The Coroner, page 20
Emily took a seat in the office chair and sipped her tea as she cracked open the journal. Her father had written in the front: “Record of Freeport County Medical Examiner Dr. Robert Hartford, M.D., M.E.” Paging through, she saw that the journal was a personal record of every death her father had investigated. Each was dated and given a paragraph that outlined the brief details of the case, what Robert had discovered about it, if there were any notable events from the death, and how or why the death had been caused. Homicide cases were also assigned trial notes and outcomes, names of the accused, and sentencing details.
Emily leafed through slowly, recounting Robert’s lifetime of death investigation. When she reached the end of the journal, there was a special tabbed section devoted to cold cases. There were only a few, and she chose not to look. One of them still gravely haunted her.
Emily closed the journal and put it back into the box. A lifetime of work. So many families helped. So many big and little mysteries solved. Would the next ME be as thorough? As caring? Would he go the extra steps as her father always did? Emily doubted anyone would live up to the legacy her father had created. But she had to let that go.
37
It was late afternoon when Nick returned to his office from questioning Jason Settman. Tim’s alibi had checked out on three levels. First, Jason was with Tim at Tim’s house the morning of Julie’s death. Tim’s truck battery had died, so he’d gone next door to Jason’s trailer to get a jump. The jump didn’t work. The battery was a goner. So, Jason drove Tim into town to the Napa store, where they bought a new battery.
The alibi was confirmed a second time by Jason’s wife, Ashley, who was also home at the time and made coffee for Tim, and stated that he didn’t leave their house until well after eight AM.
A third person corroborated Tim’s alibi when Nick checked into the Napa battery purchase with the store owner. Tim had made a purchase at Napa that coordinated with the approximate time of the murder. The store owner recalled the event and a description of Tim. He also provided a sales record with Tim’s credit card receipt. It all stacked up in a provable manner just as Tim and Jason had said.
Now what?
Nick wasn’t exactly sure “now what.” With the autopsy completed, the toxicology reports back, the bracelet found, and the GoPro video explained, there was no more physical evidence to draw from. Had he reached a dead end? Would Julie end up a Freeport cold case?
Nick retired to his office to think, and instructed his team to do the same. He paced restlessly, squeezing a tennis ball between his palms. He was hungry and ornery. All his hard work on this case had amounted to very little progress. What and who were they missing?
On top of this, Nick knew he had to follow up with the senator about Mercedes’ abuse. His stomach sank at the thought. Other than Tim’s accusation, he had no physical proof that the senator had paid Tim to perform the incidents. He would be hard-pressed to make an arrest, and doubted the senator would make a confession. Perhaps he should talk to Gary Bodum about it first. Gary should know.
Finally emerging from his office, Nick set some paperwork on his secretary’s desk so she could file it in the morning. It was then that he remembered his secretary had left early to take care of a sick child. It would be another hour before the night secretary started her shift, and the other cops on duty were off on street patrol. Being the only one at the police station, Nick needed to stick around until the secretary arrived. He was heading back to his office to return some emails when he heard the door open from the outside and footsteps clomp toward the reception area. He turned and saw the figure of Senator Dobson through the sliding glass reception window that overlooked the police pen.
“Hello! Hey! Larson! Larson!” yelled the senator. Nick was already walking toward the reception desk. “Why wasn’t I informed about my daughter’s toxicology results?” the senator demanded through the glass separation window. “Sheriff, you better have some answers for me!”
“Senator Dobson, calm down,” Nick said through the glass.
“My daughter’s report? Where is it? And why didn’t someone contact us?”
“Senator. Please. Calm down.”
“I will not! I’m at my own daughter’s wake, and I hear she had drugs in her system! You’d better produce that report. Now!” His anger and pain permeated through the glass, which Nick refused to unlock.
“I’m sorry you had to find out the way you did. I can assure you, it wasn’t our agency that released the official toxicology report.”
