Down and Dirty Read online

  “I’m not seeing this one,” Cal said.

  “It pierced a major artery. It’s darker on the x-ray, so not as easy to see. But there are air bubbles around it from when the plunger was pressed and the drug administered. You see?”

  Three tiny air bubbles, so microscopic as to almost being invisible, but one of the most important pieces of evidence we might have.

  “Yeah, I see it now.” He looked at me, the fun loving and easy-going Cal gone, replaced by the veteran cop that had seen and done it all. Cops who’d lived the job and not just put on their weapon every day to sit behind a desk had a certain look about them. Cop eyes and mannerisms that were easy to recognize and impossible to decipher.

  We set into motion, both of us understanding what needed to be done without having to communicate with more than the occasional grunt or wave of a hand. We wrapped up Julia Connelli and pushed her back in the freezer. I’d do the autopsy on her later. But these initial findings were the most pressing at the moment. Everyone was waiting to see whether I’d declare the scene as an accidental death or a homicide, and I had to be accurate. The Connellis and Cassandra Owens deserved justice.

  One by one, we pulled each victim out of the freezer and set them up for x-rays. By the time we got to the last one, I was sweating beneath the layers of my lab coat and apron. I knew what we’d find before we put the x-rays up on the light board, side by side, each labeled to differentiate the victims. But it wasn’t enough to make the call. Not yet.

  I had to send DNA samples off to Richmond to be tested, and that often took weeks because of the backup in the lab, though the testing itself only took a few minutes. But I was able to do my own toxicology testing here in the lab. It saved time and money, especially in cases where we needed answers quickly.

  It wasn’t often I worked on multiple victims at once, and it was time consuming because I had to make sure that every scrap of evidence, every fiber, hair, blood sample or semen sample was labeled appropriately. Especially if it was going to be admissible in court at some point.

  “It’s a paralytic,” I said, looking at the blood comparisons from each victim several hours later. “They were each injected with a drug to cause paralysis but not to kill. That’s why they all had burn and smoke in the airways.”

  “Jesus. That’s an awful way to die. Cruel.”

  “Specifically they administered pancuronium bromide. It’s a muscle relaxer used during anesthesia.” I immediately thought of Dr. Owens, and wondered if a man could sacrifice his only child for a higher agenda. There’d been worse things happen in the world.

  “If I remember right, it’s also a drug used during lethal injections. We could be looking at any number of people who could get their hands on a drug like that.”

  “Thank God that job falls to the police. All I can tell you is the how. Not the who or why.”

  “Lets say Julia Connelli was a double agent who was filtering classified information back home and whoever is giving her orders decided she was ineffective or her job was done. Could her dose have been self-administered? Can you tell by the angle of entry?”

  “Not really. But why would she self-terminate if a large amount of money had just been deposited into her account? I’d be more likely to take it and run. She changed her identity once. She could do it again. And thanks to her husband she has the connections to do so.”

  “How long would the injection put them out for?”

  “Around two hours. Plenty of time for the fire to start and spread. And if the coffee pot exploded like you think then that could explain why the fire spread so quickly without the use of an accelerant.”

  “I’m almost there reconstructing the coffee pot, so I’ll have an answer soon. The alarm company notified the fire department at 12:47, and first responders said the house was completely engulfed and already collapsing when they arrived seventeen minutes later. What we have to look at is the time it took for the fire to get to that point. The alarm company would have been notified the moment smoke set off the alarms.”

  “And the Connellis could have been administered the drug as early as 11:00, but probably a little later just to be on the safe side. A paralytic like that affects people differently—metabolism and weight have a lot to do with how long they’d be under. Whoever used the drug wouldn’t want to take the chance that they’d wake up before the smoke could kill them.”

  I pulled out my phone and dialed Jack. “It’s homicide,” I said as soon as he answered. I explained about the syringe marks and the results from the tox screen.

  “I’d have been surprised if it wasn’t homicide. The Connellis were fascinating people. You know who else is fascinating?”

