Code 61 ch-4

by Donald Harstad

  Another silence. Then, “Right. Well, then, you might like to know this when you talk with him.” And he went on to explain what he'd done.

  He had, as a routine precaution, examined each section, piece and fragment of the tissues from the wound in Edie's neck under magnification, primarily to make certain that the edges of the pieces were consistent with the use of a sharp edge, and not inflicted in a contrary manner. For court purposes. But, while looking at the three main segments of her right jugular vein, he'd come across a puncture mark. It was small, with a cut running right above it. But a puncture mark, nonetheless.

  “Really?” What else to say?

  “Remarkably like the puncture you'd expect to find from, say, a syringe. Or an IV stick.”

  “Really?”

  “And, I've found an amount of a substance called warfarin in the blood samples. It prevents clotting; you can find it in Coumadin. Not naturally present in the body, of course. It has to be administered.”

  “Really?”

  “You know how I hate to speculate,” he said. “I don't want you going off on the wrong track because I've misled you.”

  “You bet.”

  “But I'm virtually certain that the massive wound in her neck was inflicted post mortem.”

  I was quiet.

  “And that the wound was inflicted to cover up the needle mark,” he said. “There doesn't seem to be a corresponding mark in the skin. We're not completely finished with the examination yet, but I'd be willing to bet that the cut was made directly on the external puncture, to cover it up.”

  Wow.

  “With the warfarin, the puncture… She could bleed to death very easily. Not really quickly, but fast enough.” He paused again, and I heard him mutter something about “idiots,” that sounded traffic related.

  “Where was I?” he asked, and then answered his own question. “Oh yes. Do you remember when I said that the cut in the trachea bothered me at the autopsy, that there was no significant amount of aspirated blood?” he said. “If the trachea had been cut while she was alive, she would have aspirated blood.”

  “Okay.”

  “So, just another item on the report, but all this says she died, then her throat was cut post mortem, and the minimal stains on the floor in various places indicate that she then was moved into the tub post mortem.” There were more road noises, and then he said, “She bled to death. There just isn't any other evidence of any injury or trauma other than the puncture wound in the jugular. No blood chemistry consistent with asphyxiation, for example. But massive blood loss prior to death is indicated, and there's no other evidence of any hemorrhaging other than via that puncture. There were abnormally constricted vasoconstrictors in the surface vessels, the kidneys, and the GI tract. The vessels were shutting down due to loss of blood volume. There was a remarkable lack of fluid in the interstitial spaces. There was an elevated amount of epinephrine and norepinephrine in the tissue samples. All consistent with a reducing blood volume. She had to lose at least forty percent of her blood volume, more likely fifty percent. Judging from what we found, I'd say at least that much, but some probably post mortem. I'm not in any doubt about that.”

  “Right, then.”

  “Carl?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Carl, with the use of the IV stick, that's the only point where the circulatory system was breached, you know. So, it very likely took her a while to die, and she was conscious almost to the end.”

  “Okay… ”

  “When people bleed to death, they become feisty after a bit, agitated. They tend to get aggressive on you. You might not be looking for conspicuous blood spurts after all, but I'll bet there was some sort of thrashing about going on, at a later stage.”

  “How later?”

  “I expect that she passed through the agitated stages a good forty-five minutes before she died. She would just have been sleepy after that. Subdued state, going to a shocky one. You know.”

  That I did. Accident victims will do that, for example. But forty-five minutes?

  “Doc, you said forty-five minutes, is that right?”

  “That's right. It took her some time, I think.”

  “Okay. So, maybe not any indentations, from ligatures, at least.”

  “Right. Oh, and Carl?”

  “Yeah?”

  “She'd maybe tend to get whiny, you know? Like some drunks. Mumbling, too, maybe. If you need anything like that to confirm an account. From a suspect.”

  “Thanks. I really appreciate this.”

  “Just get whoever it was, Carl.”

  “Yeah. We will.”

