Danger Returns in Pairs (Shawn Danger Mysteries Book 2)

by Nina Post

  Jasper told Shawn the next day that his parents had a fight, which broke a mason jar on the floor. When he interfered, his dad pushed him and he fell on a shard of the jar. "That's from a glass jar he fell on as a kid," Shawn told the pathologist, who looked up from Jasper's body in surprise. "Do you know him?"

  "I used to."

  "Ah. Well, if you need to, ah, recuse yourself, I would understand."

  "I'd rather he were still alive, but please, continue."

  Shawn would require some information from the pathologist over the course of the exam. He'd need the post mortem interval; the manner, cause and mechanism of death; the length and depth of wounds, the pathologist's own wound charts, and finally, the death certificate. With any luck, the autopsy would clarify some things, bring new information to light, and help him close this case.

  Photos were taken, then there was an examination for trace evidence to collect for the forensic science lab at the morgue. "There's some pollen in his ear. I'll use the SEM to determine from what plant the grain originated."

  "He was killed near a Presque Isle beach then transported to his house," Shawn said.

  "Then this should provide additional confirmation that he was killed in the area you've identified, if the pollen matches with plants found in that area." The pathologist continued his thorough search -- a very thorough search -- for trace evidence. "So, I hear you're a trampoline man!"

  Shawn didn't respond right away, not realizing the pathologist was talking to him. Probably the lack of sleep. "I suppose. It's not how really I define myself," he added with a quick smile.

  "Have you heard of the European Trampoline Championships? Maybe you can qualify! Boy, that'd be something, wouldn't it? A homicide detective-slash-trampoline champion!"

  Shawn shook his head. "It's more of a thinking aid, not an Ironman-type thing."

  The pathologist smiled and waggled his finger at Shawn. "That's speed-walking for me! Nothing beats walking as an aid to thinking, though I admit I have never been on a trampoline. But you know, you may surprise yourself."

  "What's the uniform?" Shawn asked. "For the Championships."

  "Perhaps a jumpsuit? No pun intended." He winked.

  The pathologist examined Jasper's head wounds, the wound at the base of the neck, then the abdomen wounds. "You may know this, Detective, in your experience, but intracranial stab wounds are quite rare." He measured the wounds in diameter and length, then focused on the one at the back of Jasper's head. "Stab wound number one entered the cranial cavity through the left occipital region, penetrating the cerebrum and brain stem…" he paused a moment, "stopping under the right temporal muscle. Stab wound number two entered through the left temporal region, between the temporal muscle and bone and exited through the scalp of the left frontal region. Stab wound number three entered through the left side of the neck and exited through the right side of the neck. Number one would have been the death blow."

  Shawn could picture it, Brower using a goddamn mallet to drive stakes into his friend's skull, then stabbing him in the abdomen. But something didn't feel right. He let it go for the moment. "I was thinking… the lack of fracturing indicates the killer used some kind of mallet to drive in the pick or stake. I doubt even a full-grown man could easily make those wounds just by grabbing the stake, but I could be wrong."

  "These are precise entrance wounds. Only one has some indication of hesitation. It's likely that the killer used another tool, perhaps a mallet like you suggested, to drive these in. I certainly wouldn't rule it out."

  "What kind of weapon do you think was used? A mallet with what?"

  The pathologist raised his eyebrows as he considered this, then gestured equivocally. "The weapon could have been an icepick or a similar tool -- smooth, and with a small diameter. Perhaps an ice axe, unless the blade is serrated, though I'm no mountaineer, nor a Trotskyite. The lack of lacerations and bruising indicate that the mallet or hammer was not used as a separate weapon. Okey-dokey, moving on to whole body X-rays."

  Since Jasper was found completely naked, he wasn't logged in to the morgue with any clothes, so no clothing needed to be removed and checked.

  Who would pick out his clothes? Shawn exhaled through his nose in an approximation of a laugh. Apparently, being faced with the death of old friends made him think too damn much. He settled into a chair by the door while the pathologist fingerprinted the body. A homicide autopsy could take a good part of the day, if not the whole day, but it was crucial to attend and observe.

