by A W Hartoin
“Well, she doesn’t have any real authority here.”
“She’ll be pleased to hear that.” I stood up straight.
“You don’t need to go and bother Sister Miriam about this.”
“She’s my aunt. I live to bother her. Is Dr. Grace in?”
“No.” Dr. Forester looked over my head towards the door when he said it.
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely,” he said.
“I don’t believe you.”
“I’m not accustomed to being accused of lying.”
“Well, get accustomed, because I’m not changing my opinion. Where’s his office?” I asked.
“You really have no business being here.”
“I sure do. If the family wants you to tell me your results, then you have to tell me, or didn’t they teach you that at Wash U?”
“You should go now. It’s time for my lunch.” Forester gestured toward the door.
“It’s three-thirty.”
“I eat late.”
“Right. I guess I’ll have to find Dr. Grace on my own.” I stood up and walked out the door without another word.
Who the hell did he think he was? As if I’d go to coffee with a man who’d hit on me while surrounded by pictures of his wife. Bastard. Actually, not only was he a bastard, he was damned unhelpful, too, and I started to get a feeling. My feelings aren’t about mess, but about getting a huge pain in the ass. Like Dad and his feelings, I was rarely off base about my ass.
Dr. Grace’s office was easy to find and, as luck would have it, he was in it, sitting behind a stack of charts so high that at first all I saw was a mop of iron gray hair and horn-rimmed glasses.
“Excuse me, Dr. Grace?”
“Yes. Can I help you?” He straightened up and I got the full view of an unsurprised man. One who didn’t find me particularly out of the ordinary. He must’ve met Mom.
“If you’re not too busy. I’m Mercy Watts. I believe you know my father, Tommy Watts.”
“Good old Tommy. How’s he doing these days? Still making the rounds as a PI?”
“Sure is, and he told me to look you up as a favor to him.”
“About a case of his?” Dr. Grace’s eyebrows went up.
“Not really. It’s more of a family matter. Gavin Flouder was a partner of his in the old days. Dad worked with him for a while when he went private. We were wondering if you could take a look at him for us,” I said.
“Gavin Flouder, Gavin Flouder,” he said as he thumbed through a stack of paper on his desk.
“He died on Sunday.”
“Right. Here he is. Forester had his case. Have you talked to him?”
“You could say that,” I said.
“Not very forthcoming, I take it.”
“Not at all.”
“What are you looking for?” Dr. Grace asked.
“He supposedly had a MI. We’d like to make sure. He did have a heart condition, but Dad has a feeling.”
“Tommy and his feelings. Not that I doubt him. I’ve known him too long for that. What about you? Do you have a feeling, too?”
“Let’s just say I don’t like it.”
“That’s good enough for me. I’ll take a look. I’ll call you and we’ll go over the results together.” Dr. Grace got up and walked me out his door to the elevator. While we were walking, I could see him giving me sly glances. He wanted to throw out the Marilyn comment, but was too polite to do it. Instead, we chatted about Dad and the declining state of the police force. I left feeling better about Gavin’s case, but worse about my ass.
Chapter Four
DR. GRACE HELD Gavin’s body for two days and then called me down from orthopedics for a talk, as he put it. I arrived at ten in the morning, and the morgue was hopping. There were no less than five detectives, a police photographer, and a couple of beat cops standing around drinking coffee. One of the detectives was my cousin, Chuck Watts.
Chuck saw me and, before I could react, walked over with his patent self-assurance that that never failed to irritate me. He looked good as he always did. He once told me that only ten percent of the world’s population is attractive. He definitely considers himself in the top ten percent, maybe top five. I hated to admit it, but he was right. Chuck was a pleasure to view with his sinewy muscles, broad shoulders, and hooded blue eyes. Still, Chuck couldn’t be considered conventionally handsome. He had thinning hair and pockmarks on his cheeks, but those flaws added to his allure. Dad said it was lucky he had them or he would’ve gotten nowhere on the force. It doesn’t pay to be too good-looking in a job like Chuck’s.