The ruffled senator collected himself, straightened his jacket, and snugged up his tie. He nodded at Nick. “Open this window.”
Nick shook his head. The senator pounded his fist on the window. “Open it! You son of a bitch!”
Definitely not, thought Nick, taking a careful step back. He folded his arms across his chest and waited for the senator to calm down.
“I’m in a public position, and this is making me look very vulnerable right now. Reporters are outside my house asking me about Julie’s drug habit. What drug habit?”
“I can’t speak to Julie having a drug habit,” said Nick diplomatically.
“Those reporters say you’ve got Tim Hart arrested up here on selling drugs to a minor. My minor.”
“Tim was selling drugs to a good number of young people in this community.”
“I can’t have these rumors circulating about my daughter. I need you to make this go away.”
Nick did not appreciate being ordered around. “Was Julie taking drugs?”
“No,” Senator Dobson said firmly.
“You’re sure?” Nick asked him.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
Why is it that parents are often the last to know? Nick let a few moments of silence build up between them. The senator loosened his tie and started pacing in front of the window. After a moment, he stopped and sat in one of the orange vinyl waiting room chairs that should have been replaced three decades ago. Nick moved toward the window but did not open it.
“Toxicology lab found ketamine in her system. Tim Hart confessed to selling it to Julie from Bodum’s stable stash,” Nick told the senator. “Tim was the man in the viral video, and he says you hired him to score Mercedes’ legs. How do you plead to that?”
The senator sat there as the information sank in. After a moment he responded with a tormented look, his voice cracking, “He killed her, didn’t he? That groom killed my little girl.”
“No, he didn’t. His alibi checks out,” said Nick. “But maybe I should be investigating you.”
The senator sent a seething look to Nick. “What are you implying, Sheriff?”
“That you lawyer up.”
“What exactly are you accusing me of?”
“Equine abuse. To start.”
“With what proof?” His chin tipped up in a defensive manner.
“Tim’s statement is rather damaging.” Nick wasn’t about to give him specifics. But he did want to make the senator squirm.
“I wanted only the best for my daughter … I invested everything for her future … how dare you—” He pinched off his words and straightened his shoulders. Nick knew he was smart enough to guard his statements.
“What were you hoping to accomplish when you paid Tim to torment an innocent creature?” Nick pressed.
The senator’s stare never left Nick as an angry resolve filled his eyes. “What happens to our property and our family is none of your concern.”
“Actually, it is. Your daughter’s death is being investigated as a homicide. Your life should be a wide-open book to me.”
Nick had known many parents who would go pretty far to protect their children’s best interests, but the senator’s actions had crossed the criminal line. He didn’t care what Dobson thought of him.
“I’m innocent,” the senator retorted, “and I’m not letting this story spin out of control. Tim Hart is a drug dealer, and I’m going to make sure the public knows he’s corrupting their children.”
“You’re behind the eight ball, Senator.” No amount of backpedaling was going to influence Nick.
“Julie was a double victim here. A young, impressionable girl and first-time offender who was lured in by a convicted criminal.” Senator Dobson was already spinning the story. “I’ll have my press secretary send you a draft tonight, and your office will release it.”
“You’re the one I’m hunting here, Senator.” Nick said. “I want to know every detail of your involvement in mutilating a poor creature for your daughter’s gain. If I were you, I wouldn’t go public with anything right now. I would lay low. Real low. Because you’re under suspicion for bribery and cruelty to animals. Be expecting a subpoena,” said Nick, rising. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to finish up with a few things.”
Nick stood there and waited as the senator rose coolly from his seat without a word. The senator knew better than to argue his case right now. It wasn’t politically savvy. Nick could see the wheels turning in the man’s head as he formed his last statement carefully, making sure to posture himself authoritatively in front of the glass separation window as he pointed a long finger at Nick.
