The Crafty Teddy (10 page)

“That’s something we’ll have to follow up on once the ME finishes with the body.”

“Were there any incoming calls?”

I pressed an adjoining button with the pen and the small screen revealed the caller ID information. “This morning at ten-oh-three from…Franklin Merrit. Someone must have called from his home.”

“Any others?”

“That’s the only one for today.” From outside, I heard footfalls on the wooden steps and the muted sound of Tina’s voice. “And this is something that’s going to have to wait for now, because we’re going to be needed back at the body.”

“Oh, goody.” Ash gave me a brave smile.

“Hey, you’re doing great. I’m very proud of you.” I reached over to squeeze her hand. “But if you’d be more comfortable, you can stay in the other room and I’ll tell you when to make notes.”

“No, I insisted on coming, so I’m going to tough this out.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”

Tina came back into the museum, carrying a plastic fishing tackle box that contained the evidence collection equipment. Behind her was a woman with a briefcase whom I assumed was the commonwealth’s regional medical examiner. Through the open door, I could see that Tina had roped off the porch with yellow crime scene tape.

Tina did the introductions. The ME’s name was Dolly Grice and she had the sort of pretty face that was as much a reflection of a sweet disposition as it was of physical beauty. As we gave her the basic facts about the discovery of the body, she finished a granola-covered nutrition bar.

“Sorry for inhaling this thing, but I’ve been on the dead run—literally—since early this morning,” Grice explained. “It’s a beautiful June day, so everyone is out dying. Once I finish here, I’ve got a suicide up in Augusta County. A woman threw herself in front of a freight train near Waynesboro.”

Ash winced at the image. I said, “She must have had a one-track mind.”

“Or was in
training
,” Grice added with a small chuckle. Macabre humor is one of the ways that cops and medical examiners deal with the horrors of the job.

“Or had a real loco motive.”

“You’re a sick puppy, Brad. I like you. Let’s see your corpse.”

We went into the dining room. Grice pulled a small digital camera from her briefcase and took four photos of the body from different angles. Replacing the camera, she said, “I need this cupboard off him so I can take a better look.”

“We’re going to need gloves,” I said.

“Right here.” Tina produced several pairs of latex gloves from the evidence kit and passed them out.

Once we’d pulled the gloves on, Tina took one side of the top of the cupboard and Ash and I grabbed the other. The thing was as heavy as a refrigerator. Grunting with effort, we lifted and I cringed as antique dishes and serving pieces tumbled from the interior, bounced off Merrit’s body, and shattered on the floor. We set the cupboard back on its feet and shoved it up against the wall.

Remember the final scenes of
Who Framed Roger Rabbit?
when Christopher Lloyd, as Judge Doom, got flattened by the steamroller? That’s pretty much what Merrit looked like, plus a lot of blood. And if the museum director popped back to his feet like Judge Doom did in the movie, I’d be the first one out of the museum, despite my gamy leg. He was somewhat shorter than I’d remembered—maybe five-foot-seven with a medium build. Although his face was battered, Merrit wore that stupefied and sleepy expression so often seen on the faces of those overtaken by sudden death, and by regular viewers of the E! Network.

Grice dropped into a crouch near the body, took another couple of photographs, and then began her preliminary examination. She checked the front pockets of Merrit’s Dockers and pulled out a set of Toyota car keys, which she handed to me. Then, shifting the body slightly, she removed the dead man’s brown leather wallet, which I also took. Looking inside the billfold, I found Merrit’s Virginia driver’s license, a miscellaneous assortment of credit cards, and $42 in paper currency. It didn’t look as if anything had been taken.

Grice continued her search. She pulled a white business card from the breast pocket of Merrit’s pale blue shirt, scrutinized it for a moment, and said, “Here’s something odd.”

I took it from her and my heart sank. It was a slightly larger than normal business card, made from top quality paper stock, and bore the name “Mitsuru Ota” in English text beneath what was obviously the larger version of his name in Japanese lettering. There was a telephone number at the bottom of the card, but I could tell from the unfamiliar numeric sequence that it was probably to a phone in Japan.