“Hey, Mercy,” he said and gave me a hug that lasted a couple of seconds too long. No one else seemed to notice.
“Back off, you stink,” I said.
“Is that any way to greet your favorite cousin?”
“You’re not my favorite cousin. We’re not even blood-related.”
“Even better.” Chuck smiled the smile that melted the hearts of every single one of my friends, including my best friend Ellen. She took him to our prom. I haven’t quite forgiven her for that one.
“Give it up. We’re still cousins by marriage and that’s bad enough.” I shook his arm off me.
“Mercy girl, what are you doing here?” asked Dale Crudup from the corner.
“Hey, Dale. Just here to say hi to Dr. Grace.”
“Oh, yeah?” Dale raised his eyebrows and came forward to give me a more welcome hug. “Didn’t know you knew Grace.”
“Through Dad. You know how it is.”
“How come you don’t mind Dale’s stink?” said Chuck.
“I don’t mind Dale in any form.”
“I say she doesn’t mind because Dale stands as far from the slab as possible.” A detective I didn’t recognize came forward and shook my hand. “Chris Nazir. You must be Mercy Watts.”
“My reputation precedes me,” I said.
“Your description anyway. You do look great on film,” said Chuck.
“What are you talking about?”
“You should wear that leopard bra more often.”
“I don’t have a leopard bra and, even if I did, you’d never see it,” I said in a manner I hoped was convincing. I loved my leopard bra.
Detective Nazir blushed and said, “It’s nice to meet you, Mercy.”
Chuck gave me a sly, knowing grin that made me feel like I needed a shower, and the rest of the crew shuffled their feet in the following silence.
“So what are you doing here? Big case?” I asked.
“Um, yeah. We pulled a couple more bodies from Sternberger Lake,” said Nazir.
“Five detectives for two autopsies?” I said.
“We’re up to four bodies now and Watts caught the bride, too,” said Dale.
“Bride?” I said.
“You know, the bride strangled in the crying room right after her wedding reception,” said Chuck. “And the lake’s a nasty one. I earned this stink.”
“You guys should bring a change of clothes with you,” I said.
“Nah. It doesn’t bother us. I’d think you’d be used to it too. I bet your dad came home smelling worse than us plenty,” Dale said.
“I imagine he did, but Mom made him come in through the basement. He’d shower and change down there,” I said.
“Glad my wife hasn’t thought of that yet,” said Nazir.
Dale clapped Nazir on the back. “Shit, she’s probably just glad to see you. Nazir here is following in the steps of Tommy Watts. Twenty-hour days and all.”
“He’ll get over it,” said Chuck.
“You haven’t,” I said.
Chuck was my father’s protégé. He filled the sad vacancy I left when I decided against the family business. Chuck is the son I refused to be.
“It’s a dirty job, but I love it,” said Chuck.
“That’s because you have a dirty mind,” I said.
“Don’t you know it.”
“Actually, I don’t and I don�
��t want to.”
“Burn,” said Dale. “You gotta love a girl like that.”
“On that note, I’m off to see Dr. Grace. Good luck on the lake case.”
I went down the hall to Grace’s office, knocked and received a quick “Come in.”
“Hi. Are you busy?” I said.
“No more than usual. Glad you’re here. I just finished Mr. Flouder.” Dr. Grace took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes, and yawned. “Sorry, I’ve been here all night.”
“Not on my account, I hope.”
“No, on Mr. Flouder’s actually.”
“Did you do a full autopsy?”
“Had to. It’s a suspicious death now.”
“Why?”
“It seems Dr. Forester wasn’t as thorough as I would’ve liked,” said Dr. Grace.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, the cause of death is no longer certain.”
“How come?”
“Walk with me.” He stood up, rubbed his eyes again, and we walked down to the autopsy suite. Someone was still on the table. I presumed it was Gavin. A glimpse of a foot was enough to get me to avert my eyes.
