by A. M. Potter
“I need a helicopter to serve you people,” Kapanen grumbled. “Are you alone, Detective?”
She nodded and led Kapanen to the Albin’s back deck.
“Don’t people die on land anymore?” Kapanen shook his head. “Another body on a boat.” He pulled on gloves, knelt down, and examined the body. “Doesn’t look like a drowning,” he finally said. “Why do I say that?”
She pointed at J.J.’s mouth. “No blood or mucus. No foam.”
“Correct. I don’t see any evidence of drowning, either wet or dry. There is no trace of vomit, which indicates a victim became submerged while alive.” Kapanen pointed to J.J.’s eyes. “Consider the horizontal line bisecting the sclera or white of each eye. Those lines are consistent with death on land. Of course, a pathologist will examine the victim’s lungs and organs. He may rule differently. From what I can now tell, the victim was dead when he entered the water. As I’ve noted in the past--” Kapanen stopped and eyed her as if to say many times in the past. “--an autopsy will confirm or overrule my findings.”
She nodded. I know.
“All right,” Kapanen said, “to the head wounds.” A few minutes later, he looked up. “Regard the top of the head, the crown. I detect two heavy blows by a blunt force instrument with a rounded impact surface. Now consider the left side of the temple and the left frontal region. I detect three heavy blows by the same instrument. The skull has been breached. There is a large open wound and an approximately seven-centimeter length of protruding meninges.” Kapanen paused. “I can’t say for sure, but the blunt force instrument looks very similar to the one used a week ago. Most likely metal. As a week ago, I don’t see any wood splinters.”
“Okay. What’s the--”
“Don’t even ask. I know what you want. PMI. And I’ll do my best.”
“Good,” she said.
“Good? Of course it’ll be good.”
“Yes, sir. I mean, yes, Doctor. Of course.”
Kapanen eyed her. “Georgian Bay complicates matters. However, unlike last week, it appears the victim’s life vest worked. Was he found floating on the surface of the bay?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know the depth of the water where he was found?”
“Not the exact depth. But I do know it was less than two meters.”
“What is the surface temperature today, Detective?”
Naslund had anticipated the question. On the way to Griffith, she’d dropped a marine thermometer into the bay. “Eighteen Celsius in shallow water near shore,” she reported. “We can assume a degree or two colder overnight. According to the victim’s friend, the body likely entered the bay sometime after midnight.”
“Very good. Let’s look at lividity. Help me here. What do you see?”
J.J. wore a short-sleeved shirt and long shorts. “Well,” she said, “I see some blood pooling in the back of the neck. Given the victim was wearing a life vest, he was likely floating face up, which caused pooling in the neck.”
“Valid assumption. Would algor be reliable in this case?”
“No. Well, not very.”
“Why?”
“There are multiple factors at play,” she ventured. “For example, there are various air temperatures, ranging from readings at midnight to eight a.m., as well as variable water temperatures, depending on depth.”
“True. Let’s consider rigor.” Kapanen eyed the body. “The victim appears to weigh well over two hundred pounds. Hence, I’d estimate that in the overnight conditions, considering both air and water temperature, full rigor would be slightly delayed. It would take roughly thirteen to fourteen hours. The victim has not yet reached full rigor. How do I know that?”
She pointed to J.J.’s legs. “The quadriceps aren’t stiff. As rigor sets in, it progresses from the body’s smaller muscles to the larger ones.”
“Excellent, Detective. Given that rigor has not yet affected the larger muscles, we can deduce the victim has been dead for eight to ten hours. Approximately.”
“Thank you.”
“As for my final findings, the victim suffered severe head trauma and was dead when he entered the water. The wounds he sustained were not self-inflicted. He was attacked. Cause: Blunt force injury. Means: Homicide.” Kapanen sighed. “Sounds distressingly familiar.”
She nodded.
“I wish you the best.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
Chapter 25
Upon returning to Wiarton Marina, Naslund jumped in her car and headed to Keppel’s farm. She reached it just as a stocky, gray-haired man was climbing aboard an old tractor. She stepped out of her car. “Carl Keppel?”
“Yes.”
“Detective Sergeant Naslund, OPP. Do you have a few minutes?”
“Yes, Sergeant.”
“I understand your hog barn was inspected on Monday the eighth.”
“It was.”
“Can you show me the barn?”
Keppel looked puzzled. “Sure, but what’s this about?”
“Part of another investigation. Do you want me to get a warrant, Mr. Keppel?”
“Oh, no.”
She nodded. “Just a quick look.” In part, it was a decoy. She needed to examine the barn’s exit points, to see if the Murphys might have been able to sneak out, kill Tyler, and then return to complete their cleaning work. However, she also wanted to evaluate Keppel’s responses before mentioning the Murphys.
As she approached the barn, the air thickened. It smelled of dry grass and ammonia: bedding straw and pig shit. Keppel stopped outside the barn office door. “What exactly did you want to see?”
“The back and side doors.”
“There’s only one, a back door.”
“Please show it to me.”
“Sure. It’s always locked. We use the main door, the big sliding one.”
