“Does that tell you anything?” “If the stab wound is straight in and out, and if it runs parallel to ger’s lines, you can often tell the blade’s width and thickness. e,” he pointed to a single gash. “See?
It’s wide, but the back of the e isn’t thick like a hunting knife’s would be.” He let Wingate roll “Of course, that’s pure speculation.
He’s going straight to Burlon now, where Dr.
Hillstrom can do a more detailed analysis.” “When do you think he died?”
He smiled. “Last night sometime.” I looked at him.
“Sorry, I wish I were joking. Actually, it’s about all I can tell you.
He wasn’t fresh when he was found. Lividity had set, which generally happens eight to twelve hours after death. Of course, that’s not a law.
Rigor mortis is still ongoing-his hips and legs and part of his torso are still flaccid. But that’s all sensitive to cold, which delays the process; at room temperature, it’s usually complete at twelve hours, so we re still in that ballpark.” He squatted down again and placed his hand on Wingate’s forehead. “The other indicator is that his cornea has just begun to cloud over, something that again usually happens in twelve to twenty-four hours following death if the lids were closed, which they were here.” He moved his thumb and lifted back the right eyelid to show me.
“Incidentally, it may not be of great importance, but he’s missing the hard contact lens from his left eye. See how the cornea’s just slightly cloudy?” I glanced over his shoulder, but without great interest. That kind of detail was more fascinating to him than to me right now, especially since it didn’t tell us much. “Anything else?” Hoard nodded, stood up and took his glasses off again to wipe then,. I wondered if some sweat had fallen onto them or if that was just his particular nervous habit.
“He was found clutching his testicles with one hand.” I remembered from this morning that one arm was pinned under his body. “You think he was kicked?” “It’s just speculation, but it would be an excellent way to render him defenseless, and it’s consistent with his wounds. Also, it increases the odds that anyone could have killed him, even an adolescent.” Spinney languidly cracked a knuckle. We were sitting on the steps of the Rocky River Inn, waiting for Crofter Smith to arrive with the warrant. We shared a view of the low, tired houses opposite and the ratty, brown grass field behind them. There were two withered trees out front, their limbs bare, skinny, and gray, already in despair before winter’s first snowfall. The watery sun still hadn’t made much of a dent on the cold.
“What did you make of the envelope in the trash?” “1,r “Interesting. Wish we could match the handwriting.” “Think it might be Julie’s?” He looked at me sharply. “Yeah, it’s possible.” “The M.E.
said a woman might have killed Wingate.” Spinney mulled that over for a moment. “Of course, the letter ‘t have to come from anyone they knew.
It could’ve been from one: one of her friends, Sarris, an informer of some kind. Who ws? In any case, Ellie’s not cooperating.
She won’t show us anyg with handwriting on it, and we don’t have enough for a warrant. we’re stuck.” “They haven’t tested it for prints yet, have they?” “No, they’ll do that back in Waterbury-better control. Why?”
“I was wondering if you could ask them to save a bit near the glue p.
If whoever sealed it used their tongue, there might still be some va on the paper that isn’t polluted by the glue-you know, some rlap. Maybe they could get a blood type.” Spinney pushed out his lower lip and nodded. “Excellent. You ‘t mind if I tell them it was my idea?” “Go for it. They dig up anything else?” “Nothing obvious. They gotta cook up their chemical stews and what comes up, but I doubt they’ll find much, except for the elope. You know the Wingates are-or were-up to their asses in I mean, we’re not talking innocent mugging here.” He laughed and ok his head. “You know, standing there in their bedroom, watching lab crew at work, I was half-tempted to interview the walls, just to what I’d get.” I glanced over at him. My liking for Spinney grew the more I got now him. Somehow, over years of service in what could be a pretty eling business, he’d managed to keep a poetic flicker alive in the k of his brain, something that allowed him to stay out of the ruts, eep his mind open to any suggestion. I gave the State Police high ks for putting him on a special platform from which he could work Iy; most other outfits would have labeled him a flake and buried him he typing pool.
We were still sitting there in comfortable silence when I saw ter, presumably coming from the garage. I rose to greet him and oduced him to Spinney.
Buster looked worried. “Rumor has it Rennie’s tied into this ehow.”
Spinney nodded, mostly to himself. “Ah, the reliable beat of the gle drums.” “Maybe,” I answered. “We did find something.” %132 “Wha’t?” I looked at Spinney but he merely shrugged. Smith would have had a fit-cops are not supposed to volunteer their findings. “Did Rennie mention losing a lighter within the last ten months or so?” “Is that what you found?” I nodded.
Buster shook his head. “Not that I remember. You talk to Nadine yet?”
“No; we’re about to we’re waiting for a warrant now.” “Nadine’s a friend. Would you mind if I came along? She might like some comfort with you people tearing the place apart.” I ignored the bitter tone in his voice and cast an inquiring look at Spinney.
“She’s in a wheelchair; might be nice if he could hold her hand.”
Spinney nodded down the road. “We can ask the boss himself.” Smith was approaching in his car. As he drew abreast of us, he rolled down his window and waved the warrant at us like a flag.
“Think he’s surrendering?” Spinney asked hopefully, as he rose to climb down the steps.
I forwarded Buster’s request to Smith. Smith looked at Buster with those expressionless brown eyes. “Just have him stay out of the way.” I was surprised. I’d fully expected Smith to reject the idea out of hand.
I was having a hard time pinning the man down, and beginning to think that Spinney’s constant putdowns were throwing me off. I didn’t like Smith much, any more than I had Wirt. But Wirt was a malcontent, while I suspected Smith, despite his instinctive prejudice against me, had a pretty good analytical mind. In fact, I wondered if his dislike of me wasn’t restricted to the office I held, and that it was utterly impersonal.
We drove in separate cars out to Rennie’s place, north of town, past the cutoff leading to Dulac’s ravine. It was a nondescript, twostory house, patched together like Buster’s, but lacking the neatness. Everything about it looked worn, in need of repair or paint.
The rusted metal roof had countless black daubs of tar across its surface, the marks of a losing battle against leaks; part of the foundation had rotted away, making the house list slightly, as if it were about to slip back into the earth that had supported it too many years. Aiding this desolate, familiar picture was a yard littered with a wide variety of rusting metal hulks truck frames, gaping auto bodies, the remains of a tractor, what looked like a harrow-intermingled with old tires, washing machines, bales of rotted wire, and piles of mysterious debris. The only area clear of clutter was a long ramp that ran straight out from the front door to %133 ere a vehicle could be parked. There was, however, no vehicle beside rs and three state cruisers. The four of us assembled with four troopers at the foot of the p. “Anyone seen Wilson?” Smith asked.
One of the troopers nodded. “I saw him getting out of his pickup Lyndonville and heading for a bar about a half hour ago.” “He never came by here,” another added. “Okay. Let’s go.” Spinney, standing next to me, muttered, “Charge!” as we all foled Smith up the ramp to the front door like ducklings behind their there.