  Afterward, I briefed Hester on the conversation.

  “So, now we know at least one more piece of the thing,” she said.

  “Yep. Jesus, Hester. Forty-five minutes, at least. I get this image of her knowing what's going on, at least at some point. That she was going to die that night.” I took a deep breath.

  “I wonder how long it really took,” she said. “For her to die, I mean.”

  “I got the impression of an hour or so,” I said. “At least.” I shrugged. “Gets us right back to 'where' doesn't it? Where could you have that level of isolation and privacy for a good hour?”

  We stood in the kitchen, and drank our coffee.

  “We gotta talk to Jessica Hunley,” said Hester, running a little cold water in her cup at the sink. The coffee was too hot and too old. “We just have to do that.” She took a sip and poured the rest of the cup into the sink. “Think you'd be able to come along?”

  That was a good question. First, our budget was a bit thin. Second, we were short of help due to the damned flu. Third, there was the awkward complication of Hester and me not being able to share a room.

  “Let me check with Lamar,” I said.

  “Don't go paying for it out of your own pocket,” she said. “I'm serious.”

  “Okay.” I sat at the table. “I won't.”

  “Remember when Toby said 'When we killed her the first time.' That one gave me the willies, Carl, and I'm not kidding.”

  “Me, too. And she asked for help.” I shook my head.

  “The little shit was there, all right. She asked for help. She had to know, then, didn't she? That she was going to die.”

  Hester nodded her head. “Yeah.”

  “Makes you wonder just who else was there, doesn't it?”

  “Of those we know, Hanna, Melissa, and Kevin come to mind.” Hester grabbed a paper towel, and wiped up a small coffee spill on the table, from the previous occupant. Busywork.

  I hated to ask, but, “How about Huck? Think she was there?”

  Hester shook her head. “At the murder scene? No. But she knows who was, I'd bet my life on it.”

  I called Lamar, and got him thinking about my trip to Lake Geneva. I could tell on the phone he'd approve it, but it would take him a little while.

  I called Harry over in Conception County. I wanted to have him connect me with the local cops in Lake Geneva, but he went one better. He said he'd just come along, since he thought we were pursuing the same suspect. Great news.

  Hester and I decided against calling Jessica Hunley to make an appointment. We both agreed the element of surprise, or at least unexpectedness, was going to be the key when we came calling on her. We'd just have Harry contact the locals and make sure she was in town.

  On the other hand, we wanted to be expected, if not downright anticipated, at the Mansion.

  We left instructions with Dispatch that we would give them a “ten-twenty-one” over the radio, at which point they would telephone the Mansion. We told them exactly what to say when they called to tell the group we were coming.

  “Just handle it all as code sixty-one traffic,” I said. “Everything to an absolute minimum.”

  About thirty minutes later, we'd driven all the way up the Mansion lane, until we could just see the door of the house over the crest of the hill. We stopped. It placed us about a hundred yards out, with just the
edge of the car roof and about two thirds of the windshield visible to anyone looking our way from the house.

  I picked up the mike. “Comm, Three… ”

  “Three?”

  “Ten-twenty-one.” She knew what I meant.

  “Ten-four. Stand by One… ”

  A few moments later, after having informed whoever answered that Hester and I would be there in a while to bring them up to date on the situation with Toby, she came back on the radio.

  “Three, ten-sixty-nine, they said 'Fine.' ” A ten-sixty-nine is the code for message received.

  “Ten-four.”

  It was that simple. Then we waited; to see if anybody did anything unusual, like try to leave. Although we weren't able to see the rear of the house, the relative lack of success of people leaving via the back door should have been having some effect. Well, with the mere mortals, anyway.

  We waited two minutes, by the dash clock. Nothing.

  “They're still pretty confident, aren't they?” Hester shifted in her seat.

  “They sure seem to be.”

