Ben started to reply. But before he could, an attractive woman that Kylie thought to be in her forties came bursting into the reception area from the coolers and autopsy rooms.
“Special Agent Dickson,” she said. “I am still surprised that I was able to pull DNA from the bone marrow. Of course, I suppose the way the bones were stashed helped to preserve them. But there’s more. I’m stunned that my DNA testing went so quickly. The skeleton and the murdered woman share several markers. Which means that the skeleton, and the new victim, were distantly related.”
Chapter 8
Jon hadn’t met the woman yet, but he could only assume that she was the forensic anthropologist. And she must have been well-liked and respected here because she evidently had the run of the place.
Detective Ben Miller quickly made introductions.
“Dr. Kathy Morrison, forensic anthropologist,” Ben said, “Special Agent Jon Dickson, and his wife, Kylie.”
“A pleasure,” Dr. Morrison said. “I don’t know how anyone got labs working so quickly, but apparently, one of your people set things in motion, and the findings are astounding. Of course, throughout the years, every human being adds new materials. But it’s amazing how far we can trace the lines. And while there is no certainty here, the comparison is quite incredible. The skeleton has been in that wall for a very long time. Here we are, hundreds of years later.”
“Quite remarkable,” Jon agreed.
Behind Dr. Morrison, Dr. Samantha Ridgeway made an appearance. “Jon, come on in. We’re ready for you. I don’t have anything new to tell you, but you never know. I’m not the kind to mind more experienced eyes on a body. And…” She paused, seeing that Kylie was with him. “Hello, I’m sorry. I don’t intend to be indelicate or uncaring. I’m Doctor Samantha Ridgeway, ME, but everyone calls me Sammy. Please, feel free to do so, as well. And if this is something you’re working on with Jon, you can suit up and come on in, too,” Sammy said to Kylie.
Kylie introduced herself properly, assuring Sammy that she was being straightforward and not uncaring.
“And Sammy was right,” Dr. Morrison said. “I believe she told you that she suspected a stabbing. The victim, whoever she was, bled to death from several stab wounds. The nicks from a long, sharp blade are visible on several of the rib bones.”
“Ben told us you were looking into a theory that, while Salem history is rich with the story that Ezekiel Johnson killed his wife, Mary, your research showed that Ezekiel’s first wife left behind teenaged children who might have done the deed and were glad to see their father pay for it.”
“It’s a theory,” Jon said. “Our research showed that the killer’s two victims had ancestry that dated back to Ezekiel and his first wife. But we didn’t know about the relationship between the two victims in the wall, who were separated by hundreds of years—give or take.”
“How could a killer know all this?” Dr. Morrison murmured.
“I don’t know. We discovered that Ezekiel probably knew his second wife before his first died—of natural causes. So it was assumed anyway, and so it may have been. It’s a long shot to believe that the first wife’s teenaged children might have murdered Mary, but what matters is what the killer believes. And a killer—no matter how crazy he may seem—can be extremely bright. I believe this man isn’t just a sociopath but a true psychopath. Which doesn’t mean he can’t function quite normally in nearly all apparent aspects of life.”
“Or at least pretend,” Sammy murmured. “You’re seeing a killer who is bright and organized—and perhaps obsessed with the past.”
“Right,” Jon murmured. “And on our contemporary victim, Lily Franklin?” he asked Sammy.
Sammy glanced at Kylie.
“I’m afraid my wife is accustomed to shop talk. You can talk freely,” Jon said.
“It’s all good. I’ll be fine with Detective Miller’s officer out here if you want to head in. Go ahead. I have my tablet in my bag. I’ll be working,” Kylie said and glanced at the young man who stood quietly, waiting.
“Oh, right. Kylie, I forgot. This is Officer Todd Linton. He’s a good man,” Ben assured.
“I’m sure,” she said, shaking the officer’s hand and then taking a seat as the rest of them followed Sammy and Dr. Morrison into the morgue.
“We can’t forget that we’re on the trail of a murderer,” Jon said quietly. “And I’m afraid time may be of the essence.”
“Has there been a threat?” Ben asked.
Jon shook his head. “This man dressed up as a clown and managed to get the corpse into a locked house. The realtor admitted, however, that there could be keys out there. Nobody has rekeyed the lock since the last owner bought the house five years ago. Anyway, the killer is running around in costume in the middle of Haunted Happenings, so…we need to catch him as soon as possible.”
“You think he has other intended victims?” Ben asked.
“Don’t you?” Jon replied.
Ben nodded. “Okay, let’s do this and get you back out on the street, doing what you do best.”
Sammy pulled back the sheet.
Lily Franklin, her Y-incision now sewn, lay on the coldness of a steel gurney.
“Poison causes discoloration but little more. You can see the lividity in her feet—someone stood her up, wedged between the real wall and the false one, soon after death.”
Jon nodded, studying the body.
“And as suspected, both Lily and her distant relative, Ann Chester, were given strychnine. Due to her stomach contents, I’m going to say it was delivered through a drink with a great deal of alcohol in it. Strychnine takes a bit longer than cyanide to work, but you don’t get the smell, and it is readily available as rat poison. It’s a major factor for people with pets because it is so commonly used,” Sammy said.
Jon nodded and noticed the scratches on the shoulders, knees, and feet.
He looked at Sammy.
“Post-mortem. From being wedged in with the brick and building materials.”
“May I?” he asked Sammy, indicating that he wanted to touch the shoulder to get a better look.
“Of course,” she said.
He manipulated the body and could see that, as Sammy had said, the lack of blood rising to the wounds indicated, even to him, that they were post-mortem.
But a curious shape—or misshape to one in particular, drew his attention. He pointed it out to Sammy.
“What caused this?” he asked.
“I can’t be certain. The body was really wedged in there.”
He glanced at Ben. “I think this mark is a little more defined,” he said.
Sammy got a magnifying glass, and they all looked.
“It is possible that the killer etched something there. Again, given the condition with which the body reached the morgue, I can’t be certain.”
“I think someone was creating an M,” he said quietly.
“M—for Mary?” Ben asked. “It’s possible. But, Jon, we’re still going on a theory here.”
“I don’t think so,” Dr. Morrison said. “DNA is telling. And, yes, we were able to retrieve plenty from the left clavicle. If we needed, the bones—except those nicked by the knives—are intact. Remember, the oldest human DNA retrieved was from a human ancestor who walked the Earth four hundred thousand years ago, taken from a thigh bone discovered in the Pit of Bones in an underground cave in northern Spain. And compared to some of the uses for DNA, comparing the markers of two victims who lived hundreds of years apart seems like a brief span of time. I believe you are right. Someone knows ancestry and thinks they need to carry on their revenge for a historic crime,” Dr. Morrison finished.