No problem. He looked at them, and the shots of the bottom of the tub. Silence again.
Hester and I exchanged glances. We waited a few more seconds, but Dr. Peters said nothing. Then, just as I was about to ask, he spoke.
“I'm not sure, and I want you to take what I say with a precautionary grain of salt,” he said. “But I want to be on the safe side on this.” He let his eye roam about the room, and he noticed the “Absinthe Makes the Heart Grow Fonder” embroidery on the wall. A smile flickered over his face.
He got quiet on us again. Then, after what seemed an interminable time, he said, “We want the area gone over very thoroughly.” He looked back toward the bathroom. “Very thoroughly. I don't think we have a suicide here. The postmortem will tell me what I really need, but I don't think she died from a self-inflicted wound.”
Ah. It was out.
“And,” he went on, “judging from the photos of the wound, I don't believe you have the right knife there.”
“It was stuck to her leg,” I said, speaking just a half second before the real meaning dawned on me.
“I have no doubt of that,” said Dr. Peters, smiling, “but I don't think it was the one used on her neck. From the protruding muscle, I would expect it to be shaped more like a gutting knife, with a hooked point. The muscle in her neck was pulled from the wound, I should think, not forced out from the inside.”
“Okay,” I said.
“And, I should expect to find some arterial damage,” he said. “The external carotid, or a branch. Largish artery, at any rate.”
I should know by now never to question Dr. Peters, even obliquely. Not that he has ever shown the slightest resentment. On the contrary, he's more often amused than anything else, and always very comfortable with explaining things.
“Ah,” I said, sagely, “I wonder, I mean, ah, there's no indication of any arterial spurts in there. Anywhere in there.” I even pointed toward the bathroom. Well, like they say, every village needs an idiot.
He grinned. “I noticed that, too. Like I say, let me post her, but at this point I really doubt she died in the bathroom,” said Dr. Peters. “I'd like to get a good blood-spatter expert lined up.” He addressed Hester. “Who are you people using these days? Still Barnes?”
“Last time I checked,” she said.
“Good,” he said. “We have a classic hair-swipe pattern on the left tub wall… really shouldn't be there, since her head should never have been down there… unless she was thrashing around a lot, and then we should have more than one… ”
It had officially become a homicide investigation.
I drew the autopsy assignment, because I was “just so damned good with a camera,” according to Hester, who was at least as good with a camera, but who didn't want to go. She got the interviews with Kevin and Huck, and the reinterviews with Hanna and Melissa and Toby. I'm not sure I got such a bad deal.
NINE
Saturday, October 7, 2000
19:35
Supper right after an autopsy can be an interesting experience. Not for Dr. Peters, because it was what he did every day, but I was avoiding beef and pork at the buffet. And pasta.
The lab team had arrived, and was processing the scene. Lamar was sending up two reserve officers, relief for Borman and me, although I'd be going back after we ate. Borman was staying at the residence until the other deputies arrived. I hoped he didn't start a war.
Hester, Dr. Peters, and I had decided to dine at Warren's, a halfway decent place that wasn't too expensive. It was also fairly quiet, and we could talk a bit without being overheard by anybody but the waitress.
Hester told us that the interviews hadn't produced much of anything. The suggestion that the death might not have been suicide produced strong denials but nothing more. She also observed that Kevin and Huck were the strong personalities, with Melissa a close second.
“The difference,” said Hester, “is that Melissa has no followers, while Kevin and Huck do.”
She also thought that Toby was a real easy pick. “That kid,” she said, “will do almost anything to get your attention. Talks much more than anybody else up there.”
I could only agree.
Hester also said that she'd also been told that Edie had apparently been the “housemother” of the establishment, and seemed to pretty well have been the most stable and solid. “She was the one who talked most with this Jessica Hunley, the owner. Seems to have known her the longest, anyway.” She shrugged. “I think she was also sort of counselor-in-residence, so to speak. That's the impression I got. Mostly from Toby, Melissa, and Hanna, though. Not the other two.”
The autopsy had been very interesting. First of all, Dr. Peters had established conclusively that the wound in Edie's neck had, indeed, damaged the external carotid artery. Not to mention the jugular vein, numerous muscles, and sliced into the posterior wall of the trachea, and left a cut in the fourth cervical vertebra to boot. The fascinating part was that there were multiple cuts inside the neck wound. I'd asked. It meant that the knife had “probably been thrust into the neck, Carl, and then worked back and forth as well as part way in and out, until it was pulled out, carrying some muscle with it.”
We'd just shared that with Hester.
“Ah. Then…?”
“Then,” said Dr. Peters, “I would expect that a self-inflicted wound of that type would have the sawing motion we all know, but there wasn't conspicuous evidence of the sawing motion; more like short, strong thrusts without actually pulling the blade all the way out. Inside, like that, would require too much strength, because the angle is wrong for a self-inflicted wound. I'd bet strongly on a second party wielding the knife.”
“But could it possibly be a suicide?”
“Probably wouldn't have pulled it out after all that,” said Dr. Peters. “The self-inflicted neck wounds I've seen, if there is deep penetration, tend to expire without pulling the knife out.” He took a bite of his roast beef.
“The pain would be excruciating, I should think. Even in a highly agitated mental state.”
“Not conclusive,” I said, “but narrows the parameters?”
“Exactly. The conclusive part, Carl, is the absolute lack of arterial spurts in the bathroom area. The carotid cut itself would have produced splashes on a wall several feet from the wound. Several pulses, and with obvious trajectories.”
“Yeah.”
“And, I'm bothered by the nick in the trachea. There should have been aspirated blood. There wasn't. I would say,” said Dr. Peters, “at least some of the physical evidence suggests her throat had been cut elsewhere, and she was transported from that location to where she was discovered in her tub.”
Well, well.
I took a drink of coffee while he continued to explain the autopsy to Hester.
“When we washed the blood off the exterior,” he said, “there was some considerable early bruising around her hips and shoulders, as well as her upper arms and thighs and calves.”
“Blows?” asked Hester.
“No, I think not. When we cut into them, some were deep, some were more surface bruises, but there was no obvious tissue damage. I'd expect to find she was, indeed, on a course of Coumadin, and we have the commensurate easy bruising involved. But, of course, with a large blood loss, they may not have presented as well as you'd expect.” He thought for a second. “The ones we're interested in, as far as being inflicted near the time of death, though, were broad, with considerable pressure, but no well-defined edges. I'd say some sort of restraint… handgrip marks. But, it occurs to me that, perhaps, something nontraditional was used, too. Something that wouldn't leave striations like cloth or rope. Look for something in that line. Or, maybe not, and it's just that she was in contact with a very uneven and unyielding surface. If so, it was while she was bleeding to death, so there should be significant blood wherever it was.” He took a sip of water. “But there was no bruising on the right breast, or on the rib cage adjacent. That pressure was post mortem.”