  “Well, let's go see what we can do about that.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Tuesday, October 10, 2000

  15:17

  We drove ahead, and as we got out of the car, Kevin came to the door. Excellent.

  “What do you want?”

  Direct, and to the point. I was encouraged.

  “We want to tell you about Toby, where he is, and what's happening with him.”

  “Can't he just call us himself?”

  “Not just yet,” I said. By that time Hester and I had ascended the steps, and we were standing just outside the front door. “May we come in?”

  He hesitated. Even better. Then, “Sure. Why not.” He stepped back, and held the door for us.

  We were met by Huck, who was just coming down the stairs.

  “Hello, again,” she said.

  I could see Melissa in the kitchen, with her back to us, doing something at the counter. She turned as she heard us in the parlor, wiped her hands on a towel, and moved to join us. She didn't look particularly happy to see us.

  “Can we get you some coffee, or anything?” asked Huck.

  “Sure.” I almost never refuse.

  Melissa and Huck passed each other.

  “Hi, Melissa. How's it going today?”

  She regarded me with the sort of look you'd expect a girl to give her parents, when she knew she'd pissed them off, and was going to be defensive about it.

  “Fine.”

  We were all still standing. Permitted in the house, but not welcomed. We get that a lot, and it's pretty understandable. It's also pretty uncomfortable.

  “Mind if we sit down?” With the offer of coffee, it was reasonable.

  “Go ahead,” she said.

  There was a woman singing, obviously a recording, coming from the music room. It sounded kind of old, and not in English. Vaguely familiar, but I couldn't place it.

  “Is that French she's singing?” Just killing time until Huck got back with the coffee.

  Melissa rolled her eyes. “It's Edith Piaf.”

  “Oh, sure.” I remembered. “Boy, I haven't heard her for a really long time.”

  Silence.

  “Iowa City, in the dorm. About '64 or so.” I smiled. “Long time.”

  Huck returned with the coffee, in time to hear most of the conversation. She gave me a pretty genuine, if weak, smile. “Black for both of you, right?” From last night.

  “Yep.”

  “So, you're here to tell us all about Toby?” Kevin asked, sarcastic as ever.

  “Well, as much as we can,” said Hester.

  I began, “You all know we arrested Toby this morning.”

  Silence, interrupted by footsteps on the main stair. Hanna came around the corner. “Oh!”

  Melissa explained why we were there. Hanna stood in the doorway.

  “Do you know why he was arrested?” I asked.

  “You said it was trespassing,” said Melissa. “That's about all we know, except that you pointed guns at him, and scared him nearly to death. That really wasn't necessary.”

  “Well,” I said, “Toby broke into the funeral home last night, and drove a stake through Edie's chest.”

  That hit most of them pretty hard. It was meant to.

  Hanna said something along the lines of “Oh my God, what did he do that for,” and promptly sat on a small bench just inside the door. Huck just looked stunned, Melissa sat abruptly on the couch, saying to Huck that that explained the closed coffin at the funeral.

  Kevin, on the other hand, didn't have any visible reaction at all.

  “Why are you accusing Toby of that?” asked Melissa. “He couldn't any more do such a thing.”

  I held up my hand. “We have witnesses. He was seen. He had cuts on his fingers from the broken glass. The soles of his shoes matched the footprints outside the broken window. And,” I finished up, “he told us so. Without prompting.”

  “I just can't believe it,” Melissa said, with the tone of someone who simply didn't want to. “That's so, so, gross. Disgusting.”

  “Why can't they leave her in peace?” asked Hanna, much more to the point.

  “Did you know this last night?” asked Huck.

  “When we talked?”

  I shook my head, and Hester said, “It hadn't happened yet.”

  “Anyway,” I said, “we'd like to talk to each of you for a few minutes at a time, if that's all right.”

  “About what?” asked Kevin.

  “The case in general,” I said.

  Kevin said, calmly, “I think I'll just leave, now, if nobody minds.”

  “You might want to stay,” I said. “We've got some interesting stuff.”