  “Doctor Owens?”

  “Bingo, kid. We’ll debrief as soon as you get a chance. When does Walker’s twenty-four hour time period end?”

  I relayed the question to Cal. “About ten o’clock tomorrow morning,” he said. “But I could get stuck in traffic for a couple of hours if need be. You know how D.C. is during rush hour.”

  “Good to know,” Jack said. “We’ll stretch it for as long as we can. Just FYI, Jaye, my mother is in the lobby of the funeral home greeting people and showing them which rooms to go to.”

  I looked up at the clock and saw it was almost seven o’clock. I’d lost complete track of time while working on the bodies.

  “Your mother?” Mrs. Lawson was an amazing woman, and she could do just about anything she set her mind to, so I wasn’t worried about her handling anything upstairs. I just felt guilty that someone else was having to do the job I was supposed to be responsible for.

  As if reading my mind, Jack said, “You can’t do it all, Jaye. The victims take priority. You know that. And it never hurts to ask for help every now and then.”

  “The families of the people upstairs are paying for my services.” I started covering the bodies back up with the white sterile sheets, and then Cal pushed them back into the freezer while I stripped out of my apron and lab coat.

  “They’re paying for the services of Graves Funeral Home. It’s a family business. And if my mother hasn’t been your family for most of your life I don’t know who has.”

  “Right. Text her and tell her I’ll be there as soon as I can. I need to freshen up so I don’t look like a corpse. And tell her not to let Rosalyn Harrison get too close to the casket in viewing room three. She’s the deceased’s most recent ex-wife and she likes her gin more than she did her husband. She’ll end up in the casket with him if no one is watching.”

  “Mom will like that. You know how bored she’s gotten since she retired.”

  “Your mom is never bored. She’s on a dozen committees and knows everything that happens in this town before you do. Give her a little credit.”

  “Don’t give her too much,” Jack said, laughter in his voice. “She’s probably hoping Rosalyn ends up in that casket. Otherwise she won’t have anything to talk about at her bridge game tomorrow.”

  “Sure she will. We’re getting married in two days. That should give her enough to talk about for the next couple of years. But just in case, I’ll hurry.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  It was after ten o’clock by the time I got everyone out of the funeral home. That included Jack and Cal after quite a bit of protest from both sides, but at least I was able to convince Jack to bring my Suburban from the house and leave it in the driveway so I’d have a way to get back home.

  We had plans to debrief the following morning, and I knew they would be getting as much sleep as I would. I need eight solid hours alone with my bodies to finish the autopsies. The evidence the bodies gave me was like a puzzle that only I could sort from my end. The evidence collected on Jack and Cal’s end was the same—the timelines and stories of people’s lives, never quite as honest as they’d like you to believe—coming together to paint the complete picture.

  According to Jack, Anthony Connelli had one brother, and he was the closest living relative to claim the remains once I’d f
inished the autopsies. I’d be shipping the Connellis to a crematorium in D.C. and Cassandra Owens to a funeral home her parents had selected. It took weight off my shoulders to not have to keep them there and deal with the services. The media frenzy by itself would be a mess. I’d had several local reporters try to sneak in as mourners during the viewings earlier so they could get the scoop on the Connellis. Mrs. Lawson had been especially happy to show them to the door.

  Years of working twenty-four hour shifts made nights like this one more bearable. My brain remembered the grueling pace automatically and went into that mode that shut off everything else—all bodily discomforts—and allowed me to focus on nothing but the job.

  There were no windows in the lab, so I missed the sunrise as I slid the last body back inside the freezer and made a few final notes. There would be time for me to notice the exhaustion later. Or maybe not. My phone alarm beeped, reminding me we had the rehearsal dinner that evening. Apparently that was something I had to be presentable for.

  It was just past six-thirty when I made the drive home and parked next to Jack’s cruiser. He had a black truck he kept in the garage and drove when he wasn’t on duty, which didn’t seem to be very often.