“What is it?” asked Tina.

“Proof that I really screwed up.” I handed the card to Tina. “This confirms the Yakuza were here.”

“Ota?”

“More than likely it’s the boss’s name. As far as I understand Yakuza etiquette, he’d be the only one handing out a calling card. You’re going to want to contact either the FBI or customs and have them run it.”

Ash leaned over to look at the card. “But if they were going to kill him, why would they give him a business card first? That seems kind of stupid.”

“You’re right, honey, unless they had some sort of business with Merrit that unexpectedly got violent. Otherwise, the boss would never have given him the card.”

“And once he was dead, they didn’t stop to get the card back. They just made tracks,” said Tina.

“Which brings us back to question number one: Why the hell did they come here in the first place?”

As we talked, Grice continued to examine Merrit’s injuries. Finally, she said, “Well, he’s in no shape for a Christmas card picture, but the major visible injuries appear to have been caused postmortem.”

I bent over to look. “I see what you mean. There’s almost no bleeding from the facial trauma. So where’d all the blood come from?”

“Can you hold his head up a little, please?”

It was going to be hell getting back up off the floor from my knees, but one look at Ash and Tina told me that the last thing they wanted to do was pick up a dead man’s noggin. Once I was on the floor, I carefully lifted Merrit’s head and Grice began to run her fingers along the back of the skull.

“J-E-L-L-O,” Grice sang the old jingle from the dessert commercial. “Okay, the cause of death is blunt force trauma causing a depressed skull fracture. He was whacked in the back of his head with something generally circular in shape.”

“Could it have been caused by his head being slammed against the floor by the cupboard?” I asked.

“No, it’s high on the skull—wrong angle and a definite downward impact.” She leaned back and began to remove her gloves.

I carefully lowered the head to the floor. “How big an indentation are we talking about?”

“About the size of, say…a beer bottle. And it was quite a powerful blow. It killed him instantly.”

“So, he was murdered and then the cupboard was dumped on him to disguise the crime.”

Grice stood up. “That’s how it looks to me.”

“Is there anything you can tell us about the suspect?”

“Just two things, right now: The killer was taller than the victim and he
really
wanted Mr. Merrit dead.”

Eight

As we went back into the adjoining room, I mentally replayed my brief encounter with the Yakuza. To the best of my recollection, Ota and the posturing thug who’d come into the restaurant had been about the same height as Merrit. However, the bodyguard who’d remained outside with the Hummer had definitely appeared taller than the other two gangsters.

I bumped my fist against my forehead. “My brain just isn’t working today.”

“What’s wrong?” Ash asked.

“There was one Yakuza who was taller than Merrit. He stayed outside, smoking a cigarette, while Ota and the other guy came inside.”

“And that’s important because?” said Tina.

“When I first came up the walk, I noticed what looked like a fresh cigarette butt in the flower bed out in front. We’ll want to collect it as evidence.”

“Isn’t that kind of a long shot?”

“Yeah, but right now we’re clutching at straws and if he did toss that butt we might be able to make him on DNA. That would at least put him as far as the front porch.”

“I don’t understand why that’s important,” said Ash.

“We’ve got three possible suspects, but we don’t know who or how many actually entered the museum.”

Tina nodded. “And with no other witnesses, they could claim that they met Merrit in the parking lot and gave him the card there.”

“Yeah. The cigarette butt might show that at least one of the Yakuza got out of the car.”

Grice put her camera into the briefcase. “Sorry, but I’ve got to run. The transportation crew will be here in a little while and the autopsy will probably be Monday. I’ll have someone call to confirm the time.”

I said, “Doctor, can you answer a couple of quick questions before you go?”

“As long as they really
are
quick.”

“It takes a lot of force and something damn solid to smash in a whole section of skull. Any ideas as to what the suspect might have used besides a beer bottle?” I said. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Ash was leaning forward to look at something on the hand-hewn wooden table just to our right.

Grice looked thoughtful. “Assuming it was a weapon of opportunity, I’d say it might have been—”

“A large hammer!” said Ash. “Come and look at this!”