“Sorry. I shouldn’t have brought you in here. For some reason, I was thinking of your father,” Dr. Grace apologized.
That was a new one. I’d never gotten confused for a six-foot-four redhead before.
“It’s okay. I can take it. If you would’ve brought Dad in here, then you’d better show me what you would’ve shown him.”
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Uh huh.” I was by no means sure, but I knew it would get around that I wussed out. If Chuck could handle autopsies, then I could, too.
“Let me get a sheet,” said Dr. Grace. He covered Gavin and I was able to look up.
“At first I expected just to do a quick review and exam, but should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy. Your father is rarely wrong,” said Dr. Grace.
“What did you turn up?”
“I believe Gavin had an MI, but I doubt it was natural.”
“Why do you say that?”
Dr. Grace assumed a lecturing pose, and the teacher in him surfaced. I was going to find out more than I wanted to know.
“First I reviewed his blood work, all within normal levels. I went over his chart and then proceeded to examine the body. Come here.” He gestured to the table. I made myself walk forward and stand beside him. He lifted the sheet back while I counted the tiles on the wall, careful not to look at Gavin’s torso.
“At first glance, everything appeared normal. Nothing to indicate trauma other than the staff’s attempts to revive him. Sometimes that can be violent in and of itself, as I’m sure you know. See the minor bruising along the midline?” Dr. Grace pointed, and I looked down. “He has two broken ribs as well. All of this is from the paramedics and ER staff.”
“How can you tell?”
“I took tissue samples of the bruising from here, here, and here.” Dr. Grace pointed to three cuts on Gavin’s chest. I found the longer I stared at Gavin, the less it felt like him. It was just a body. The man I’d known for most of my life wasn’t there, lying on cold metal. I could get through whatever it was Dr. Grace wanted to show me because it no longer mattered to Gavin what was done to the flesh. It only mattered to Dr. Grace, me, and the detectives catching the case.
“Okay,” I said.
“Come look at this.” He led me to a microscope. I looked, but all I saw was a typical tissue sample. Granted I wasn’t a whiz in the lab, but it looked normal to me.
“What am I supposed to be seeing?” I asked.
“All the red blood cells, no white. The body never tried to repair itself. That and the fact the bruising is minor tells me that all this bruising,” he waved his hand over the Y incision, “is from resuscitation.”
“Didn’t you already know that?”
“Yes, but when I examined the rest of the body I saw this.” Dr. Grace went back to the table with me in tow, rolled Gavin on to his side and pointed to a shaved section of his shoulder. There was a large reddish bruise outlining the shape of his shoulder blade.
“That was not caused by resuscitation,” said Dr. Grace.
He took me back to the microscope, changed slides, and I took another look. I could see some white cells among the red. Dr. Grace smiled at me when I straightened up. “The repair process had begun, but it didn’t get very far. There was at least an hour between this bruise and those the paramedics gave him. This is pretty deep damage. It took some force to cause it. I don’t believe it was from a fall resulting from the MI. There’s also a similar bruise on the back of the head.”
“Gavin was in a fight?” I said.
“Doubtful. If it was a fight, as you say, it was short-lived.”
“It caused the MI?”
Dr. Grace shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“Why didn’t Forester notice this?”
“Your friend Gavin here was pretty hairy. I didn’t notice it at first glance either, and Forester didn’t have the benefit of Tommy’s feeling either. He was looking for an ordinary MI and that’s what he found.”
“He was sloppy,” I said.
“Yes, and no.”
“Give him the benefit of the doubt, in other words.”
“I think we have to, in this case. I could’ve missed it myself,” he said.
“I doubt that.”
Dr. Grace smiled and led me to the other side of the table.
“Tell me what you see,” he said, pointing to Gavin’s chest.
I looked over the area slowly, not wanting to miss anything and let Dad down. Whatever was there, he wouldn’t have missed it. I saw another shaved area next to Gavin’s neck. It was small, the size of a quarter. Inside the area were two quarter-inch-long marks, identical and about a half inch apart.
