“It was off. She was killed earlier than you said, and then after lividity was set, she was dressed in those clothes and placed in the shed on the ATV.”
“That’s only speculation on your part.”
“It’s a conclusion based on the evidence.”
Liz spoke up. “Anything else that struck you?”
“Well, if there is, there’s no need for you to know,” said Decker bluntly. “Your husband provides us information based on the forensics of the body. We don’t keep him apprised of our investigation. Even if you trust the person doing the post.” Decker fell silent and stared Southern down.
Southern dropped the file on the table and gazed pointedly at Decker. “I really don’t like your attitude.”
“I’ve never felt the need to be liked by anybody.”
“We’re all on the same team.” This came from Liz Southern, who had advanced farther into the room and now stood, in solidarity it seemed, next to her husband.
“My confidence has been shaken in my ‘teammate.’ ” Decker moved closer to the couple and leaned down. “Maybe you can help me out on that.”
“If you’re accusing me of some sort of negligence—” began Southern in a loud voice.
“No, I’m not accusing you of negligence.”
“Well, that’s something.”
“Because negligence implies a mistake was unwittingly made.”
Liz Southern sucked in a breath while her husband glowered at Decker.
“What exactly are you saying, Decker?” asked Kelly.
“You want to tell us, Walt?” asked Decker. “I mean one big mistake, okay, that happens, if rarely. But two? Now that’s what I call a pattern.”
“I’m not going to stand around and listen to this garbage,” exclaimed Southern. “You can talk to my lawyer.” But then he took a provocative step toward Decker, his face flushed and his features angry.
Kelly quickly stepped between the two men.
“Now, just hold on. This is getting way out of hand.” He turned to Southern. “But, Walt, there are some weird things going on here. Now, I’m not directly accusing you—”
“Oh, shut the hell up,” roared Southern. He turned and stalked out of the room.
All eyes turned to his wife, who looked wobbly on her feet.
“Liz?” said Kelly. “What is going on here?”
“Walt is upset, naturally.” She flashed an angry look at Decker. “Who could blame him with all the foul things this big jerk is implying?”
“I’m implying nothing,” said Decker. “I’m saying that your husband intentionally misstated the postmortem results in order to interfere with our investigation.”
“That is a damnable lie.”
“Who made him do it?” persisted Decker.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. My husband would never do such a thing.”
They all jerked when they heard the shot, which was immediately followed by something hitting the floor.
They rushed out of the room, with Jamison in the lead.
Down the hall a door stood partially open. Jamison pushed it open all the way and hurried inside. Then she stopped as the others piled in behind her.
This was apparently Walt Southern’s office, with diplomas and certificates on the wall. A desk was set by one wall. The high-back chair behind it had been pushed back against the wall.
Jamison, Kelly, and Decker peered around the corner of the desk. On the floor was Walt Southern. The gun he’d used to shoot himself in the mouth was on the carpet next to him.
“Walt!” shrieked Liz as she saw the body.
When she tried to push past them, Kelly held her back. “You can’t Liz, this... this is a crime scene now, I’m sorry.”
She punched and slapped at him until Kelly pinned her arms to her sides. She slumped against him, sobbing.
Decker looked first at Kelly and then at the dead man.
Well, I didn’t see that one coming.
Chapter 43
The room at the police station contained three people but was quiet other than the sounds of comingled breathing.
Decker, Jamison, and Kelly sat there staring at the scuffed linoleum-tile floor.
It was early in the morning, the dawn not yet broken, and Walt Southern’s body was on a gurney in his funeral home. A stricken Liz Southern was at the home of friends. Another coroner from Williston was traveling to do the post, though everyone in the room knew the exact cause of the man’s death.
He had scrawled a note, which they’d found on his desk: “I’m sorry for everything. I hate myself. I—”
He obviously had chosen not to finish it.
“So why?” asked Kelly. “Was he really compromised?”
Decker said, “Clearly somebody made him fudge the post results to throw us off. First, with Cramer having ingested something, and then with Ames’s going out there to meet with Parker. It wasn’t for sex, it was for information. They blackmailed Walt to leave out the parts of the autopsy that would have led us to know that.”
“Do you think Walt really was blackmailed?” asked Kelly. “Maybe they just paid him off.”
“People doing this sort of thing for cash don’t usually blow their heads off when they’re discovered. They try to cut a deal by ratting on whoever paid them. And despite what I told Southern, we had no direct proof that he did anything intentionally wrong. I just called him on it, and he reacted the way he did. It was clearly because of a guilty conscience. Just look at the suicide note. ‘Sorry for everything’? ‘I hate myself’?” He added, “But I didn’t think he’d kill himself over it. I was clearly wrong about that.”
“So what did he have a guilty conscience about?” asked Jamison.
“For that, we’re going to have to talk to his wife,” answered Decker.
Later that evening Liz Southern looked pale and worn as she sat up in the bed of a guest room in a house belonging to a close friend of hers. She cradled a large cup of tea, and her bloodshot eyes spoke of the misery she was enduring. She looked at Decker with an unfriendly gaze as he sat down next to the bed. Kelly and Jamison stood immediately behind him.
“You couldn’t wait even one damn day?” she said harshly. “My husband killed himself!”
“If we could wait, we would. But we can’t. So anything you can tell us will be much appreciated.”
“I don’t know why Walt did what he did.”
Decker leaned forward in his chair. “Then let’s work through it together. Starting with what he wrote in the note.”
Southern closed her eyes and sighed.
“It’s important, Liz,” chimed in Kelly.
“I know that, Joe!” she snapped, her eyes now open and blazing at him.
Decker cleared his throat. “If Walt was forced to fudge the autopsy results for Cramer and Ames, we need to know how and by whom.”
“I have no idea why he would do that. I still don’t believe that he did intentionally mess up those reports. If it’s anyone’s fault he’s dead, it’s yours! You accused him of all those terrible things.”
Decker sat back, not looking convinced. “If the guy was innocent of what I accused him, no way he’s taking his own life. Before he walked out of the room he mentioned his lawyer. That’s not a guy looking to off himself over what I said.”
“Then why would he kill himself instead of calling his lawyer?” she shot back.
“I think he was just blustering, grasping at anything he could in the heat of the moment. I think as he walked to his office, reality set in. And that’s when he made his decision.”
“You really want me to provide dirt on my dead husband? Is that what you’re asking me to do?” she added shrilly.
“What I’m asking you to do is help us solve a series of murders. And whoever blackmailed your husband and drove him to kill himself deserves to be punished. We need your help to get to them.”