Daddy's Little Killer (13 page)

George slid the badge and gun across his
desk.  "Then welcome to Darkwater Bay, detective."

"I do have one other stipulation," I
said.  "And this is a deal breaker."

Wary, Weber asked, "And what would that
be?"

"I report directly to you, sir.  I
don't want whatever is wrong in this city creeping into what needs
to happen next."

"But …" Hardy scratched his head.  "I
thought you said you aren't like a normal detective."

"I'm not, but whether you realize this or
not, you've got four uniformed officers very capable of closing
this Foster case.  I'd like to keep Haverston and the three
other men he had helping him at the crime scene directly involved
in this investigation."

"Then you don't want us to push for Downey
Division to take the lead on this case?"  Weber looked a
little confused too.  I had a secondary gain – keeping them
off kilter for a little while longer.

"I think that Chief Lowe will be far more
amenable to this staying in central's jurisdiction," I reminded
them, "and if you ever have the opportunity to remove some of the
detective dead weight, I can't think of a better job interview than
closing a murder case for the potential replacements."

"What about OSI?"  Hardy asked. 
"It's a resource you could have at your disposal, Helen."

And prying eyes looking over my shoulder
while I did other things.  "If the citizens of this city are
going to have their faith restored in the police, it has to happen
through this department.  If it becomes necessary to use OSI,
we'll tap the resource.  Until then, I'd rather keep this
investigation on our terms, gentlemen."

The magic words were invoked.  Hardy
and Weber almost wanted their dirty laundry hidden in the back of
the closet more than they wanted justice for whoever killed Gwen
Foster.  What I wanted dwarfed their petty concerns.  I
couldn't wait to start digging into Darkwater Bay's seedy past.

Chapter 11

I perched on the counter in Maya's autopsy
room, heels clunking against the stainless steel cabinets like a
clock in need of repair.  She was running her fingers over my
shiny new badge.  She whistled soft and low between her
teeth.

"How serious are they, Helen?"

"About me being a bona fide police
detective?"  I shrugged.  "I suppose it's directly
proportionate to my ability to figure out who killed Ms.
Foster."

"Good luck with that one."

"No good news, huh?"  I grinned. 
"And here all these years I thought you were the sharpest scalpel
on the autopsy tray."

"Cute," she grinned at me.  "I have
some pictures if you'd like to see what I found when we did the
complete exam."

"Give me the Cliffs Notes version."

"Gwen Foster was an out of shape but
normal-weight, thirty-four year old white female who did not
smoke.  She did drink, a little on the heavy side if her
gastric contents were any indicator of normal consumption."

"What did you find?"

"Lots of merlot.  Her liver function
tests were skewed toward signs of chronic and habitual
consumption."

"Guess that isn't a great segue to ask if
you'd like to have dinner with me, huh?"

"Don't interrupt," Maya grinned. 
"Where was I?  Liver.  Yeah, she had close to a liter in
her stomach which is what, roughly a bottle?"

"Seven-fifty milliliters is the average
bottle."  I wondered about my liver and put the thought
aside. 

"There was no food in her stomach, only
wine.  Her BAL, had she been driving, would've put her over
the legal limit. 

"As for sexual assault, there is no question
that it happened close to the time of death.  We've got plenty
of DNA without her fingernails providing additional samples. 
I found black pubic hairs on the combing, and the swabs were full
of –"

"I get the picture."

"As to the cause of death," she dropped a
file on the counter beside me, "I'd really like your impression of
some of the photos Billy took before the autopsy."

While I perused, she continued.

"We got her medical records which basically
confirmed that she was a thirty-something woman in exceptional
health.  There was only one point of discord between that
record and her body."

"Are these bruises?"  I pointed at the
strange discoloration along Foster's cervical spine.

"They would've been spectacular if she
hadn't died shortly after the injury was inflicted."

