“Go ahead.” Dr. Liu tossed her white lab coat into the bin with the dirty gloves. “Hold your breath right now. For ten minutes. I’ll rule your cause of death ‘Asphyxiation’ and the manner of death ‘Suicide by Temper Tantrum.’ It’ll only take me five seconds. Case closed.”
Calmly, slowly, Savannah opened the container of cookies and offered one to the M.E. “How about we stop squabbling and get down to the serious business at hand—eating some of these?”
“Sounds good to me,” Dirk said, peering into the box.
Dr. Liu grabbed the box and hugged it to her chest. “Me too.”
“Finally!” Savannah exclaimed. “The two of you agree on something. It’s a miracle!”
* * *
Later, Savannah, Dirk, and Dr. Liu were settled in the M.E.’s office, munching cookies and discussing the preliminary findings from Lucinda Faraday’s autopsy.
Dr. Liu sat at her desk, Savannah and Dirk on nearby no-frills folding metal chairs.
The county had been in the midst of a budget crisis when they had originally “decorated” the M.E.’s office. That had been decades ago. Medical examiners had come and gone. The first female M.E. had been appointed. Time had marched along, but the now-rusty, rickety metal chairs remained.
Savannah couldn’t help noticing, as always, that once the conversation turned professional between her husband and the medical examiner, the bickering stopped.
“No big surprise that it was strangulation,” Dirk said. “I figured that out as soon as I saw the stocking around her neck.”
“Whoever put it there didn’t intend for her to survive the ordeal,” Savannah added.
“No kidding. The ligature was so tight it literally cut into the skin, several millimeters, here in the front of the neck.” Dr. Liu tapped her glossy crimson nail on an eight-by-ten photo on her desk.
Savannah winced when she looked closely at the picture, the dark brown line, broken by a red incision where Dr. Liu was pointing.
“That much violence,” Dirk said, “has to be personal.”
“Or a pervert’s frenzy,” Savannah suggested. “Was she sexually violated?”
The doctor shook her head. “No.”
“Are you sure?” Dirk asked.
“Absolutely certain. Not one mark or bit of evidence to indicate she was in any way.”
“That’s a relief,” Savannah said, thinking how glad she would be to report that to Ethan. He would be grateful that his friend had been spared additional misery and indignity. “Considering the suggestive posing of the body, it seemed likely.”
“It did,” Liu agreed. “I fully expected to find she’d been raped. I was surprised to find the body unharmed. In that way, at least.”
“How about other kinds of injuries?” Dirk asked.
“Other than the obvious strangling, I found nothing at all.”
Savannah frowned, puzzled. “Not even defensive wounds?”
“Not a single one. There was a Band-Aid on her ankle. Beneath it was a mostly healed scrape of some sort. Definitely not perimortem. I’d say it was at least a week old. Probably older, considering how long it can take for someone her age to heal.”
“She didn’t fight even a little?” Dirk said. “That’s unusual.”
“It certainly is,” Savannah agreed. “When someone’s being strangled to death, they fight for their life. Violently.”
“I know. Every strangulation victim I’ve examined had the bruises, scratches, you name it, to show they fought.”
“They also inflict wounds of their own,” Savannah added.
“Very true.” The doctor reached for the last cookie in the container. “Many have their attacker’s skin under their nails.”
Dirk watched her bite into it with a look of deep sadness, then said, “One of the first things I do is check out a suspect’s face, neck, chest, and shoulders for scratches. It’s a dead giveaway.”
“Why on earth didn’t she fight?” Savannah said, more to herself than the others.
Dirk nodded. “It would have taken some time. What, Doc, fifteen seconds or so?”
“Depends on a lot of factors. It’s hard to say for certain, but it wouldn’t have been instant, for sure.”
Savannah leaned back in her chair and folded her arms over her chest. Just thinking about Lucinda Faraday, or anyone, dying that way made her feel heartsick. “Even if, for some strange reason, Lucinda was willing to die, her natural instincts would have probably kicked in at some point, and she would have resisted.”