“You have no evidence or reasonable witnesses from which to draw any accusation against me. Don’t waste taxpayer money on trumped-up indictments, because I’ll make sure the media gets that story too. And you won’t be sheriff of Freeport County for very long.”
“Good night, Senator.” Nick refused to be intimidated.
“Good night, Sheriff,” the senator said as exited the lobby of the police station.
Nick was now sure that Tim’s story had legitimacy. Tragic as Julie’s death was, Nick took silent comfort in the fact that she would never know what her father had done to her beloved horse. He would definitely get Bodum’s statement on this too. He wanted to make sure the senator could never get to Mercedes ever again.
Meanwhile, Julie’s killer was still out there, and Nick was out of leads. He had forty minutes before the night secretary would arrive. He went into the kitchen and made himself a turkey and cheddar sandwich, grabbed a handful of potato chip pieces from the bottom of a nearly empty bag, and popped open a can of energy drink. He went back to his office and pulled up Julie’s social media accounts for a third or maybe fourth time. He kept trolling them for any comment, tag, photo, or emoji that might give him some clue.
Nick paused on a photo of Julie at a competition, sitting atop Mercedes. She wore a first-place medal, a huge smile and a … a riding helmet. Had Julie always worn a helmet when she was riding? And had she been wearing a helmet the day she died? The injuries she had sustained were located at the base of the skull, which would have would have been protected by a helmet. But Julie’s helmet wasn’t with her body when Farmer Gibbons drove her to the stable. It wasn’t in her bedroom. It wasn’t in Mercedes’ pen or anywhere in the stable. In fact, no one had even mentioned it. So where was it? Or who had it?
Nick thought back to when Farmer Gibbon’s had showed him where he’d found Julie’s body. It was lying next to a large rock on the bank of the creek. It made sense now. The killer had placed Julie’s body near a rock to make it look like she had fallen off her horse and hit her head. Why hadn’t he put this together before? He needed to find that helmet. Emily had not mentioned any method by which Julie had sustained her injuries. He needed to know exactly what had crushed Julie’s skull.
38
A text from Brandon woke Emily the next morning. With sluggish fingers and a nagging stress headache that had cropped up overnight, Emily logged onto her phone and read his message.
Mom on board for a city wedding. What do you think of this place?
She clicked on a link from the Palmer House in downtown Chicago and scrolled through a series of images of ornate ballrooms. They were all huge. A small panic fluttered inside as Emily read his message, after first feeling a twinge of relief that he had reconsidered a city wedding. However, she had not yet thought about how big the wedding might be. She did a quick inventory of guests from her side. Her father. Aunt Laura. A few cousins. A small handful of peers. Dr. Claiborne and his wife. Now, of course, Jo and her family. Was that it? Maybe twenty-five guests? Of course, Brandon’s family, his friends, and his parent’s friends could easily fill a hall of three hundred plus. A Palmer House Christmas wedding could easily jump into the six-figure tab. It seemed outrageous. She still felt unsettled about not resolving their little argument from earlier. What should she tell him? Should she pretend like everything was okay? Deal with it when she was back in Chicago? As she was trying to decide, a message from Nick pinged onto her screen.
Do you think Julie was wearing a helmet when she was struck?
What an odd question, Emily thought in her groggy state. Of course not. She didn’t have a helmet on her. She swung her feet to the floor and slipped on her plush slippers. She never left home without them. She found floors, even carpeting, cold and dirty. She started a cup of coffee in the single-serve hotel coffee maker. While she was waiting for the water to heat up, Nick’s question rolled around in her mind.
If Julie had been wearing a helmet, the fracture would not have been as pronounced. She might not have been killed at all. She could have been wearing a helmet when she rode out. But not when she was killed. And unless her attacker was also riding a horse, which was possible, her killer would have had to somehow get Julie off her horse to strike her at the angle at which she had been hit. Otherwise, there was a very, very likely chance that on horseback she would have outrun him. So, Mercedes hadn’t been spooked at all. No. He’d fallen because he was attacked and struck in the leg. Blunt force trauma.