  "By the way, have you met my investigator, Jane Beers?"

  J. Beers.

  The DI's name was Jane?

  The pathologist sighed. "He's certainly a big step up from my previous DI, Virginia, who had the intelligence level of a dead bird. I'm lucky to have Jane out in the field for me, since most of my time is taken up testifying in court." He put the X-rays up on the light board, then waved a finger around Jasper's arm. "Fracture of the ulna here. Looks at least twenty years old."

  Jasper had startled his dad awake from an afternoon nap -- something all of them had learned could be even more dangerous than doing so in the morning -- and was pushed away and fell against something. "That was from a fall when he was ten." Shawn added, "A fall with assistance."

  "I see." The pathologist frowned. "Was this a frequent occurrence?"

  Shawn nodded.

  "What a shame." The pathologist paused. "All right, I'll begin the internal examination now."

  This was the worst part. A front-row seat to someone's exploratory surgery. He'd rather be at Slammiversary. Shawn cringed when the pathologist cut a Y-incision from each clavicle down to the sternum, and then down to the pubic bone. Every time, he had to control his nausea, and every time, he told himself to take something beforehand to suppress it, but he didn't want to take anything and it always passed, anyway. But he dug his nails into his legs as the pathologist examined the bones and muscles.

  The music was an elegant but playful piece, and he hoped he'd never hear it again.

  Once the pathologist opened the rib cage, the worst of it passed. That was his experience, that when the internal exam started, it was shaky going, but after a few minutes he could feel better. Though he wasn't exactly on terra firma when the pathologist used his rib cutters to open the chest, and then a scalpel to open the abdominal cavity. "I'm starting the in situ exam," the pathologist said, then recorded his observations of the organs in place.

  The pathologist then began to remove Jasper's individual organs. Shawn stood and leaned against the wall and watched (at times out of the corner of his eyes) as the pathologist weighed, measured, then inspected each organ, cutting some into slices.

  The pathologist held up the heart. "See, I know a thing or two about building a body out of biomass, and you don't leave your heart exposed!" He glanced up at Shawn. "Forgive me. My grandson loves a show called Adventure Time, and that was something a character with the delightful name of Princess Bubblegum says. Charming program. I hope I don't seem insensitive, Lieutenant."

  "Nope. Appreciate the levity."

  "All right, starting the histologic exam."

  The pathologist collected tissue samples. In Shawn's experience, it usually took at least three days or a week, at times longer, for the resulting microscope slides to be processed, which was one of the reasons the full autopsy results weren't available right away. As Dr. Falls had once explained to him multiple times, the histology lab would process the tissues, thin-section them with a device called a microtome, and make the slides, which they'd give back to the pathologist to look over.

  "Do you agree that there could be some suspicion of drugs or poison, administered before death, self- or otherwise?" the pathologist asked. "I find it odd that there are no defensive wounds. It's possible he was drugged."

  "It's possible," Shawn said. "But he was killed during a run. I think he was taken down by a tripwire close to the ground. Maybe he was drugged after he fell."

  The pathologist loo
ked at Jasper's chart. "What a strange thing to do, if that's the case. Hmm. Well, according to his chart, Mr. Stowe didn't take any prescription medication."

  "He had no prescriptions listed at nearby pharmacies and we didn't find any evidence indicating otherwise," Shawn said.

  The pathologist sighed. "Lucky man." He glanced down and swept his hand to indicate Jasper's body. "Aside from this, of course. I take so many prescriptions and vitamins I need one of those extra-large day-of-the-week containers. Oh, so many! It seems I have to add at least one a year. Glucosamine, fish oil, B12 and so on. If I could trust anyone that much, which I don't, I would hire an assistant just to handle all of that for me. Well, I'll throw in some body fluids for the toxicology lab. As a treat."

  "I'm sure they'll love it," Shawn said. "But if you're trying to ingratiate yourself with the toxicology lab, you may want to try cake, instead."