“I agree,” Dirk said. “Even if it was some sort of assisted suicide, I can’t imagine she or her accomplice would have chosen a nasty method like that. There’s always pills.”
Unpleasant memories flooded Savannah’s mind, pictures that would haunt her forever of people who thought they were taking an “easy” way out by swallowing pills. They hadn’t understood the body’s determination to survive and what it did to save itself, even if its owner wanted to leave.
“I’ve seen a lot of dead folks in my day,” she said sadly. “I have to admit, other than those who die of natural causes, I have yet to see a passing that appeared easy.”
Both the doctor and Dirk nodded solemnly.
“But now that you mention pills,” Liu said, “I’ll remind you that we won’t be getting the toxicology report for a couple of days. I half suspect there may have been some drugs in her system.”
“You saw signs of addiction?” Dirk asked.
“No. Her liver showed that she drank quite a bit, but it was still healthy for her age.”
Dirk looked puzzled. “Then why are you thinking drugs?”
“You think someone else might have given her drugs?” Savannah guessed. “Maybe sleeping pills?”
“It could account for the fact that she didn’t fight her attacker,” Liu replied. “If someone slipped her some sort of sedative, she might have been unconscious through the entire thing.”
Savannah felt a shiver go through her. “That would indicate a clear case of premeditation on the killer’s part. No spur of the moment, in the heat of an argument, provoked fit of rage, or whatever.”
“True.” Dirk picked up the photo from Dr. Liu’s desk and studied it as he said, “That’d have to be a pretty cowardly murderer—to be so afraid of an old lady that he’d drug her first before killing her.”
“A coward,” Savannah said, “or maybe some sicko’s idea of compassion?”
Dr. Liu picked up yet another photo off her desk and looked at it. Savannah could see it was a picture of Lucinda Faraday, lying on her bed of garbage, provocatively posed.
“We already know the killer is cruel,” the doctor said. “If they drugged her before murdering her, I don’t know what their motive was. That’s for the two of you to figure out. But I can tell you one thing.... It most certainly wasn’t an act of mercy.”
Chapter 11
When Savannah and Dirk left the morgue, Savannah wanted to return to the Faraday mansion with him. But she couldn’t.
“Why not?” he asked her. “If you wanna check out the crime scene with me, I’m happy to have you come along.”
“I promised Ethan I’d meet him on the pier at noon and catch him up on what we’ve got,” she said, trying to hide her disappointment.
“What we ain’t got is more like it,” Dirk said as he turned toward their neighborhood instead of the freeway that would take them to Qamar Damun.
“I know, but he’s paying me well, so I owe him the nothing he’s paying for.”
“What?”
“Exactly. Then when I’m finished with him, I’m going to ask Tammy to meet me at the house. I can get her started on the background checks for Geoffrey, Brooklynn, and Mary.”
“Good. She does a lot better job than that new gal we got at the station house. That dingbat couldn’t find a Boeing 747 if it was parked in her driveway.”
Savannah laughed. “I never thought I’d hear you compliment Tammy while calling someone else a
dingbat. Have you gotten soft in your old age?”
“Naw. I ain’t soft. She’s gotten better. She probably could find a 747 in her driveway, if all four of its engines were running. But don’t tell her I said that. Wouldn’t want her to get a swelled head or nothin’.”
“I’ll resist the urge to share,” she replied.
“You gonna pick up the rug rat from school at three o’clock? It’s only a few blocks from our house. I’m sure he could find his way. The kid seems, uh, quite streetwise, to say the least.”
“I know, and Gran offered to get him. But I wanted to, it being his first day and all. He was nervous this morning, when I left him. He didn’t say so, but I could tell. He acted like he’d never been to school before.”
“Maybe he hasn’t.”
“He said he went to kindergarten and first grade there in Georgia. Said his mom just hadn’t gotten him enrolled here yet.”
