The Coroner, page 21
40
She pulled into Delia’s driveway just outside of Freeport and found her in her one-acre garden, gently snipping buds from a long, tall row of vines. The early autumn cold snap had turned edges of the leaves on the vine a golden, crinkled blonde. Delia looked up when she saw Emily approaching, and greeted her with a broad smile.
“Miss Hartford. Nice to see you again. Please don’t tell me you’re here to say goodbye and heading back to Chicago.” Delia set down the snippers and gave Emily a hug.
“No, no, I’m not leaving yet,” Emily assured her. “What are you growing in here these days?”
“Oh, these are my hops vines,” she said. “It’s harvesting time. I grow them for a local brewery. And in exchange I get six bottles of their microbrewed beer every week,” she said with a sly grin. “So far my favorite is their carob winter stout.”
“Since when did Freeport get a microbrewery?”
“Since two years ago. You should check it out. Just south of town,” Delia told her.
“Maybe I will. Haven’t had a lot of time to go exploring. And honestly, I didn’t think there was much to discover after twelve years.”
“Right now they’re featuring a pumpkin ale and a summer squash IPA. I know it sounds awful, but it’s an adventure for the taste buds,” said Delia.
Emily laughed, remembering how Delia’s unconventional ways and attitude had always breathed fresh air into this otherwise homogenous community.
“Looks like your garden is on its way out,” noticed Emily.
“Yes, oh yes—we’re supposed to get our first frost next week. I had a good crop of eggplant, corn, broccoli, tomatoes, carrots, peas, raspberries, and blackberries this year. Oh, and have you ever heard of purple beans?” she asked Emily.
“I have not,” Emily said. “I think it might feel kinda fairy-talish eating a purple bean.”
“Unfortunately, they turn green when you cook them,” said Delia.
“I was hoping there would be more exotic fare,” said Emily.
“I stick to the basics in the garden and save the exotics for my greenhouse,” Delia said, pointing around back of the house to a large glassed-in structure.
“Wow, that’s new since I lived here,” Emily exclaimed.
“It’s real nice in the winter. I can hole up there for months and feel like I’m in the Caribbean while it’s snowing a blizzard outside,” she said.
“Semi-retirement suits you,” Emily teased.
“In all the best ways. So … I know you didn’t come here to make garden chat.”
* * *
Within a few minutes Delia and Emily were situated inside Delia’s large library, and she was paging through reference books. Both sets of X-rays were placed side by side, taped on a floor-to-ceiling, south-facing window. Delia examined them for a long time, sometimes with her naked eye and sometimes under a magnifying glass.
“You are right about the fact that the same instrument was used on both the horse and the girl,” Delia finally concluded. Then she went back to work, concentrating in silence. She made a few measurements and sketched out a few drawings, then erased them and started over.
“It’s a very unusual instrument. I’ve only seen it in one other case I worked on,” she said after a while.
Emily listened, not wanting to break her flow of thought.
Delia logged onto her computer, scanned her drawings into a file, and then plugged the images into a software system that started to come up with possible matches. Emily watched in amazement.
Emily stared straight ahead as Delia continued to work. What a woman—what a role model! Emily had missed Delia. She noted that in just three days of being back in Freeport, she was starting to warm corners of her heart that had been chilled for a long time to this place.
“That’s what I thought,” Delia said as she turned the screen to Emily. “They were struck with this instrument.”
The top part was sort of like pliers that pinched together. A large bolt clasped the two handles together. The handles were long and lean, at least a foot or more. The nose of the instrument came together in an elongated oval that could pinch something between its grasp. Emily recognized it immediately.
“A horse nippers.”
“From what I can assess from both injuries, the oval hole that the pincers make when they are closed is about seven millimeters in diameter, and they have this angled tip that points toward the nose of the nippers,” Delia explained. “That’s a clue right there. That’s what makes these nippers different.”
“Is it specific enough to find my weapon?” asked Emily, Nick’s words about a needle in a haystack ringing in her ears.
“It’s quite specific. The one used on your two victims seems to be an antique version,” said Delia, scrolling through the images in her reference books to find an example to show Emily. “I’m guessing somewhere around turn of the twentieth century. They made them from iron. Farriers kept them in many sizes, from six inches to fifteen inches or maybe larger. See here?”
Delia showed her an image on the screen. “The older ones have this pointy arrow-like notch. The newer ones today are just oval. No arrow notch.”
“Seems like most of these don’t have that notch,” Emily said, examining the pictures on the screen.
“You got it. So in that sense, it makes your job a little easier.” Delia made a copy of the nippers she believed might be a match. “So, go to it, girl. Or should I say, get the sheriff on it. From what I hear, you’re pretty good at lighting the fire under Nick.”
“Exactly what have you heard?” Emily asked. “Wait, are you talking about the Tim situation?”
Delia laughed. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m proud of you for that. Nick needs some heat under him from time to time. Keeps him sharp and fresh.”
“Speaking of Nick, I rushed over here so fast, I forgot to call him.”
