The_Amazing_Mr._Howard (17 page)

As I recall, Mr. Howard wrote a book about vampires. I wonder what he has to say about them.

His attention returned to the computer. He quickly found a listing for Mr. Howard’s books. “Let’s see here,
Sub-Saharan Africa Mythology
, and
Mythology of the European Lowlands
.” He yawned. “Sounds interesting, I should order a copy of both to help with my insomnia.” He scrolled down the page.
All right, here are your novels.

He read the descriptions and rolled his eyes.
A story about a witch who lusts after a boy and something about the Devil finding Eve in Oklahoma… Yeah right, no wonder no one wanted to buy them. But where’s the other book?
He leaned toward the screen. “There it is,
The True Story of Vampires
.” The book blurb said
The True Story of Vampires
offered a comprehensive view into the world of vampires that went beyond the common myths created by novelists and screenwriters. A real glimpse into the strange and captivating world of the undead.

And they pay you to write this shit?

A quick search told him a copy was available at the library. He put a hold on the book and planned to pick it up on his way to the autopsy the next morning.

A dull ache traveled through his brain in waves as he relived the day’s events. He never believed psychics were real before, but even he couldn’t deny Alicia Whitmore had a gift. She led them straight to Stephanie’s body, without bullshit clues about obscure visions. Her success made Willard question the sincerity of Mr. Howard, and yet, he couldn’t dismiss Howard’s history of helping law enforcement agencies. Still, there was something about him that didn’t seem right. Willard felt it in his gut. Unfortunately, now his case belonged to the FB-fucking-I. Sorry bastards, they’d never find Stephanie’s killer. But he could still investigate on his own. At least until Captain Tate gave him another assignment. Jesus H. Christ. Why did the killer have to bury her in the grasslands?

Doris snored inside the master bedroom. He cringed as the wet sound carried throughout the house. Leaving the office, he collected a blanket from the hall closet and shuffled to the couch. Stretched out beneath the cover, he closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but a vision of stampeding elephants popped into his head as he listened to Doris. He growled softly and tried to think of something more pleasing. He remembered Alicia Whitmore squirming on the backseat of Killgood’s car. She’d be a good fuck, he had no doubt. Picturing her naked, arms open to welcome him, he drifted off to sleep.

Willard loosened his necktie as he marched toward the entrance to the medical examiner’s office, a nondescript building constructed from mustard colored bricks. It was only ten in the morning and already sweat bubbled across his brow. At least it was a dry heat, not like the humid crap in Mississippi. His shirt never stayed dry during a Gulf Coast summer. He hated autopsies about as much as he hated his yearly prostrate exam. With both, he came out feeling violated. This one promised to be a three-ring circus now that the Feds were involved.

A blonde greeted him with a wide smile. “Can I help you?” she asked in a sickly sweet voice. Someone needed to remind her she worked at the morgue and not an amusement park.

He flashed his badge. “Detective Willard, I’m here for the—”

“I know why you’re here, Detective.” She handed him a pen and pointed at a paper attached to a clipboard. “Sign in please.”

He scribbled his name and tossed down the pen.

She continued to smile like one of those Japanese sex robots. “Take the hall to your left. Go through the double doors and take the first door on your right. You’ll find coveralls and a mask inside your locker along with a key lock. Don’t forget to leave it when you’re finished.”

Inside the changing room, he held up the coveralls and laughed. He’d just spent eighteen hours beside a rotting corpse and now they were worried he might catch something or contaminate the evidence. He slipped the white coveralls over his clothes and zipped them in front of the mirror. He looked like the white rabbit from Wonderland. A door opened and another rabbit entered the room. “There you are. You’d better hurry up. I think they’re about to start.”

“What are you doing here?” Willard said pulling his cap over his hair.

Killgood shrugged. “I wanted to see where this thing’s headed.”

“I don’t imagine either of us will be there at the end.” Willard followed him through a door that led into a short hallway. Killgood paused outside a door marked Autopsy Room.

“I hope you ate a big breakfast. We’ll probably be here a while.”

Willard shivered as he entered the examining area. The air conditioner roared as it pumped out cold air.