  The pathologist pointed a finger at Shawn and smiled. "Cake!" He pointed. "I like you."

  While the pathologist drew urine and eye fluid from Jasper, Shawn took the thought he had just before coming into the morgue and held it in his mind. He liked the investigation part of the job. He liked talking to people and tracking down leads. He liked connecting details until he saw the bigger picture, and above all, he liked catching those responsible and giving some closure to families who actually cared about such things. But the autopsies…he respected the pathologist and the morgue attendants, who did this all the time -- this gruesome job that was so crucial in court. But it was more draining than anything. At least he liked the pathologist. He'd been lucky with that, because he would hate to endure this with a pathologist he couldn't stand.

  "Moving on to the brain!" the pathologist said with inappropriate enthusiasm, making Shawn think of Steve Martin as neurologist Dr. Michael Hfuhruhurr in The Man With Two Brains. The pathologist pulled the scalp down over the face and used a bone saw to remove the skull cap. Shawn wished the screw-top method from the movie was used in real life.

  How surreal, that he was here and this was happening. This was where his work had brought him. This was where his path intersected with his friend's path.

  The pathologist examined the brain, then looked up and said, "Unless you strongly disagree, I am not going to have the brain processed for thin-sectioning and microscopy."

  "That's fine with me, Dr. Hathaway." Shawn had seen a thin-section brain, and thought it looked like prosciutto. He was relieved to not add even more time to the process. Dr. Falls had sent brain slides to a neuropathologist for an exam in the past, and that took forever. But with Jasper, it was fairly clear what had killed him.

  Shawn shifted in his chair, then got up and stood to stretch his legs. Maybe he just needed a vacation. He tended to spend most of his time on his work. Never married. Caretaker/employee of one cat. Years of sporadic, short-term relationships. He never even considered kids -- it was a terrifying thought. What if he were like his father? That was his model, aside from what he saw in movies. True, he didn't know what his Dad would have been like if he hadn't been in Vietnam, but the possibility of being like him as a parent was enough to make him sterile just thinking about it.

  Now there was Sarah, and he couldn't believe how lucky he was to find her. But he was worried, in a way he had never been until he met her, that this life he had carefully constructed was tenuous, a thin sheet of aluminum coating on top of shark-infested waters. He had purposely set out to be a very different man from his father, but the kind of capricious wrath that distorted every one of his days growing up -- was that a part of him? If his father hadn't gone to Vietnam, what would he have been like? Completely different?

  He'd avoided asking these questions his whole life, but he loved Sarah. What if she wanted children? What if he couldn't handle any additional demands on himself? What if his life right now was all he could handle? What if he was like his father in ways he didn't even realize until he was put in a certain situation?

  He was thinking too damn much.

  Melly texted him with an image of her manicured hand holding out the middle finger. Nice.

  Normally the morgue attendants would close up the body, but since the pathologist was on his own for the day, and not part of a big city morgue, he did the closing process himself. He put Jasper's organs in a plastic bag, then set the bag in the body cavity. He replaced the skull cap with the brain in place, then sewed up the body. Shawn couldn't believe he was watching this. In his mind, he saw Jasper as a skinny ten-year-old, racing a Schwinn next to him. He could hear him laugh.

  "If you're done with the gentleman for your investigation," the pathologist told him, "I'll release him and any personal effects to the funeral home designated by the next of kin."

  "I'm done," Shawn said. "He's going to Rowland." Rowland was a well-known funeral home in the city. He asked a few questions for clarification, then recorded all of the pathologist's findings in a report for the case file.

  "The toxicology results should be in within the week," the pathologist told him. "I'd start checking after three days. The lab shouldn't be too busy right now."

  "Thank you, Dr. Hathaway."

  The pathologist saluted. Shawn stripped the gloves and disposed of the paper garments. When he left the exam room with the samples to drop off at the lab's secure locker, it was with a heavy heart, knowing he'd be back soon enough to attend for Paul. At the moment, he didn't think he could do it.