  “Really?” He said it with that same cynical tone he always seemed to use, but he stayed. The hook was being scrutinized by our fish.

  “Yep. I think so. Like I just said, we busted Toby, and now you all know what for. When we got him, he was also very wired,” I said, “and as a direct consequence, he's en route to the Mental Health Institute at Independence, for detox.”

  I swear every one of them winced.

  “I feel for him,” said Huck. “Believe me, it doesn't get easier as you get older.”

  Melissa and Hanna both nodded. Kevin just stood there, being as much of a nonparticipant as he could.

  “Not for detox for me,” Hanna said. “I went in for being 'rebellious' and 'uncontrollable.' Well, according to my parents.”

  “We were there at the same time,” explained Melissa. “Up on four. Where the crazy kids go.”

  Four was the floor where those who needed close attention were kept. It was interesting to find they were bound by another common experience.

  Melissa spoke in a soothing voice. “Take your Thorazine, dear, like a good girl, and mommy will like you better.”

  “But, I've found happiness in depression.” That came from Hanna, doing a passable little girl impression, and both Huck and Melissa nodded.

  Huck chuckled. “But Doctor, if I'm manic-depressive, how come I'm never manic anymore?”

  “Well, at least in detox,” said Melissa, “he'll be back here in three days. Seventy-two and out, the detox shuffle.”

  An intergroup conversation was starting, off subject, and I thought Melissa was deliberately orchestrating it.

  “I hate to interrupt,” I said, “but could we get back on track?”

  “If you can show us the track to get on,” said Melissa, “sure.”

  It was time for the punch line, before we lost their curiosity.

  “Okay. How about this? Toby was there when Dan killed Edie,” I said.

  I took a sip of coffee, just to appear totally in charge, and the clunk when I put the cup back down seemed to resound throughout the house.

  Melissa broke the silence. “That can't be right.”

  “Why not?” interjected Hester.

  “Well, he just couldn't. He f
ollowed Edie around like a little puppy,” said Melissa.

  “That's right,” said Hanna. “They weren't in love, but I think he was.”

  “It was an accident, anyway,” said Kevin, with a tone of dismissal. “Nobody meant to really kill her.”

  Every eye in the room was on him.

  “Well, you know,” he said, talking to Melissa and Huck more than us, “it was just Dan and the pheromone thing. He messed up, that's all.” He looked around, and spread his hands, palms up. “I don't know what all the fuss is about, it was just an accident.”

  It was working.

  “How do you know that?” Kevin and I locked gazes again. “How do you know?” I asked again. Quietly. Always quietly.

  “Toby told me.”

  “He did? When?”

  He shrugged. “That morning.”

  “What,” asked Hester, “did he say?”

  “He said, 'Well, it was a mistake.' That's what he said.”

  “Want to explain that a little more?” asked Hester.

  “Look, lady,” he said, “all I know is this. About three-thirty that morning, Toby came into my room and woke me up and said that Edie was having a little problem. He wanted me to help get her to her room.”

  “And?”

  “And I told him to fuck off, it was a workday and I had another hour to sleep. So he went away.”

  “Did he say what was wrong with her?” I asked.

  “No. He just said, 'There's been an accident. Dan really fucked up this time.' That's what I remember. I was asleep, like I said.”

  “Did he say where she was?”

  “No, he didn't say where she was. Like I said, he was in a hurry and I was pissed off. We didn't discuss the thing, he just woke me up.”

  “What did he look like when he came into your room?” asked Hester. “Was there anything unusual about him?”

  “How would I know? It was dark, and all he had was a flashlight.”

  “So,” she asked, “he just went away?”

  “Look, I remember he was all whiny, like a dorky little kid. But he left, and I went back to sleep.”

  “When did you find out she was dead?” I asked.

  “When they called me and Huck at work,” he said.

  “So,” asked Hester, “when did Toby tell you about the 'mistake' that was made?”