“She probably figured she’d get around to it. Once she got her drug situation sorted out. First things first, you know.”
Savannah thought it over for a moment, then groaned. “He had no clothes but those shorts and flip-flops. He said they were living out of their car. He’s obviously undernourished.”
“But she had a bagful of drugs, plus several cartons of cigarettes and all kinds of booze in her van.” He shook his head. “A lady with her priorities in order. Obviously.”
“We don’t even know for sure if he was in school in Georgia. When I was registering him, they were having a hard time locating his records.” She felt a knot forming in her throat. “Poor kid. All the more reason why I want to be there to pick him up when school lets out. I’ll take him for an ice-cream cone or whatever. See if he’ll open up to me.”
Dirk gave her a little smile as he pulled into their driveway. “You’re a good woman, Savannah Reid,” he said. “Did I ever tell you that?”
She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You might’ve mentioned it once or twice.”
“If I get off work early enough, I’ll take him over to my barber and get him shorn.”
“I think he looks kinda cute with his hair long. Like a little surfer dude.”
“Then I’ll tell my guy not to take off much, just spruce him up. We want him looking sharp over at that new school.”
She gave him another kiss. Longer this time and on the lips.
“Thank you,” she said. “I appreciate your help.”
“Hey, as long as the squirt’s under our roof, he’s my problem, too. Plus, your granny seems keen to help.”
“I know. Isn’t she great with him?”
“She’s awesome. But more than anything else, I’m just sayin’—it ain’t all up to you, darlin’. Takes a village and all that.”
Savannah sat there, looking at her husband. His scruffy beard that he shaved once a week, whether it needed it or not. The faded second generation Harley-Davidson T-shirt. The bomber jacket that looked like it had actually had a few bombs land on it in its long lifetime.
She was on her way to see Ethan Malloy, a man adored by millions of lust-besotted women, whose face had graced the world’s best-known magazines, who had been named, more than once, the sexiest man living.
But she wouldn’t have traded Ethan or any other guy for the one sitting next to her, the man who frequently told her she was the best person he had ever met.
Bulging biceps, broad shoulders, a perfect smile, a deep voice, and piercing blue eyes were all nice.
But as any woman with a degree of wisdom or insight was well aware, the sexiest feature any man could possess was loyalty.
* * *
As Savannah and Ethan walked the length of San Carmelita’s beloved wooden pier, it occurred to her, not for the first time, what a pain in the butt celebrity must be.
Yes, Ethan’s was one of the best-known faces in the world. His size alone set him apart from most of the people around them. It was impossible for such a large man to hide in a crowd when he was a head taller than most.
Even wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap, he was recognizable. At least half of the people they passed gasped when they saw him, then pointed him out to their friends and family.
Cell phones were lifted, and pictures taken—photos and videos that would, undoubtedly, appear within minutes on the Internet.
Those were the nice people.
The not-so-nice ones ran up to him, grabbed his arm, shook his hand, hugged, and even kissed him. Savannah quickly lost count of how many autographs and selfies he had granted before they had walked the fifteen-hundred-feet length of the pier.
“I don’t know how you stand it,” she told him. “I’d go plumb crazy if I had that many strangers snatching at me all the time.”
In a tone of voice that sounded like exhausted resignation, he said, “It’s part of the job. Goes with the territory and all that. If getting their picture taken with me or owning a piece of paper that I scribbled on means that much to them, who am I to say no?”
“A lot of celebrities do—say no, that is.”
He shrugged. “That’s their right. But it’s not me. I can spend ten seconds and give somebody a memory that’ll last them for a lifetime. That’s an honor and blessing I’ll always be grateful for.”
At that moment, a couple of teenaged girls spotted him and came running over to greet him. One grabbed his arm in a death grip, while the other jumped up and down several times in front of him, trying to kiss him.
Savannah was about to reach out and smack her when Ethan bent down and turned his head, allowing her a quick peck on the cheek.
