Death Benefits

by Jennifer Becton

  “Jackson,” he tossed at me, “do you have any gloves or bags?”

  I raised an eyebrow at him. “No,” I said. “I don’t carry gloves and evidence bags with me.”

  But after this case, I’d probably get in the habit.

  “The Cranford Sheriff’s Department doesn’t have a crime scene unit. We’re going to have to do this ourselves.”

  That was true enough. If we wanted to get this sorted out with any speed, we had to collect the evidence on our own.

  I turned to Mrs. Twilley. “Do you have any freezer bags?”

  “Sure, I got freezer bags. Hang on and I’ll get the box.” She looked around at the mess on her floor. “And a broom.”

  Mrs. Twilley hurried from the room, and I approached Vincent, who was still studying the chunk on the floor, and stood behind him.

  I leaned closer, resting my hand on his back for support as I looked at the pile of debris. In the center of the mess was a heavy-looking, rock-like mass, surrounded by a covering of debris ranging from pebble-sized pieces to fine powder.

  It looked familiar.

  “Is that…?” I began.

  “Cement,” Vincent finished, looking over his shoulder at me.

  For what was certainly not the first time on this case, I wondered what the hell was going on.

  Twenty-six

  Vincent procured the services of Deputy Marston, who was thrilled to be away from the front desk of the Cranford County Sheriff’s Department, and sent him across the state with the freezer bag of what seemed to be cement for testing at the crime lab. A surprised Dr. Greene said that a run through the mass spectrometer should reveal exactly what we were dealing with, but Vincent and I did not plan to wait.

  Whatever was in that bag was not human remains.

  And that meant the Eternal Rest Funeral Home was somehow involved.

  “So what do you think?” I asked Vincent, feeling overwhelmed by the possibilities. “Did someone at Eternal Rest sell Theo Vanderbilt a body? Is this some kind of organ harvesting operation gone wrong?”

  “I don’t know about organ harvesting, but Theo could have bought the body. Maybe he promised to pay out of his insurance money.”

  “And something happened,” I said, continuing that stream of thought. “Something went wrong and caused his contact at Eternal Rest to panic and kill him.”

  “Or could this be a crime of negligence on the part of Eternal Rest? Did the body get lost in transport?”

  I shrugged. “How do you lose a body? Maybe Theo stole it.”

  “Surely they would have noticed if a body went missing.”

  “And they would have contacted authorities. They wouldn’t be culpable for theft.”

  “No, you’re right. Theft doesn’t make sense.”

  “There’s no use in sitting around here hypothesizing. We need to get the facts from Morton Ivey.”

  When Vincent and I visited Eternal Rest this time, there was no small talk, no tours of the facility, and no family history. We simply entered the funeral home and headed straight to Morton Ivey’s private office in the back, passing both his sons en route.

  Now we sat facing Morton, whose arms were folded across his chest as he looked down his craggy nose at us and listened to us explain that we needed his help in an insurance fraud case. We didn’t provide specifics.

  “And you think Eternal Rest is somehow involved in this life insurance fraud?” he asked.

  “No, sir,” Vincent lied. “We’ve hit a snag in our case, and we’re looking for information about how a body is processed for its final resting place.”

  No need to get Morton Ivey on the defensive quite yet.

  “Oh, well, that I can help you with,” he said as he turned his head slowly from Vincent to me. “What specifically do you want to know?”

  “How do you acquire bodies?” I asked. “And what method do you use to transport them to your facility?”

  “After the bereaved family decides to hold their services at Eternal Rest, we retrieve the body from the hospital morgue in our van. The body is shrouded modestly and then removed with great respect on a stretcher.”

  “Who normally picks up bodies?” I asked.

  “That job is divided between myself and my sons, depending on who has time to make the run. We’re on duty twenty-four hours a day, so some of our trips to the hospital happen at odd times. Then we turn the body over to Andrew, who begins the embalming process with utmost respect and consideration.”