  The smell of something amazing greeted me as I came inside and I headed straight for the kitchen, thinking if I could get another pot of coffee in me I might make it through the whole rehearsal thing without falling asleep in my soup. Or whatever we were having. I was assuming that was one of the details Vaughn and Mrs. Lawson had seen to.

  I was surprised to find Cal in the kitchen with Jack when I came in. I grunted to both of them and took the cup of coffee Jack held out at me. They both still wore the same clothes as they had from the night before.

  “Anything interesting on your end?” Jack asked.

  “Just your good old garden variety murder victims. The little girl, Rose, had Crohn’s disease. Anthony had a pretty serious blockage in his heart that would’ve needed to be seen to pretty quick had he lived. Damian was a healthy seventeen year old kid. And Julia Connelli was your basic Russian Frankenstein’s monster. I’m not sure there was any part of her that was real. In this case, the autopsies didn’t tell us anything we didn’t already know.”

  “You releasing them to the families?” Cal asked.

  “They’ll be transported this afternoon. I’ve got a funeral at eleven o’clock and another at three, so I’m keeping my fingers crossed the timeline works out. I need to clone myself.”

  “Let’s not get carried away, sweetheart,” Jack said. “I can barely keep up with one of you. Now eat your bacon. The protein is good for you.”

  “You know, I’m a doctor. I know exactly what the bacon is doing to the inside of my body. But it is delicious and I’m going to eat it anyway. I also want one of those cinnamon rolls I smell in the oven.”

  “You’ve got a nose like a K-9.”

  Jack wasn’t just an average cook. He was an exceptional cook, and he seemed to enjoy it. And believe me, it didn’t detract from his alpha status one bit. Watching him in the kitchen was one of the sexiest things I’d ever seen. He pulled out two trays of cinnamon rolls and divided them up to place on a tray.

  “Jesus, I’m going to weigh three hundred pounds by the time I’m done with this case,” Cal said. “But it would be rude not to eat one.”

  I snickered and grabbed at a gooey bun. “You don’t have to worry about the whole cloning thing,” I told Jack. “My interns are going to pinch hit for me during the funerals today. I’ve got enough on my plate with getting the bodies transferred. And I don’t suppose you know anything about all this wedding shit that magically popped up on my calendar for today? I think Vaughn keeps adding things just to fuck with me.”

  “I wouldn’t put it past him. What kind of wedding stuff?”

  “Girl stuff. Manicure and pedicure. Some kind of hair treatment that I’m already dreading. I’m assuming you’re not being held to the same kind of torture?”

  “No. I just have to show up and get married. You should try that.”

  “Don’t tell Vaughn, but I’m pretty sure I’m going to have a technology glitch and delete those appointments from my calendar. You like my fingers and toes like they are, right?”

  “Is this one of those trick questions that can have no right answer?” Jack asked.

  “Only if you answer wrong.” I realized my plate was empty and took it to the sink. “What about you guys? What’s new on the law and order side of things?”

  “We started setting up the boards last night. Lewis will be back in a little bit. He left to shower and change clothes. You know how he is. And Martinez is upstairs catching some shut eye.”

  “He said he needed his beauty sleep for the wedding tomorrow,” Cal said. “Weddings are prime territory for picking up the ladies.”

  Jack rolled his eyes. “Not to mention the fact that Martinez turns into a real bitch when he doesn’t get regular sleep or meals. Good thing he’s not a cop in a bigger city.”

  I followed the guys into the front living area across from the kitchen. It had been turned into an office of sorts over the last few months. Gone was the comfortable furniture that had once been placed in front of the fireplace, and in its place was a long wooden table and walls of white boards with extra markers and magnets so we could rearrange things quickly if we needed to.

  They’d gotten a good start on setting things up. On the center white board were pictures of the Connelli family in a straight line across the top. Next to them was a picture of Cassandra Owens. Below their smiling images were pictures of each body from the fire scene. It was always important to never forget the victim. And to have those faces staring at us kept everyone motivated to find justice.