Naslund established that there was only one exit other than the office door and the sliding door. From the amount of rust around the back-door lock, it hadn’t been opened in years. She also saw that while there were many windows, they were too small for anyone to use as escape hatches. Having left the barn, she walked towards the tractor with Keppel. “You have a fine operation here. Sorry to inconvenience you.”
“No trouble at all.”
She started to turn away then stopped. “Just curious. Did you do a bit of a clean-up before the inspection?”
Keppel nodded.
“Did you get anyone to help you?”
“Yes. Two men.”
“What time did they start?”
“They arrived around eight p.m. on Sunday.”
“When did you finish?” she asked.
“Just after five a.m.”
“On Monday the eighth?”
“Yes.”
“How did you pay them?”
He looked nervous. “I paid them well. Above minimum wage.”
She knew he was avoiding her question. He’d probably paid them under-the-table, no tax. But she let it go. It wasn’t her bailiwick. “Were the men working the whole time?”
“Yes. Except for a break we took around one a.m.”
“Did they go anywhere?”
He shook his head. “The three of us sat in the office. My wife had made sandwiches. I made a fresh pot of coffee.”
“Were the two with you the whole time you were cleaning?”
“Yes. That and more. After we finished the job, they invited me for a sail, a cool-downer after the all-nighter. They owned a big sailboat.”
Naslund smiled. “Good to get out on the water. Where did you sail from?”
“Sydney Bay.”
“Nice. Where did you go?”
“Down to the top of White Cloud Island and then back.”
“About what time did you turn around and head back?”
“I can’t say for sure.” He looked skyward as if he were thinking. “I’d say the sun had been up for at least twenty minutes. So I’d estimate it was just after six.”
&nbs
p; “Thank you.” Keppel’s estimate came close to Gundy’s time of 0608. “Did you see any other boats?”
“There was a kayak out there. Way south of White Cloud.”
“Okay. Would you hire the two workers again?”
“Sure would. One fella, Jake was his name, was real friendly. The other fella, his brother--Willie, he was called--was quiet but a fast worker. They were good, hard workers.”
“Were they ever out of your sight?”
“Let me think...Just once. Willie went to the can, which is in the office. Jake went after him.”
“How long were they gone?”
“A few minutes each.”
“Do you recall their last name?”
“Murphy.”
“Thank you, Mr. Keppel. I appreciate your time.”
***
Walking to her car, Naslund decided to interview the Murphy brothers at the station, rather than at Colpoys. She pulled out her duty phone and called DC Lowrie. He answered on the first ring.
“Morning, Constable. Naslund here. I want you to get Jake and Willie Murphy into the station ASAP.”
“Yes, Sergeant.”
“Their numbers are in the Tyler Case directory, under POI. Call them. If they give you any trouble at all, call me immediately.” If she had to, she’d arrest them for obstructing a police investigation. It wouldn’t stick, and Justice O’Reilly would give her hell, but she didn’t care. She didn’t want any delays.
***
Naslund reached the station ten minutes later. As she sat at her hutch, Lowrie walked up to her.
“The Murphys will be here at ten hundred.”
She glanced at her watch. Twenty minutes. “Thank you.”
“I’ll take them to the interview room. I’ve added another Slider.”
“Excellent. I want you in the shadow room.”
“Certainly, Sergeant.”
She booted up her laptop and began writing a requisition to handle Marty’s protection. At 0957, Lowrie informed her that the Murphys were entering the station. She opened her laptop’s security-cameras feed. Jake looked unconcerned, Willie, less so. Jake wore a blue T-shirt and jeans, Willie, an army-fatigue tank top and neon-red shorts. While Willie was good-looking, Jake was movie-star handsome: tall, dark and chiseled. She followed the brothers as Lowrie led them to the interview room. They might be Jenny’s little brothers, but they were certainly big enough to attack Tyler or MacKenzie. With every step, Willie looked less comfortable. Lowrie directed Jake to one Slider; Willie, to the other. After Lowrie left the brothers said nothing. They knew they were being watched.
Naslund let the two hang on the hook a few minutes before entering the interview room. Curing the carcasses, Chandler called it.
“Good morning,” she said. “Good of you to come in on short notice.”
“Glad to.” Jake prodded his brother.
“Glad to,” Willie echoed.
“Are you men working full-time?”
Jake shook his head. Willie followed.
“Part-time?”
“Yes,” Jake said.
She waited for Willie to answer.
“My brother’s a bit nervous,” Jake said. “He doesn’t like cop shops--stations, I mean.”
She buzzed Lowrie. “Detective, please escort Jake Murphy to another room.”
As Jake was led out, Willie’s anxious look intensified. She eyeballed him before proceeding. “What kind of work are you doing?”
Willie shrugged. “This and that. You know, construction work, temp work.”
“What was your last job?”
“We dry-walled a basement.”
“Who?”
“Me and my brother. Me and Jake.”
“Before that?” she asked.
“We cleaned out a pig barn.”
“When was that?”
“Ah, ah. Last week. Last week, Sergeant.”
“When last week?” she asked.
“Last Sunday night, Sergeant.”