"What would cause bruising like that? 
She's not that bony and petite," I said.  "She was lying
supine on plush carpeting.  Is this normal livor mortis?"

"Nope.  If it were normal, you'd see
the pressure points all over her bony prominences, and as you so
astutely observed, she's not that bony and petite."

"You have a theory."

Maya grinned again.  "Did you
completely gloss over the major incongruity between her medical
record and what I learned during the autopsy?"

"Little bit.  What was it?"

"Gwen Foster was a mother."

I looked up.  "Are we looking at a
child abduction, Maya?"

"I highly doubt it."  She flipped
through the file for another picture, one that outlined the trauma
inflicted during the sexual assault.  Maya pointed to a fine,
barely visible hairline discoloration.  "See that?"

"What is it?  Hair on the camera
lens?"

"It's a scar."

"She had an episiotomy."

"Right," Maya nodded.  "Which in itself
isn't so terribly unusual.  However, since the late 80s, the
standard of care recommends a mediolateral incision.  Ms.
Foster's was clearly midline."

"And this matters because?"

"She would've been extremely young to have a
child when midlines were routinely performed.  In fact, during
the time of her sexual maturation, it would've been more likely for
no episiotomy to be performed at all."

I cringed.  "You mean …"

"Yep.  They let them tear if they don't
stretch."

"Yet another good reason to resist that
particular siren's call.  Again, why is this significant?"

"For one, her medical record indicates that
Gwen Foster never had a child."

"All right.  That's significant. 
But it wouldn't be the first time a woman lied to her doctor. 
Say she was very young and put the baby up for adoption."

"True enough, but I kept coming back to the
type of episiotomy she had, and the reality that in order for her
to have one in this country, she would've had to give birth at age
four, roughly."

I chuckled.  "I think we can rule that
one out."

"So I did a little research."

"This is what I love about you.  You're
like Quincy with ovaries."

"You're not old enough to remember Quincy,"
Maya winked.  "But I take that as a great compliment.  I
think he was the first character in entertainment to show what
forensic pathologists can learn from the dead."

"Keep going, oh great researcher.  What
did you learn?"

"Say she had a baby as a teenager.  It
would still fall outside the standard of care for what she
received."

"Unless she went to a simple country doctor
who doesn't follow the standards for OBGYN practice."

"True," Maya said, "but I'm confident that
even if that were the case, she'd have received the mediolateral
incision instead of the midline."

"Which leads you to conclude …?"

"Midline incisions are routinely performed
in Central America."

"How does that help me figure out who killed
her?"

"Because," Maya said, "as you beat into my
skull every time one of your cases landed on my autopsy table, even
the most minuscule and seemingly unimportant detail about your
victims could mean the difference between writing an accurate
profile and not.  Gwen Foster had a secret baby that is
categorically denied by her official medical record.  Who
knows what kind of other secrets she had?"

"Good point.  Let's get back to these
marks.  Any idea what made them?"

"I have a theory," Maya nodded.  "I
can't prove it without her hyoid bone."

"Strangulation?"

"With a poorly fashioned and utilized
garrote.  Wanna know why I think that?"

"I'm waiting with baited breath."

"I think her killer was female."

I dropped the file. 

"Got your attention now, don't I?"

"Yes, you do."

"Think about the nature of a garrote."

"Rope, twisting action effects strangulation
by depriving the brain of oxygenated blood."

"Have you ever seen a garrote fashioned like
this?"  She procured another photograph.  It showed a
length of rope attached to a wooden handle on one end with a loop
at the other end of the rope.  "Slip it around the neck, use
the bar to twist the rope."

"And you think this was the cause of the
bruises?"

"Stop scowling at me."

"Why not use it to twist the way it was
designed, instead of what, prying the bar against her back for
leverage?"  I felt the theory wash over me in a very logical
wave.  "Someone smaller and weaker would've needed the
leverage.  That's actually a very good theory, Maya."

"What doesn't fit is the sexual
assault."

