Fire is the nemesis in my profession. It messes with the information the body naturally reveals as to the who, when, and how I’m expected to find. It alters the appearance, eradicates distinctive physiological changes, distorts the body’s chemistry, and destroys any helpful trace evidence.
The one thing that is still obvious, even though most of it is melted into the skin; the arm was covered in plastic.
I bend down and examine the remains more closely.
“My guess is male, can’t tell age or race from this, but hopefully I’ll have more luck on closer investigation. Lab work might help there. Not sure I can give you much more than that now.”
“Figure it’s the same vic?”
I look up to find Joe studying me intently.
“Would seem obvious, but we won’t know for sure until I get some samples sent off.” He nods his understanding, but I have a point to make. “I wonder why someone would take the care to wrap something in plastic if they end up burning it, though. Something weird about that.”
When I push to my feet, Jay’s hand shoots out to help me up.
“For transportation? Smell?” Blackfoot suggests.
It’s possible I guess, but I can’t see someone going to the trouble of vacuum wrapping. I can tell from the sealed edge of the plastic by the shoulder joint and point it out to the group.
“Vacuum sealing is intended to preserve something,” I suggest.
“Delaying decomposition,” Jay mumbles beside me.
“That too,” I concede. “But if I can find evidence these remains were frozen at some point, like the leg, it could also be the clue to a motive.”
“Like what?” Paul wants to know.
“Let’s get some concrete answers first.”
I’m not ready to give voice to what is at most a healthy imagination at this point, but when I look up at Jay, he nods as if he knows what I’m thinking.
Half an hour later, we leave the area to the crime scene team and Paul, who will take the remains to the morgue when the techs are done taking pictures.
“What’s all that crap in your truck?” Joe wants to know when he spots Jay’s vehicle.
“Shit I need to take to the dump.”
“VanDyken is working on Doc’s house,” Keith volunteers and I feel, more than see, Jay seize up beside me as Joe looks from him to me.
“I can do the post-mortem tomorrow morning,” I announce, in an attempt to divert from the sudden awkward tension. “I’ll let you know if I find anything.”
“It can wait ’til Monday,” Joe responds, and I chuckle.
“I already have a morgue full; I’d rather get this out of the way.” I start walking toward Jay’s truck, calling over my shoulder, “Talk to you later.”
Jay is quiet all the way to the dump and when he stops in front of my house, he doesn’t make any attempt to get out of his truck.
“You’re not getting out?”
He looks at me, his expression carefully shielded.
“I should get to the station, catch up with Blackfoot.”
It’s a perfectly reasonable explanation under the circumstances, but as I watch his truck drive away it feels an awful lot like a brush off.
Chapter 7
Meredith
“Go home, Paul.”
He’d been here when I arrived a little after eight, prepping the autopsy room. I wouldn’t have minded doing this one alone—my focus is sharper when I’m by myself—but Paul was respectful of my zone and stayed quiet. No Lauren to explain things to.
Unfortunately, not enough tissue had been left to get any fingerprints and I had slim hopes the few samples would be viable enough to net us any information, but I’m going to try anyway.
“Need help with that?” he asks, ignoring my directive as he steps into our small lab.
I’m comparing digital images I took of the site where each of the limbs had been dissected from the hip and the shoulder joint respectively. No matter how careful or experienced someone is with a knife or a scalpel, there will always be tool marks left on a dismembered bone.
I have images up side by side on the big screen, zoomed in on fine, almost hairline marks on each of the pictures to see if I can at least make a preliminary finding that both sets of remains belong to one person. They look very similar and would indicate a sharp knife with a thin, narrow blade, but it requires confirmation through more sophisticated analysis of the actual bone samples.
We don’t have the right tools here, but one day I hope to be able to get funding to update and add on to the aging equipment to turn this into a proper lab. For now, this is all I have to work with. Unfortunately, it’s only enough to come to a circumstantial case.
The concrete evidence has to come from the much better equipped CBI forensic laboratory, which services the police department as well. They’ll get the full scope of samples I took this morning, up to and including what plastic I was able to remove. That may be a secondary way to link the body parts since DNA testing takes time. Through analysis of the material the lab should be able to determine the composition of the plastic, and in some cases, they’ll even be able to tell if it came from the very same roll by examining the cut edges.
“No.” I look up at Paul and smile. “I’m probably spinning my wheels with these anyway. These slides could well be a match—each shows deterioration through age, malnutrition, or both—but we both know that is hardly conclusive.”
“I’ll drop off the samples. You should head home—relax—this is supposed to be your weekend off.”
After getting over his initial reservations around me, Paul has taken on an occasionally protective role I find endearing. Maybe it’s because he’s in his sixties and reminds me of my dad a bit.
“Relax, right. I have a deck in need of repair.”
I exit the software I was using and log off the computer. Paul is still standing right inside the door when I get up from the chair.
“Like I mentioned before, I’ll be happy to give you a hand, Doc,” he says.
A repeat of the offer he made a while ago, but this time I detect a slight edge and wonder if he got wind of the fact I’d accepted Jay’s help after declining his.
I commend Joe Benedetti for opening up his personal life to his department by inviting them to his home, but I’m hesitant to do the same. I’ve worked hard to win the respect I have gained as a woman in this job—especially with Paul Gibson, who took his time warming up to me—and I’m afraid to let the lines between private and professional blur.
The truth is, they’re already plenty blurred since I let myself be strong-armed by Autumn and Jay into accepting his help. A momentary lapse of judgment fueled by my interest in the man. The most direct way to losing credibility as a woman is to get romantically involved with someone you work with. I’ve seen the scenario play out a few times over the years, and I can tell you that it wasn’t the men who felt the impact on their careers.
Of course, here in Durango I’ve also seen evidence to the contrary—Blue and Tony Ramirez are a prime example—and that tempted me into thinking it might be possible. However, after Jay’s abrupt exit yesterday afternoon, I have to wonder whether I didn’t just escape the proverbial bullet.