“When did you finish the job?”
“Monday morning, about five. Sergeant.”
“What did you do then?”
Willie seemed confused.
“What did you do after you finished work?”
“We invited the barn guy for a sail. The owner, I mean. He treated us good.”
“What was his name?”
“Carl Keppel,” Willie said.
“Let’s move ahead, to this morning. To Hay Island.” Naslund stopped to observe Willie. No apparent sign of unease or guilt. “Where were you today from midnight until seven a.m.?”
“In bed. Sergeant,” he added.
“You can skip the sergeant.” She eyed him. “Do you have someone who can verify that?”
“Yes, Sergeant. I mean, yes.”
“Who?”
“A girl. A young woman, I mean.”
“J.J. MacKenzie’s body was found off Hay this morning.” Naslund scrutinized Willie’s face. Again, no apparent sign of guilt or agitation. “When was the last time you saw him?”
“Yesterday evening.”
“When?”
“Around eight.”
“Where?”
“I was at Jake’s place. MacKenzie dropped by to ask if we’d been out on the water July eighth.”
“Dropped by, did he? Sounds like a tea party.”
Willie shrugged.
“And what did you tell MacKenzie?”
“We told him we had been.”
“When?”
“Early. Around five-thirty. We went for a sail with that barn guy, Carl.”
“Did you argue with MacKenzie that evening?”
“No.”
“Did you mention your sister Jenny?”
“No.”
“You’re here voluntarily, Willie, but let me remind you. Although we’re not in court, our conversation is on tape. If you change your mind later, it won’t look good. Did you do or say anything to stand up for Jenny, anything to ‘get even’ for her?”
“Hell, no. I mean, no. Jenny can look after herself.”
True, Naslund thought. “Did you know MacKenzie well?”
“Not real well,” Willie said.
“Did you like him?” she asked.
“Ah.”
“Did you like him?”
“Not real well.”
“Did you like Thom Tyler?”
“No.”
“Same as MacKenzie?”
“No, less than MacKenzie. Much less. But that’s history.”
“History?”
“Yep. History. May he rest in peace. MacKenzie too.”
She evaluated Willie. He looked sincere. “Do you have any idea who might have wanted MacKenzie dead?”
“No. Most people around here respected him. If not, they tolerated him.”
“What about you?”
“I didn’t think about him.”
“You must have thought something. Did you respect him, or did you tolerate him?”
“Tolerate.”
“Do you know anyone who, let’s say, disagreed with his politics? His independents stance?”
“No. Not much.”
“Explain.”
“Well, a few people thought he was too pushy. Sometimes. But he was honest. No BS.”
“Okay. You’ll remain here while I talk to your brother.”
Willie let out a huge sigh.
Fifteen minutes later, DC Lowrie escorted the brothers from the station. Jake’s interview had corroborated Willie’s statements. Jake had cleaned out Keppel’s barn and sailed with Keppel. MacKenzie had dropped by Jake’s place, but Jake hadn’t touched him or confronted him verbally about Jenny. As for Jake’s whereabouts during the MacKenzie murder window, he claimed he’d been in bed with his wife.
***
After the Murphys left, Lowrie joined Naslund for a debriefing session. He thought the brothers had told the truth. Although Willie was a bit tense, the DC put that down to his time in court room
s and jails. Pending confirmation of the brothers’ alibis for MacKenzie, Lowrie figured the two were clean. Naslund agreed.
Eating a sandwich, she wrote up her case notes on Keppel and the Murphys then completed the requisition for Marty and flagged it high-priority. She put Inspector Moore’s name in the Requestor section. She’d found that any request with his name got quick results. After submitting the requisition, she called him.
“Naslund here. Got an update on Keppel and the Murphys.”
“Go ahead.”
“The Murphys were working for Keppel during the Tyler murder window. They had no opportunity to commit Tyler’s murder. As for MacKenzie’s murder, Lowrie is checking their alibis. They could have hired someone, but I doubt they have the money. Furthermore, if they wanted either Tyler or MacKenzie dead, they could do it themselves.”
“Okay. I have some news on MacKenzie. It appears he was attacked at Colpoys wharf. I’m there now, with the ninjas. They’re re-creating the scene. The evidence points to MacKenzie being assaulted at the dock and then thrown into the water. Looks like his boat was set adrift to make it appear he was assaulted near Hay Island. From what we can tell, the wind took his boat and his body across to Hay.”
“Sounds plausible,” she said. So much for her hunch about the assailants’ boat.
“There’s multi-blow blood splatter on the dock, plus three blood lines leading to the dock’s edge. No other DNA yet. Nothing except blood. Call me a pessimist, but it’s probably all the victim’s.”
She suspected Moore was right.
“He had a lifejacket on so he was likely just about to cast off. From what we can piece together, his attacker surprised him. That’s understandable. It was likely around midnight. There’s only one light near the wharf, about ten meters inland. There are no signs of a fight. He was a big man, but it seems he didn’t fight back. However, we were able to establish where he fell. There are signs--partial prints and the blood lines--that his body was then lifted, carried a few feet, and thrown off the wharf.”