“Oh, Ethan! I just love you!” the smoocher said, when she finally managed to catch her breath. “I’m not just saying that. I mean, love! Really, really love! I watch your movies every single night before I go to sleep.”
“Um, that’s nice. Thank you,” he replied, moving into position for the selfie the other one was trying to take.
Once the girl who had confessed her “really, really love” got her giggling fit under control, she stood, gazing up at him with adoration and something that looked to Savannah like pretend sadness. She was a bad actress. “I was so sorry to hear that you and Beth broke up,” she told him. “I can’t believe she’d be so stupid. To leave a man like you. Why on earth did she do such a stupid—?”
“Okay! Enough with the rude questions!” Savannah said, giving the girl a hearty push that would have landed her on her rear, had she not collided with her friend. “You got your hug, kiss, and picture. Scram.”
The girl’s face flushed red with anger. “Oh yeah? Who are you? His new girlfriend? I read everything they write about Ethan, and I don’t remember anything about you!”
“I’m his bodyguard, and if you don’t want your butt Tased, you’ll get outta range. Pronto!”
Savannah made a big show of reaching into her purse, and in seconds, the teens were halfway down the pier, heading for the beach.
Savannah heard Ethan chuckle. She turned to see him watching her, a smirk on his face.
“You’re my bodyguard?” he asked.
“Yeah. I throw that in with the private investigating.”
“Good deal! Two for the price of one!” He glanced down at her purse. “Do you really carry a Taser in your pocketbook?”
“No. The most lethal thing I’ve got in there is a bottle of spray perfume.” She pulled her jacket back a bit, revealing her holster strap. “I do, however, carry a Beretta here.”
“Then, if I’m attacked by marauding, overly curious teenagers, you can obviously deal with the problem.”
“You betcha. Relax, Mr. Malloy. You’re in good hands.”
“I never doubted it.”
They continued walking toward the end of the pier, which was thankfully less crowded. The sun was hot, but it was a windy day. A stiff breeze was blowing cool ocean spray up onto the pier and wetting their faces as they stood, looking out at the horizon.
Savannah breathed in the smell of the sea and, as was her habit
, thought how grateful she was to be living in a place of such beauty and restoration.
“Do you ever miss Texas?” she asked him.
“No,” was his instant reply. “Do you miss Georgia?”
“No.” She paused and reconsidered for a moment. “Well, some of the people. The peaches. The pecan pies. That’s about it.”
They shared a companionable chuckle, then the view for a while. Then it was time for business.
“I’m so glad to hear that Lucinda wasn’t, you know, hurt. That way,” Ethan said.
She found it endearing that this man of the world still possessed his Texas good ol’ boy sensitivities and was uncomfortable discussing indelicate subjects with a lady.
“Yes, me too,” she assured him. “It’s hard to imagine anything that would make a murder ‘better’ somehow, but I guess that does. A bit.”
He nodded. “After seeing her body, you know, like that, I figured she’d been violated, too. I was so hoping she hadn’t suffered that fate. Again.”
“Again?” Savannah gave him a quick sideways look.
“Yes. Again.”
She gulped. “When?”
“Long ago. Back when she first arrived in Hollywood. She was just a kid.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“More than once.”
“Oh, no. Really?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, how do you know this?”
He gave her a half smile, glanced in both directions, and said, “I don’t mind you asking me questions, but I have this rabid bodyguard who—”
“Has spray perfume in her purse and a Beretta on her side? Yeah, yeah. She ain’t that tough. I could take her.”
Ethan smiled, but it quickly disappeared. He sighed, removed his baseball cap, and ran his fingers through his hair. “I told you that Lucinda and I did a movie together some time back. That was the first time I’d ever met her, though I’d admired her work for years. One night, they were taking a really long time setting up a particularly difficult shot, and she invited me back to her trailer. She said that, if I wouldn’t be offended, she could give me a couple of pointers about how to play to the camera.”
And the Killer Is . . . Page 10