We all gathered around the table, which was being used to display a large collection of nineteenth-century tools. There were old saws, a couple of wood planers, a rust-pitted pry bar, augurs, and about a half-dozen antique hammers all lined up in neat rows. Ash pointed at an oversized hammer with an age-stained wooden handle and a blunt steel head that reminded me of a miniature sledge.

“What do you notice about that?” Ash asked.

I’m a typical guy with the standard myopic male view of just what constitutes tidiness, so it took a couple of seconds for me to figure out what she was talking about. Then I saw, and said, “Every other tool is covered with dust, except the hammer. In fact, it’s been wiped completely clean.”

“Could it be the murder weapon?” Ash’s eyes were bright with excitement.

“Let’s have Dr. Grice take a look.”

Grice bent low and cocked her head to peer at the hammer. “The striking surface is the right shape and about the same size as the injury. Unofficially, that’s probably what killed him, but I can’t say for certain until I do some precise measurements at the postmortem.”

“When will you know for sure?” Tina asked.

“I’m assuming you’ll send it to the state crime lab for processing?”

I said, “Yeah. Even though it’s been wiped down, there’s still a good chance they can recover some physiological trace evidence.”

“The crime lab is just down the hall from our facility. Once they’re done with it, I’ll take a look and call you with my results.” Grice snapped her briefcase shut and headed for the front door. “And now I’ve really got to go. See you Monday.”

Once the ME was gone, Tina said, “Even with the hammer, we don’t have probable cause to make an arrest.”

“No, but I think we’ve got enough suspicious circumstances to at least start tracking the Hummer.”

“And how are we going to do that?”

“It’s a premium GM product and a rental, so you can bet it’s equipped with the OnStar tracking system. The problem is that Olympus is probably going to want a search warrant before telling us anything.”

“Do we have enough to get one?”

“Yeah, but it’ll save us several hours of writing an affidavit if they cooperate.”

“I’ll give them a call.” Tina’s portable radio squawked and she answered it. The call was from one of the deputies, advising he’d just arrived at the museum. Slipping the radio back into the holder on her gun belt, she said, “Allsop’s here. What should we have him do first?”

“He’s CSI-trained, right?” I asked.

“Just back from the school.”

“Then have him begin photographing and processing the exterior of the building. Do you need me to come out and show you where the cigarette butt is?”

“No, I’m certain we can find it.”

“Good, and tell him to come and get me if he has any questions. Meanwhile, I’m going to finish up with my evidence collection in here before they come for the body. Do we have an ETA on the broom and dustpan?”

“Allsop has them. I’ll bring them in. I’m hoping to witness something I’ve never ever seen.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

Tina gave me a wicked grin before leaving the room. “A man actually sweeping the floor.”

I retrieved the camera and finished photographing the body. Then I inserted a new roll of film and shot a series of pictures of the tool collection and the hammer. As I worked, Ash quietly wandered the museum, pausing at the different displays, and eventually returned to the antique teddy bears.

She said, “Call me crazy, but I think these teddy bears are somehow involved.”

“Sweetheart, there’s no evidence that you’re insane, other than your decision to marry me.” I took a final picture of the hammer and lowered the camera. “In fact, this investigation would be dead in the water here if it weren’t for you. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Ash took a deep breath. “Well, I’ve checked out all the exhibits in this room and, if we’re using dust as an indicator, the only things that were disturbed were the bears and the hammer. Nothing else seems to have been touched.”

“The teddy bears are worth a hefty chunk of change, but it’s pretty
fur
-fetched to think that three Yakuza would come halfway around the world to steal stuffed animals. Hell, their airline tickets would have cost more than the bears are worth.”

“But they didn’t steal them, even if they killed Mr. Merrit. I couldn’t understand how they might be connected, until I started thinking about that supposed antique quilt.”

Suddenly, I understood what she was suggesting. “Do you think these teddy bears are bogus?”

“It’s worth looking into. Teddy bear collecting is extremely popular in Japan. There’s even a very nice teddy museum near Tokyo.”