  Morton was beginning to sound like a cross between a sales brochure and the archangel of death.

  “Andrew is the embalmer?” Vincent asked, and I knew he was thinking about the incisions on the necks of Merle Cummings, who’d been embalmed, and Theo Vanderbilt, who’d been slaughtered.

  “Yes, Andrew does the bulk of the embalming work now that I’m the coroner, but we’ve all had classes in mortuary science.”

  “How does your process differ when it comes to preparing a body for cremation?” I asked.

  “It’s really not much different from preparing a body for burial,” Mr. Ivey said.

  “You embalm bodies that are set for cremation too?” Vincent asked.

  “It depends. If the family desires a viewing or an open-casket funeral, we embalm and prepare the body according to their preferences. Many choose this option, but if they prefer cremation only or if finances prevent embalming, we ship the body directly to our crematory, which is Calvin’s domain. As soon as the body enters his property, it becomes his responsibility. Our facility processes bodies from all over the southeast, and so Calvin must be meticulous in his recordkeeping. He takes his job so seriously that he won’t let anyone else even bring a body into the holding area for fear that he’ll misidentify someone. He handles each body himself from the moment the van enters his driveway to the time it departs that facility in the vessel of the family’s choice.”

  “That facility?” Vincent repeated, his eyebrows raised. “The crematory isn’t on this site?”

  Mr. Ivey shook his head in a slow, measured rhythm. “Back in my daddy’s time, it used to be, but these days, townsfolk are a bit touchier about death. Seems they didn’t like driving through town and seeing our chimney going, so in deference to their needs, we moved our facility into the country where it won’t disturb anyone. We do not offer to hold memorial services in our crematory like some other funeral homes do, so having the facility off-site is hardly an issue at all. In fact, I’ve always thought it was a more peaceful end for all involved.”

  I leaned back and rubbed my injured arm, which I guess had become a bit of a habit because it didn’t ache at all anymore. “Who moves the body from the funeral home to the crematory?” I asked, wondering if Great-aunt Merle might have disappeared somewhere in this leg of transport, causing the driver to panic and put cement mix in place of her remains in order to hide what had happened.

  Good Lord, what a horrible thought.

  “Again, it depends on our weekly schedule. All of us share the transport duties whether it’s to and from the hospital morgue or to and from the crematory.”

  “Where is the crematory located?” I asked.

  “We have two twenty-acre tracts out on Highway 403. Calvin lives in the old homestead, and Andrew lives on the hunting property behind it. We moved the crematory to the homestead since Calvin operates it and keeps track of all the accompanying paperwork and taxes.” I sat up a bit straighter. Things were beginning to make a little more sense. Great-aunt Merle’s body had disappeared near Highway 403, likely when she was in the care of the Eternal Rest Funeral Home staff.

  Perhaps Theo Vanderbilt had discovered the crematory and broken in to remove a body, or he had removed it from a hearse while en route.

  Or had any or all of the Iveys been complicit in the desecration of the body? Had they sold Theo the body? Had they simply covered up the theft of the body to save their own reputations?

  At this point, I wasn’t sure, but I could believe either
scenario.

  And how did the incisions on the necks of both victims fit in?

  Our interview so far had revealed that any of the Iveys could have “misplaced” Great-aunt Merle, and all of them had the knowledge to kill by cutting the jugular and carotid artery. So it seemed we knew little more than we did when we’d first arrived.

  Apparently, Vincent agreed because he upped the ante. “Did Eternal Rest prepare Merle Cummings for cremation?”

  This question actually caused Mr. Ivey to alter his posture. He unfolded his hands and rubbed a finger across his waxy lips. The gesture was at once curious and suspicious. “Merle Cummings?” he repeated. “That name sounds familiar. Let me look her up in the computer.”

  His fingers reached for his keyboard, and he tapped the keys for a few moments.

  “Yes,” he said. “We had the honor of working with Merle Cummings and her family just last week. Why?”