“What’s that?”
“Can’t be sure yet, but if I had to guess I’d say burns from a stun gun.”
“Like in that Maryland cop case?”
“You read,” he said.
“An unfortunate habit of mine.”
“And a good memory to boot. Ever think of a career in forensics?”
“Not for a minute,” I said, wrapping my arms around myself.
“Too bad.”
“How on earth did you notice these with all this black and gray hair everywhere?”
He tapped the side of his nose and smiled. “I smelled them.”
“Say what?”
“I have a very sensitive sense of smell.”
“Bet you wish you didn’t.” The smell in the room, although mild, was getting to me. Dad told me a thousand times that death has its own odor. The antiseptic wasn’t helping the situation either.
“Not at all. My sense of smell has helped me on a number of occasions like this one. The instrument used to make those marks burnt the hair on top of them. I smelled the hair. Now look at his mouth.”
Oh crap. Do I have to?
“Come on, I have to show you.”
I looked at Gavin’s face and was surprised how different he looked in death. Like his wife, he needed wakefulness to make him recognizable as the man I knew.
“You shaved his beard,” I said. Dixie was going to be pissed. Gavin had a beard for as long as I could remember.
“Couldn’t be helped. After the burn marks, I started looking for a cause of the MI, needle marks, something like that.”
“Just being attacked couldn’t have caused it?”
“Maybe, but I had to be sure there wasn’t a direct cause from an outside source. I think we can assume whoever stunned him didn’t do it for kicks.”
I leaned over the table to get a better look and saw a portion of Gavin’s thigh was shaved. “Is that a puncture?”
“Looks like it to me. My guess, he was injected with something that brought on the MI.”
“Like what?”
“Could be any number of drugs or poisons. I’m waiting for more extensive labs to come ba
ck now.”
“Did you call the cops?”
“Your dad’s old shop to be exact. Called them before I called you, but they’ve got their hands full today and he isn’t going anywhere. Should’ve called before the autopsy, but I was hoping I wouldn’t find anything. I should’ve known better.”
“You didn’t break any rules bringing me down here, did you?”
“Depends on who you ask. Don’t let on though.”
“No problem.” He pulled the sheet back up over Gavin’s head and we left the room. I thanked Dr. Grace in the reception area that was now empty and left the hospital. I went straight to my parents’ house to see if Dixie was awake and willing to give me her house keys for no good reason. I wasn’t ready to tell her that her husband had been murdered.
Chapter Five
UNCLE MORTY’S JEEP sat at my parents’ back gate, parked caddywhompus as usual. I gritted my teeth and considered turning around. I was not in the mood for Morty. He asked too many questions and I had no answers, at least not yet. But there he was, and it wouldn’t do to avoid him, as if that were possible for any length of time. Uncle Morty liked to turn up when I least wanted to see him. He was a total bloodhound and my father’s best friend, if you didn’t count my mother. Plus, he wasn’t my real uncle which made him more annoying than blood family and just as hard to get rid of.
Uncle Morty waited, in ambush, on the back porch. I was halfway up the garden path when a drizzle started, making the long grass shiny green, and the sky took on a thick purple cast. The wind picked up, swirling the leaves and lawn clippings around my feet. The heavy air and dread slowed me, as I walked the twenty yards toward him.
Uncle Morty waited, not moving a muscle. He stood at the edge of the stairs, a menacing statue with his arms crossed and his driving cap tipped low on his forehead. Given the rest of his getup, the hat should’ve looked ridiculous. He wore a gray sweat suit washed within an inch of its life, a pair of Nike high-tops circa 1985 and a Members Only jacket that hadn’t fit in ten years. I doubted Morty noticed he was carrying another person around his middle.
I stopped at the foot of the stairs and looked up at him. Rain dripped off the brim of his hat and he looked at me from behind thick glasses. I couldn’t read his expression. The lenses were fogged from the rain and he made no attempt to wipe them. He stood and waited, and I wished my eyes would stop burning.
