
“Why? We know it’s Julie’s baby,” Chapman said.
“We should test for paternity,” Louis said.
“I’m confused,” Chapman said. “I thought you said you can only test for matches between siblings?”
“Paternity is different,” Louis said. “The fetal bones contain the DNA of Julie and of the baby’s father. And the father of that baby is our best suspect right now.”
Chapman hesitated. “I understand,” he said softly. “I know that you want to find the man who killed my sister. But you don’t understand what the last twenty years have done to us. All we wanted to do was find Julie. And now all we want to do is take her home.”
“Mr. Chapman—” Rafsky interrupted.
“You have to understand, Julie was my father’s . . . everything, she was his princess,” Chapman said. “If he found out s
he had gotten pregnant, it would kill him.” He hesitated. “Maybe later.”
Louis knew Chapman meant after his father had died.
The room was silent for a long time. Then Flowers cleared his throat.
“Mr. Chapman, we appreciate your situation,” Flowers said. He picked up the Lansing State Journal. “The news about the bones has already gotten out. But you have my word that we will do everything we can to keep the pregnancy quiet.”
Chapman considered this for a moment, then nodded. “Thank you. Now, what do I need to do for this DNA test to identify my sister?”
“You can go to the clinic here on the island and give a sample,” Flowers said. “I’ll have one of my officers take you over now if you like.”
Chapman shook his head. “I really need to see to my father right now,” he said. “I’ll go tomorrow.” He started for the door, then turned back. “Thank you again for your discretion.”
With a quick look at Rafsky and Louis, he left.
Rafsky waited until the door had closed, then turned to Louis. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” he said. “You’ve hung that man’s hopes of identifying his sister on a one-in-a-million chance.”
Rafsky swung to Flowers. “And if you knew what the hell you were doing, you wouldn’t be taking advice from this loser.”
Louis straightened from his position leaning against the wall. “Wait a minute—”
“He lost his badge in this state,” Rafsky said. “You want to know why? He killed his own chief.”
Flowers’s eyes shot to Louis.
Rafsky picked up his files and started to the door. “You want to keep him here, fine. Just don’t turn your back on him.”
Rafsky left, leaving the door open. Louis shoved it closed.
Damn it. He was tired of having to defend himself every time he came back to this state. He was tired of feeling like an outcast in the place where his dream of being a cop had been born. And now that son of a bitch Rafsky . . .
Flowers was staring at him, waiting.
“It was a complicated case,” Louis said.
“I’m listening,” Flowers said.
“We were after a cop killer. My chief was corrupt and out of control. I did what I had to do to save a boy’s life.”
Flowers dropped back into his chair and picked up the Lansing State Journal. Louis wondered if he was thinking about the shit-storm that lay ahead—or about what kind of man he had teamed up with.
Heart of Ice Page 9