"It could.  Not all men are
giants."

Maya laughed. 
"You've been here what, half a day?  The men in Darkwater
Bay
are
giants.  I've heard all kinds of wild theories about
why, but since I got here, I haven't seen one of them less than six
two, except for Tony Briscoe who claims he's taller than he looks
on account of his round belly."  She sobered in a blink. 
"I think, unless the rest of her remains are recovered, that this
is the closest we'll get to determining cause of death.  As
for time of death, I'm confident.  After five, before
eight."

"That gives our guest last night an iron
clad alibi.  At least we know he wasn't the one who physically
killed her."

"Orion's a brute," Maya said.  "He'd
have had to strangle her on his knees while she was standing. 
Plus, Billy collected his cigarette butts from the street where he
smoked.  We'll have his DNA to definitively rule him out in a
few days."

"You're sure they were his?"

"Positive," Maya said.  "He was smoking
when Forsythe arrived at the scene.  We figured that with the
hullaballoo from Daltry and Rogers after you let him go, we'd be
wise to collect the sample so there isn't a wrongful arrest in this
thing."

"That only rules him out as the
rapist.  What about her dismemberment?"

"It happened shortly after she died. 
Within half an hour at most."

"So your estimated time of death alibis him
on that too."

"What're you thinking?"  Maya struggled
to hoist herself up on the counter beside me, her shoes thumping
off-beat to mine.

"Someone who knew an awful lot of details in
the Bennett case dismembered Gwen Foster.  I was over at
central, evidenced by the badge, and after I met with the
mucky-mucks, Rodney took me to his office and let me review the
case file from the Bennett murder."

"Which made you think of Orion."

"There were a lot of cops who knew the
details of that case."

"Helen, from what Billy told me, there
wasn't a whole lot of information that didn't become common
knowledge.  Welcome to Darkwater Bay.  And speaking of
which, I think it's time you tell me what brought you out
here."

"Divorce, murder, the usual stuff."

"You mentioned that you and Rick
divorced."

"Two years ago," I said.  I let my gaze
wander to a distant point of nothing.  "I buried him this
week."

"Helen!"

"He was murdered, under investigation by the
FBI prior to that, for laundering money."

"I'm so sorry."

"The emotional umbilical was cut a long time
ago."  Honestly, it had never really existed.  Rick was a
bit player in the drama that was my life.  He didn't know it,
but my reason for accepting his proposal was about as genuine as
his for proffering it.  "Still, it wasn't easy to see his life
end violently."  No, it had been beautiful, necessary,
just.

"I guess I shouldn't ask if you're ready to
go cruising the bars with me for men."

"Probably a bit premature."  Yet
visions of Orion and how far things might've gone while we were
pretending to be Todd and Diana flitted through my mind. 
Wings flapped in my belly.  It had been too long since I
succumbed to any such urges.  Orion ignited them.  The
fact that he lied to me should've doused any desire.  Oddly, I
could still feel him imprinted on me from the close contact in my
bathtub this morning.

"You'll call me on the DNA right away?"

"Of course," Maya said.  "But I really
don't expect a match.  What do you make of the theory that
this could've been done by a woman?"

"It wouldn't be the first time a rape and
murder were committed by a male-female team working together. 
However, I would imagine that even detectives as daft as those in
Darkwater Bay would have a hard time missing the kind of behavior
we'd see from a duo."

"Meaning what?"

"A secret is never safe when more than one
person shares it," I said.  "When two people are involved in a
violent crime like this one, it's only a matter of time before
they're caught."

"Even if one of them is a cop?"

"I didn't mean to imply that a police
officer was the killer, Maya.  For all I know, it could be a
cop that shared too much information with someone who decided to
give it a try."

"But the dismemberment is as good as a
fingerprint, Helen.  I pulled the old autopsy file.  My
predecessor, while not thorough, and omitting a great deal of
pertinent information, did at least note some important details
about the severed limbs."