Emily grabbed her phone from the nightstand and pecked out a text:
Meet me at my dad’s office. 20 mins.
39
Emily jumped in her car and sped to Dr. Lillen’s to pick up a copy of Mercedes’ X-rays. She then raced to her father’s office, where Nick was already waiting for her. Her father had wandered out from the house too and was seated in the large, leather swivel chair behind his desk. Emily remembered him filling the chair. In this moment, he looked shriveled and diminutive.
She dashed to her father’s light box and slid on a set of X-rays from Julie and one from Mercedes. As Emily studied the images, it became immediately clear that there was a similarity in the patterning of both injuries.
“In both victims, the killer struck multiple times. See how these second lines stop at the first ones because they have nowhere else to travel? It’s a classic blunt force pattern,” said Emily.
“Same instrument?” said Nick.
“It looks to be,” said Robert, turning toward his daughter, who was confirming with a nod. “Next step is to get this down to the state crime lab’s tool specialist and see if they can identify the type of weapon.”
“Only problem is, there’s a huge lag time for the results,” said Nick.
“How long are we talking?” said Emily.
“Months. The backlog is hundreds of cases.”
Emily’s face sank. “Maybe the senator could pull some strings?”
“We’re not exactly on great terms right now,” said Nick.
Emily searched his face with a questioning look but said, “It’s his daughter. I think he’ll do it.”
“Here’s the thing, Em: we don’t just want to procure information for the sake of information. We want directive information,” Nick said.
“I don’t get it. Enlighten me here,” she said.
“Okay, let’s say the crime lab sends back a report in six months, indicating that the tool used on both victims was, for instance, a common crow bar. That’s a very broad directional area for your investigation. Where do you even start with that? How would you go about finding the crowbar that was used in your alleged crime?”
Emily thought about it for a moment. Lots of people owned crowbars. She had one in the trunk of her car. Brandon had one. Her dad owned several. Every self-respecting Midwesterner with an ounce of common sense knew to have one. They would have to go digging through …
Nick finished her thought. “We can’t just go digging through every car, garage, and shed in Freeport County to find it. Even if we could, it may be long gone. Buried. In a lake. A river? A field? In another county.”
Emily saw the challenge here, but she countered, “We don’t know it’s a crowbar. It could be something more unique.”
“It might. A little. But with no suspects, I’m still just looking for a needle in a haystack,” he said.
“Right, but it’s a smaller haystack,” Emily argued. Her father remained silent, watching them spar it out.
“I need cause to get search warrants. I can’t just go barging into any old haystack,” Nick said. “And right now, I have no suspects. No cause. Nada.”
Robert finally spoke up. “It’s great work, Emily. Very well done. But Nick is right here. It’s a waste of county resources when you have no murder weapon to match it to and no suspects to search. Put it in your back pocket, and when the time is right, you’ll know how to use it.”
Nick left, but Emily could not leave it alone. She felt so helpless, and she hated feeling this way. They had so little to go on, and she understood Nick’s point. But she couldn’t get Sarah’s, David’s, or Dr. Lillen’s faces from her mind. She would drown her exasperation in a bear claw from Brown’s and try to focus on something else. Like wedding plans. Oh crap. I never got back to Brandon. Did he really need a decision right now about the Palmer House? She stepped outside to take a walk around the property and think things through. She felt they could be on the edge of having solid information about what type of tool was used in Julie’s murder if only they could get the films analyzed. She checked her phone again. Another text from Brandon. And a missed call. She felt like their world’s were a universe apart right now. Him, looking at banquet halls and table settings and her, trying to discover tool marks and murder suspects. She was nearing her father’s apple tree when her stomach reminded her that it wanted that bear claw. Brown’s Bakery. That was it! Emily spun around and make a dash for her Leaf. There was someone right here in Freeport’s backyard who could help her identify the source of these fractures. Gratis.