  I ignored his question and asked one of my own. “Do you have records of how the body was handled once in your care, Mr. Ivey?”

  “Of course, but—”

  Vincent cut him off, saying, “We need to account for the movements of her body from the morgue to her final resting place.”

  “Okay,” Mr. Ivey said, squinting at Vincent slightly. “But if you are accusing us of somehow mistreating the deceased or defrauding the family, I can assure you that you couldn’t be more incorrect.”

  “We aren’t accusing you of anything,” I said, mentally adding “at this point.”

  Mr. Ivey looked at his computer for long moments, and when he finally spoke, I got a strong feeling that he was concealing something.

  “The family of Merle Cummings requested cremation, but they did hold a small ceremony here in the chapel, so embalming also took place.”

  “Tell us where the body was from the moment you received it from the hospital morgue.”

  Mr. Ivey studied the screen. “I retrieved the body from the morgue, at which time it underwent refrigeration here until Andrew began the embalming process early the next morning. The service was held in the chapel later in the week. Afterward, Andrew prepared the body for transport to the crematory and delivered it to Calvin.” He paused. “According to our records, cremation happened on Thursday of last week, and the cremains were returned to Charlene Twilley that Friday.”

  “We’ll need to speak with your sons,” Vincent said.

  Mr. Ivey leaned forward and folded his hands on the desktop. “Just what is this all about? I demand to know,” he said, his voice still monotone despite the threatening words.

  “The body of Merle Cummings was discovered last week in conjunction with a death benefits fraud case we have been investigating,” Vincent said.

  Mr. Ivey shifted slightly in his chair. “What do you mean her body was ‘discovered’? Are you referring to her ashes?”

  “No, sir,” Vincent said. “The body inside Theodore Vanderbilt’s LTD, which you declared legally dead in your position as county coroner, was Merle Cummings, whom you also supposedly cremated last week.”

  Mr. Ivey did not react in horror or revulsion as most people might when faced with such a truth. He only shook his head and said, “But that’s impossible. I have a record of her cremation having taken place on Thursday. There is no way the body I examined on Saturday morning was Mrs. Cummings. It’s impossible,” he repeated.

  “But it was Merle Cummings,” I said. “Dental records confirm her identity. Can you explain how this might have happened?”

  Mr. Ivey went very still. “I cannot.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Vincent asked. “Because near as we can tell, the body disappeared while in your care. How do you explain that?”

  “I cannot explain it,” Mr. Ivey repeated, his eyebrows dropping lower on his face.

  “Now, about your sons,” I said. “Call them in here.”

  Mr. Ivey picked up his desk phone and dialed a number. While it rang, he said, “Let’s clear this up now. Eternal Rest was in no way responsible for whatever it was that happened. I assure you. And there was no way for me to know that the body in the LTD was Mrs. Cummings.”

  I wasn’t so sure about his first assertion, but I supposed I could believe the second. It had taken a skilled ME with a full staff to discover the identity of the body, so it would make sense that he hadn’t recognized her.

  In short order, Calvin and Andrew Ivey arrived in their father’s office.

  They nodded at Vincent and me in recognition from our prior introduction.

  It was time to lay our cards on the table. Before us were the only three potential suspects in this crazy case.

  Or three potentially negligent funeral home workers.

  I wasn’t sure which yet.

  “The medical examiner has been able to identify the body burned in the vehicle fire on 403 as Merle Cummings,” I explained, “and we know that her body was entrusted to your care after her death.”

  “What we need to know,” Vincent intoned, “is how a body that was supposedly cremated in your facility ended up being used to fake Theodore Vanderbilt’s death.”

  The room fell silent, and I watched as Andrew crossed and recrossed his arms over his chest and Calvin shifted his weight.

  “Can either of you explain that?” I asked, looking from one man to the other. Andrew had turned a putrid shade of green.

  “One of our bodies?” he squeaked. “You’re sure?”