Why do they keep the room so damn cold? She’s been lying in a hole for a month.

A group of four men stood in a ragged circle at the far side of the room. Even with their bunny suits and masks, Willard recognized them as the FBI agents who worked the crime scene. The lead agent was a former football player from CU. A big bastard with sloped shoulders, who spoke in a low voice, words struggling off his tongue as if his mouth were full of peanut butter. His partner was the complete opposite, a little guy who rushed his words. The other two agents were green, having recently graduated from the Academy. The big agent had a Polish surname Willard couldn’t pronounce, so in his mind, he called him Agent Yogi and the little guy Agent Boo Boo.

At the burial site, Agent Yogi talked into his cell phone while Agent Boo Boo ordered the supporting cast to do an outward spiral of the area for evidence. One of the agents discovered a shoe print that ended up belonging to Killgood. Other than that, all the uppity agents managed to do was stir up dust. The crime scene guys came in next. They took photographs of the scene, the grave, and Stephanie’s body. They even had someone taking pictures from a helicopter. The crime scene was clean, much to their chagrin. No trace evidence, no impressions, no obvious body fluids or hair and fibers. She didn’t appear to have been shot or stabbed so there was no weapons and firearms evidence. Two of the crime scene investigators discussed the bruising on her neck and decided she’d been strangled. A five-year-old would have come to that conclusion.

A forensic entomologist, Dr. Aaron Marquart, was called to collect bug evidence. Willard had worked with Marquart before and respected him. He was about what one would expect of a guy who loved bugs, with a deep tan from spending his time outside in pursuit of specimens, bald head, and long sideburns that made him look like a werewolf. He always wore shorts, even during the coldest winters. Bug tattoos covered his arms and legs. Marquart stood over the grave, shaking his head as he slipped on latex gloves. “What a waste,” he said, digging into his toolbox. He took out a pair of forceps and a killing jar.

“Do you think you’ll have any trouble establishing the PMI?” Killgood had asked.

“I don’t establish the post mortem interval,” Marquart said, kneeling beside the grave, “but I should be able to tell you how long she’s been exposed to the environment. I’ll need to check with the weather station in Nunn to see what the temperature’s been for the past month. I’m surprised coyotes didn’t get to her, but I can already see that Calliphora vicina, what you would call Blow Flies, have been here.”

He worked a hand under the corpse and examined the area beneath with a flashlight. “This is interesting. The maggot activity is below normal. Heavy rainfall can slow fly activity. As I recall, this area had a period of heavy rain that lasted for several days approximately three weeks ago. Based on what I’m seeing, I would say she’s been in the ground no more than three weeks.” Several beetles scampered out of the hole. Marquart had smiled as he watched. “They like to eat the dry skin. It’s kind of like going to a buffet for them.”

Inside the examining room, Killgood gestured toward the agents. “The big cocksucker told me I didn’t need to be here.”

“What did you say?”

“I politely reminded him that you and I discovered the body, then told him to go fuck himself.”

Willard smiled behind his mask. “I’m sure that went over well.”

A set of double doors banged open and the diener strolled in, pushing a body bag on a gurney. One of the gurney wheels wobbled and made a god-awful squeaking sound that bounced off the walls. Two men walked in behind the morgue attendant. One of them was the crime scene investigator who was at the gravesite. He assumed the other man was the doctor who would perform the autopsy. The diener rolled the gurney over to the steel examining table. All three men put on latex gloves, and the assistant unzipped the body bag. With the help of the crime scene specialist, he lifted what remained of Stephanie Coldstone onto the table. The diener went to work removing plastic covers tied around her hands to preserve fingernail samples.

“You may take fingerprints now, Agent Powers,” the doctor said to the crime scene investigator.

He lifted Stephanie’s right hand. “Her fingers are bent toward the palm.”

“Will you need to cut the tendons?”

Agent Powers grunted as he worked to straighten a finger. “I don’t think so, but with her body in such a dehydrated state, I’ll need to inject glycerin in order to get a print.” He walked to a small table and returned with a syringe filled with clear liquid. Carefully inserting the needle into a finger, he slowly pushed fluid into the skin. He paused several seconds before massaging the fingertip. “A few more injections and I’ll be good to go.”