  A woman was waiting outside the exam room in a chair, and Shawn, taken aback, blinked in surprise. She was tall and angular, and her hair was several different shades of blonde, with long sideswept bangs in a pixie cut. Shawn figured this must be Natasha. Perhaps she had called his desk after getting to town, and someone else at the station told her where to find him.

  "Natasha, right?" he asked, reaching out. She stood and returned his shake with a firm, cool hand. A ring pressed into his skin. "It's nice to meet you," she said.

  "I'm sorry it's under these circumstances." He took a seat next to her.

  She nodded, with a flicker of a smile, and put aside the shabby paperback she'd been reading. He glanced at it. Heidi. "Nostalgic favorite. I read it whenever I'm," she waved her hand, "upset or stressed. Break in case of emergency. Do you know about the Heidi game?"

  Shawn considered it, then shook his head.

  "It was a football game in 1968 -- you wouldn't've been born yet, obviously. I had just turned six, and I know it was November because it was just before Thanksgiving. My Mom was busy getting ready for family to come over." She paused, rubbing the back of her neck. There was a garnet ring on the index finger of her left hand. "Raiders versus the Jets. The game ran over with the Jets in the lead, and NBC broke away to start Heidi, the movie, at its scheduled time." A wry smile. "Back then, of course, you had to wait until the next day's paper to find out the score. My dad was a Raiders fan."

  Shawn could guess what she was about to say.

  "Yeah, so he was watching the game, and went nuclear when Heidi came on. My mom ended up in the hospital with a laceration on her face and a broken wrist, and I had to live with relatives for a while. You'd think I'd hate the book, right? But I love it even more now." She gave him a bright, open smile. "Twisted, huh?"

  He was surprised that Natasha was around fifty years old. He would have guessed forty, or hell, late thirties, but only if you could see the fine wrinkles close-up. Her skin looked like she had used a parasol whenever she went outside, and she had the supple body and fluid grace of a dancer. From a distance, she could easily pass for a twenty-something, but only an unusually self-possessed one.

  "You were friends with Jasper?"

  She nodded.

  "You must have bonded over that."

  "Yeah, we did." Her smile faded and her dark blue eyes darted nervously to the exam window. "So what's next?"

  "He'll be taken to Rowland funeral home, then his service and memorial will be scheduled."

  She sat back down and leaned forward, hands pressed to her
forehead. "Damn," she said, quietly. She straightened and let out a shaky breath, then chuckled. "'Got to lose control before you take control.' Patti Smith."

  He nodded, then said, "'Ain't no shame in holdin' on to grief. As long as you make room for other things, too.' Bubbles, The Wire."

  She held up a hand for a high-five. He gave it a light slap.

  Chapter 14

  After dropping off the evidence at the lab, Shawn stopped at his desk and picked up one of the gift cards he kept in his front drawer -- small tokens of thanks or motivation or outright bribery, when he wasn't using tickets to a sporting event. He selected one and slipped it into an envelope. When Melly actually got married, he'd give her a real gift, and give her husband a new identity kit.

  Resisting his task every minute, he nevertheless drove to the hotel where his sister was having her party, parked, then walked warily into the lobby, looking around for his sister's face. Following the food, he walked down a hallway to the right, then into a party/conference room. A buffet with several chafing dishes and two chefs lined the left wall. They really went all out for this, didn't they? Probably out of relief.

  "Shawn!"

  "Hi Mom." She was right there, many inches shorter than him, brown hair pinned up, wearing a green skirt suit. She gave him a hug that was more like a pickpocket bumping into him.

  "What changed your mind?" she asked.

  "I'm just here for a minute."

  He recognized that shift in expression. He'd seen it many times. Suppressed annoyance she wouldn't have given him the credit for noticing, which communicated that he was the source of pain in the family, the loose hinge that threatened them all.

  "There's a killer on the loose," Shawn added, for the hell of it, and saw how his mother started to distance herself. What did a possibly unfindable killer have to do with the family's schedule? "Okay sweetheart." Placating. "Well. It's nice of you to stop by. Why don't you stay and have something to eat?"

  "I really can't, Mom. I'm working."