  “Unfortunately, we are. You prepared the body for the funeral and later transported it to the crematory.”

  “Yes.”

  I looked to Calvin. “You were tasked with cremating the body, and therefore, you were the last person to be in contact with it. Is there something you want to tell us?”

  Calvin shifted again and looked away. “No, ma’am.”

  “Do you even remember Merle Cummings?”

  Calvin looked at the floor. “No, ma’am, I don’t.”

  “I do,” Andrew said quickly.

  “Now, how is that possible?” I asked, skeptical. “Andrew remembers, but you don’t, Calvin. Why not?”

  “I deal with a lot of bodies is all. I don’t get as personal as Andrew does. And with the number of bodies I get, I just can’t remember them.”

  “How many cremations are there in Cranford County?” I asked skeptically. Not many good ole Southern Baptists were interested in cremation, and that was the predominant religious denomination in the area.

  “Not many,” Morton said, “but we accept bodies from all over the southeast. Not all funeral homes have crematories. It’s not a popular method of preparation. But because we’re fortunate enough to have a crematory, it’s become a vital part of our business.”

  “How many bodies do you process per month?” I asked.

  “It varies,” Morton said, “but it’s not unusual to run the crematory eight hours a day.”

  “And how long does the process take for each body?”

  “Two or two and a half hours.”

  Holy cow. They were processing a lot of bodies per month if the crematory was running up to eight hours a day. The place was much busier than I’d expected.

  I could now believe that a body might have been stolen or misplaced.

  Still, I studied Calvin carefully. His gaze moved between the floor and his father’s back, and I began to wonder if he wasn’t covering for his old man or his brother. Had Calvin even received the body for cremation? Had he known about its disappearance and put cement in the urn to cover it up?

  Or had it been an honest mistake?

  I glanced at Vincent out of the corner of my eye. The tests were still being run on the substance in the urn, so I didn’t think it was wise to use partially developed information in this interview. We didn’t know what we were dealing with exactly. Had some cement-contaminated human remains been confused with those of Merle Cummings?

  We needed to find out before we flung around accusations.

  Well, any more accusations than
we already had.

  “What about you, Andrew?” I asked, deciding to press someone else and give Calvin time to stew. “You prepared Mrs. Cummings for her memorial service. What happened after that?”

  “I secured the body for transport and”—he glanced beside him at his father—“took her to Calvin.”

  “And did the body make it there?” I asked.

  “Of course, it did.”

  “Theodore Vanderbilt didn’t make you a better offer, then?” Vincent demanded.

  Morton Ivey stood, his bony hands shaking, but he said nothing.

  “Because,” Vincent continued, “we’re beginning to wonder if one of you didn’t meet up with Theo and arrange an exchange. The body for a big stack of money after Americus Mutual paid out.”

  “I didn’t even know Theodore Vanderbilt,” Morton said. His lips began to move soundlessly before he recovered his voice. “You’re accusing Eternal Rest of selling a body?”

  “That’s preposterous,” Andrew said, also rising to defend the family business, causing Calvin to step forward and join them too. “We would never sell a body.”

  “At any price?” I asked. If the Vanderbilts had gotten their payout, they could easily afford to drop a hundred grand or more on procuring the body.

  “At any price,” Calvin said, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

  I looked carefully between the three Iveys.

  Yes, we had certainly shaken them up, and now they were united in the family defense.

  Time to play the last card.

  “And of course, there’s the matter of Theodore Vanderbilt’s death. Did you know that he was killed with a very precise cut to the jugular and carotid artery?” I asked. “Just the sort of thing any of the three of you would use in draining fluids from a deceased body.”

  “In fact, Andrew,” Vincent added, turning to the elder son, “didn’t you use that same cut on Mrs. Cummings?”

  Andrew’s lips had pulled back in an expression of horror. “But I use the same incision on all the bodies I see. I didn’t kill anyone. I didn’t know Theodore Vanderbilt, either.”

  “We’ll see,” I said.