The doctor waited for him to finish with the fingerprints and then approached the officers who had gathered to watch. “Good morning, gentlemen. I am Dr. Moore. I will be conducting the autopsy. Please feel free to step closer and ask questions. No question is too dumb… well, that’s not entirely true. Recently a sheriff asked me why a deceased transvestite was missing his vagina. Apparently, he believed all transvestites were hermaphrodites.”

Agent Yogi raised a hand. “The girl you’re looking at today isn’t a transvestite, is she?”

Dr. Moore blinked several times and turned to the diener. “Thomas, it seems we have another Einstein in our midst.”

The tall, blond assistant chuckled. “Another junior G-man.”

The doctor joined the assistant at the table. “Did you take the X-ray?”

“Yes. Nothing unusual showed up as you expected.”

Killgood gestured toward the doctor. “Come on, let’s get closer.” Willard followed him to the table. They took a position a few feet behind Dr. Moore, who watched their approach with a gleam in his eyes.

“Ah, two fellows who are not afraid of the dead. Have you witnessed an autopsy before?”

They both nodded. “Very good,” Dr. Moore said.

Thomas squeezed a rubber body block under Stephanie’s back, causing her chest to protrude forward while her arms and neck fell back. Dr. Moore clicked on the microphone of a small handheld recorder. He slowly walked around the table. “August second, ten twenty-two AM, examination number four two three. White female, shoulder-length reddish-brown hair.” He leaned over her face and feathered back an eyelid. “Green eyes. Approximate age, seventeen. The blood vessels in the eyes are ruptured. Any identifying features?” His head swiveled as he looked over the body.

“Three moles on her left side near the breast.”

Dr. Moore walked around the table and joined Thomas. “Yes, they almost form a triangular pattern. I don’t see anything else of significance.” He looked up and waved someone over to the table. “Agent Powers, will you join us?”

The crime scene investigator walked over to Dr. Moore and stood near Stephanie’s head.

“As I’m sure you are aware, Agent Powers, the fine-textured, alkaline soil of the eastern plain absorbs fluid from a corpse. That combined with the hot, dry weather explains why the remains are in a dry decay stage. Therefore, I will attempt to draw blood directly from the victim’s heart rather than a vein. With this in mind, I will start with the rape examination.”

Willard leaned toward Killgood to whisper. “She wasn’t raped.”

Killgood’s eyebrows pulled inward. “Why do you say that?”

“I’m not sure… just a feeling. This guy… he needed her for something more than sex.”

Dr. Moore strode to a table and picked up a box that held the rape kit. He placed the kit on a tray positioned over the body. The doctor went to work combing through Stephanie’s pubic hairs in the hope of capturing a hair left by her killer. He did this for several minutes and looked up. “I don’t seem to be finding anything.” Following procedure, he used a larger comb to check the hair on her scalp. Next he took a pair of tweezers and pulled over twenty hairs from the root in both the pubic region and the scalp. He placed these in a special envelope, which he sealed and marked with his name and the date to establish the chain of custody. He next used swabs in and around the vagina, the anus, and body checking for semen and saliva.

“I find no evidence of rape,” Dr. Moore said.

Killgood turned to Willard. “Good call.”

Willard remained quiet, but a warm feeling of satisfaction spread in his chest.

While Dr. Moore performed the examination, the crime scene investigator edged around the table taking photographs. Bursts of white light exploded with a click of the shutter. “Let us move on to the wounds,” Dr. Moore said. He focused on the neck and pressed a hand against her throat. “There’s bruising on the neck and the hyoid bone is crushed. This evidence along with the condition of the blood vessels in her eyes leads me to believe the cause of death is strangulation.”

Willard wasn’t surprised by the news, having recognized the tell-tell signs of strangulation back at the gravesite, furthermore, strangulation was often preferred by serial killers such as Buono and Bianchi who liked to be close to their victims and for most of them there was a sexual component to the killing. However, he sensed this wasn’t the case here. “Dr. Moore?”

The doctor looked over his shoulder. “Yes… Investigator?”

“If her body had remained underground for say, a few months, would you have been able to determine she had been strangled?”