“You were just being resourceful. You can catch him up later. Okay, doll, let’s get back outside and enjoy that beer,” said Delia, shutting down the computer. “Head on out to the back porch, and I’ll be out in a jiffy with a couple cold ones.”
Emily settled into a rocking chair on Delia’s back porch and took a deep breath of the fresh, verdant air. She was exhilarated that they had figured out what the murder weapon was. Now, to find its match. She was kidding herself to think that she could stay in Freeport until the case was solved. This could takes weeks, months. Possibly years. If ever. The thought of giving this all up to return to Chicago gave her an unexpected sad twinge. She was having a very hard time letting this go. She had promised Sarah. She had promised herself. And if she left, she would be a failure once again. Could she shoulder that burden on top of everything else?
Emily weighed what was waiting for her in Chicago. Surgery was just as challenging as crime solving. But let’s face it. Surgical centers and technologies were so advanced these days. The risk of losing a patient was very, very slim. Especially for the kinds of routine procedures she was performing. Yet how could she deny that these kinds of medical mysteries shot exuberance through every neuron and cell of her body? She thought about heading back to Chicago, where her biggest decisions now would be if they should serve shellfish appetizers at her wedding and whether they should put a vacuum cleaner on their registry. And despite the fact that she had been planning her wedding with Brandon in her mind since their sixth date, in this very moment, living out his prescribed path for them, as amazing as it had always seemed before, now didn’t seem nearly as fulfilling to her as being able to find justice for a vulnerable family and putting a killer in prison.
Delia came out with the glass mugs, beer and foam spilling over the lips. Emily studied Delia in the sunlight and noticed that she was more creased and frail looking than Emily had remembered. Was it the years, or perhaps the job, that had added this dimension to Delia? With all the awful things Delia had seen during her years at the FBI, how did she keep a fresh outlook on life?
“You look worried,” said Delia.
“Do I?” Emily hadn’t realized she was drifting off into her own thoughts. “It’s just … Julie deserves justice, and it seems so … so impossible.”
“You and Nick will get this case solved. I know it,” Delia said.
“How do you know?”
“Because you’re Dr. Robert Hartford’s daughter,” she said, smiling.
“I’m glad you’re so confident,” Emily said, wanting to believe her. “Thank you so much for your help.” Emily lifted the cool mug to her lips again, and her diamond caught the sunlight.
“What does Nick think about that?” Delia pointed to Emily’s ring.
“I don’t think it really matters to him at all,” she said.
“Oh, I doubt it doesn’t matter to him. You were his first love.”
“We were silly sixteen-year-olds.”
“I know. But it’s hard to let that first one go.”
“It’s been twelve years,” she said. “Plenty of time to let go.”
“Just be tender with him,” Delia advised.
“Nick’s over it. Moved on.”
“I’m not so sure,” said Delia, and Emily felt a slight irritation surfacing inside her.
“Why is that?”
“Hon, that man comes into Brown’s almost every morning of the week. And this week, the morning after you got into town, he popped in for his usual custard long john, and he looked positively energized despite the fact that he hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep all night. And I’ve never seen his face light up like it did when he told me you were back in Freeport and assisting on the Dobson case.”
Emily took a swig of her beer. Why was it that some people just couldn’t let go of the past? she mused. And then realized she was just as guilty.
“This is amazing brew,” said Emily. Delia knew she was ducking the conversation, and just smiled. “What is it anyway?”
“It’s a German kölsch,” said a voice behind her. Emily turned and saw Nick coming up the porch steps. It was then that she noticed Delia had brought out three mugs.
41
“Did you know I was here?” Emily asked Nick when Delia stepped inside to take a phone call.
“Delia texted me. Said you had made some breakthrough in the Dobson case and that I should come over and take a look.”
Emily stared at him as he kicked back in his rocking chair and guzzled down half his beer in one chug.
“Looks like you’re taking matters into your own hands again.”
“It’s not like that. I honestly didn’t even think—”
“Exactly. I’m the lead detective on this case. You do understand that, don’t you?”
“Don’t speak to me like I’m a child. I was just trying to help. And it won’t cost your department a dime.”
Emily stewed in her annoyance with Nick. He might be lead detective, but he was certainly not displaying the type of investigative resourcefulness she had learned from her father.
“Maybe I should be asking why you didn’t think of coming to Delia first?”
“If I didn’t know you, Emily Hartford, I would say you’re starting to take this case personally,” Nick said, rocking forward and hopping out of his chair. “You were so eager to get out of Freeport, and now it seems like you’re looking for excuses to stick around. Why is that?”
She hated that he had read her mind. Delia stuck her head out the screen door.
“Nick, come on inside. I’ll show you what we found.”
Nick held the door for Emily, and they entered. He followed her to the library, and together she and Delia showed him the new evidence.
“I’m impressed. Truly. But it’s an impossible situation,” said Nick. “I could waste hours chasing this and meanwhile risk missing a stronger lead.”
“You have the tool identification when you need it,” said Delia with a nod to Nick. “You know this investigation better than I.”