  On the white board to the left of the victims was a picture of Wayne Macerne. I wasn’t sure what he did at the firm he worked for in Manhattan, but just looking at his picture gave me chills. The look in his eyes didn’t inspire trust.

  On the white board on the right side was a different set of pictures. Lance and Helen Owens and John and Cherise Bruce. And next to them was a picture of Michael Bruce.

  “Who’s this?” I asked, pointing to the unfamiliar female next to Michael.

  “Kelsey Donaldson is her name. She’s Michael’s girlfriend. Lewis tracked her down yesterday afternoon. She waits tables at a restaurant near the capitol building, but she lives with an aunt in Fredericksburg. A rough neighborhood, according to Lewis. Rough enough that he didn’t stop at the aunt’s house, but waited to catch Kelsey at work. It would have caused problems if people in that neighborhood had seen them talking to the cops.”

  “I can’t see a Senator’s kid shacking up in a neighborhood like that, even for the sex.”

  “He’s not stupid,” Jack said, nodding. “He’s got a bottomless trust fund and access to the money, so he reserves a hotel room at the Marriott downtown. He stays there often enough that the staff recognized him, but he and Kelsey never enter or leave together.

  “Kelsey said Michael was already at the hotel waiting for her when she got there at seven. She said they ordered room service and didn’t leave until Michael got the call from his parents the next afternoon. Lewis said she seemed like a sweet kid. She’s a couple years older than Michael but has a head on her shoulders.”

  “Any luck tracking down Wayne Macerne?” I asked.

  “I called a friend with NYPD and he did some legwork for us. According to his employer, Macerne’s been at work every day this week, arriving about twenty till eight and leaving right at six o’clock in the evening. There’s no record of him leaving the state. No purchases on his credit cards or debit card for anything outside the state. He’s got a small house in Brooklyn. My buddy says his neighbors describe him as quiet and staying to himself. He never has company that they’ve noticed.”

  “That doesn’t mean he couldn’t have made the drive. It’s a five hour drive from Manhattan to here. That would put him at the Connelli’s house right at eleven o’
clock or a little after if he left work at six. Plenty of time for him to break in and administer the drug. And he’s an engineer. He’d have the skills to bypass their security system and rig the coffee pot to start the fire.”

  “Speaking of the coffee pot,” Cal said. “I was able to finish the reconstruction.”

  I’d completely missed the little table in the corner where pieces of the coffee pot were laid out. It looked like a mess to me, but to Cal it was something completely different.

  “The protective coating around the coils was removed. There’s a maximum temperature they’re allowed to reach in order to be sold to the public, but without those protective coatings the coils get hot enough to melt anything they touch. There was no evidence that coffee had been prepared, which meant he set it to run dry. The way the coffee maker was placed under the kitchen cabinets, as soon as it got hot enough to catch fire, those cabinets were perfect tinder.

  “The house was old and they’d used as much of the original craftsmanship as possible. The wood of the cabinets was old, and when you combine it with the lead paint that was still part of the wood, the whole thing would’ve spread very quickly. Under normal circumstances, it would’ve been a good way to commit the crime. If he’d set the timer of the coffee maker to where it went off in the middle of the night, there wouldn’t have been sufficient evidence for you to declare it a homicide. But he made a mistake administering the drug.”

  “Which begs the question, where’d he get the drug? And how are we going to prove he did it?” I said.

  “If we can find substantial evidence to tie him to the crime, we’ll get him. There was blood on the coil. It looks like when he stripped off the coating he pricked his finger. Fire doesn’t destroy DNA.”

  I looked at the enormity of this case and felt frustration well up inside me. Normally I was invigorated by the process of bringing victims justice. But I was tired. We’d just come off a big case less than two weeks before, and truth be told, I was still shaken up by it. I’d come way too close to losing Jack. And now we were staring down what seemed to be an impossible case, with more red tape and wrong turns than we could ever hope to weave through. All I wanted was to get married and take a small break. But looking at the victims’ faces in front of me, I wasn’t sure that was going to happen.