“And I say, until you have a better lead, we start searching those haystacks,” Emily announced with a determined tone. “I remember seeing Gary Bodum with a nippers. Granted it was not an antique one, but maybe he has more out there.”
Nick and Delia exchanged glances. “I saw that. And I know what you’re thinking,” said Emily, wagging her finger at them.
“You’re as headstrong as your father. Maybe more so,” said Delia with a warm smile.
“I’m not going to stand around here and do nothing.” She gave Delia a hug. “Thank you so much for your help.”
“Anytime, hon. Always here for you.”
Emily took the X-rays down from the window and headed toward the door. She glanced back at Nick.
“Well, are you coming or not?”
* * *
When she knocked on Gary’s office door and he looked up, Emily could tell he was surprised to see her and Nick. He waved for them to open the door.
“Sorry to bother you, but we were hoping we could take another look around the stables,” said Emily.
“Sure,” he said, rising and going to the door. “I’ll join you if you don’t mind.”
“Thanks, Gary,” said Nick. “This won’t take long.”
“Do you have anything new on Julie?” Gary asked.
“Gary, you know that if we did, we couldn’t say anything,” Emily replied, moving a few steps ahead of him as she scanned the stables.
“I assume you’re going to her funeral this afternoon,” said Nick, trying to smooth over Emily’s brusqueness.
“I am. Not looking forward to it,” Gary said.
“No one ever does,” said Nick.
“No, I mean the part about being in the same room as the senator.”
Nick nodded.
“Do you have a workshop?” Emily asked.
“Yeah, at the end of the barn, down past the last row of stables,” he said, pointing.
The three made their way through the barn, past the empty horse pens.
“Where are all the horses?” asked Nick.
“Out in the pasture. It’s horse ‘free time,’ ” joked Gary.
Emily paused when they went by Mercedes’ pen. Inside the pen was an easel board with a large picture of Julie in her riding gear, standing next to Mercedes. Surrounding it were other photos of her and newspaper clippings about competitions she’d participated in.
“Her parents had it delivered yesterday,” Gary explained.
“It’s beautiful. She’s beautiful.” Emily gazed at Julie’s fresh face and perfectly white smile. A long blonde braid cascaded over her shoulder. Julie had one hand placed on Mercedes’ neck, the other holding up a glimmering gold trophy. She looked like a graceful champion. Not a pressure cooker of college angst and ketamine.
Her eye caught a newspaper clipping she recognized. She stepped into the pen to take a closer look.
“Sarah showed me this photo. The guy’s name is Vince, right?” She looked to Bodum.
“Vince Parelli,” Gary said.
“Sarah said he and Julie competed a lot. Have you talked to him, Nick?” Emily asked.
“I don’t really remember. Over the past few days, I’ve talked to over a hundred and fifty people. Who is this guy?”
“He’s from Rock River. Farmer’s kid with little formal training, but a really skilled rider. Probably Julie’s biggest competitor,” Gary said.
“Did you ever meet Vince?” asked Nick. Emily continued down the row of stables toward the workroom, and they followed.
“Just saw him here and there when we held competitions at Premiere. We’re not a very big venue, but we’re the only one in three counties. So we draw a pretty substantial regional crowd.”
“What’s he like?” Emily asked.
“Soft-spoken. Small in stature. But man, he has a great underdog story. He comes from a poor family. His parents have eight kids and counting. He’s somewhere in the middle—maybe number five?” said Gary.
“What was he like in the ring?” Emily asked.
“A natural talent. I think he learned most of what he knows by hanging around competitions and watching YouTube videos. His family doesn’t have money for a trainer,” said Gary, and then he paused for a second. “Well, that’s not entirely true. His dad rode in high school. So he knows his way around the competition circuit.”
“Where does Vince practice?” said Emily.
“Oh, at his farm. The Parellis own a hundred acres,” Gary said.
“I thought they didn’t have money,” Nick said.
“They don’t. They’re land rich. Their farm was passed down from Vince’s grandfather. The horses they own are work horses mostly,” he said.
“Work horses on a modern farm? Are they Amish or something?” said Emily.
“No, just earthy. They run an organic farm and try to keep everything nonmechanized.”
Emily nodded. Vince Parelli, son of a struggling organic farmer. There’s no way he could afford college on his own. No way his parents could chip in. Vince had just as much talent as Julie. And he needed this scholarship even more than she did. Was it a stretch to think that he would have killed Julie to get her place for the scholarship?
Nick must have been thinking the same thing because he asked, “How was Julie and Vince’s relationship?”
“They weren’t friends, if that’s what you’re asking,” said Gary.
Emily and Nick exchanged a look as they stopped at the closed workroom door. Gary unlocked it, and they followed him in.
“So, this is my work area. What exactly are you looking for?”
He flipped on the light. Bright fluorescent lighting hung from the fifteen-foot ceiling, and Emily saw they were in a twenty-by-twenty room lined with shelves holding horse equipment. On one side was a workbench, with tools hanging from a pegboard mounted on the wall.
