The Coroner, page 7
“What? Where?” Emily glanced down at her left hand and realized he was referring to her ring. It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours since Brandon had put it on her finger. “Oh yeah. I just got engaged. Today … I mean, yesterday. Morning.”
“Congrats. Details?”
“His name’s Brandon. He’s a general surgeon who works at Northwestern. He went to U of C on a soccer scholarship. During breaks he goes down to Honduras to volunteer in the hospitals there. He’s planning to open his own surgical practice one day.” Emily stopped herself when she realized she sounded like she was reading his bio. This is how she had always introduced him. Brandon was really good on paper. And in Chicago, in Brandon’s circles, that’s how he always introduced himself. It was important to impress. But here, in Freeport, people were more interested in what kind of person someone was, not a bullet-point list of accomplishments.
“Where is he?”
“Who?”
“Brandon. Why isn’t he here? With you. And your dad.”
Emily looked at Nick as if he had just asked her to solve a nuclear crisis or stop world hunger. “Well. He had to work.”
“I see,” said Nick.
She jumped in with her list of defenses. “They set out his schedule three months ahead. So, it’s really hard to get someone to switch with you last minute. Especially since he’s the new guy. No clout.”
“No one was available to switch with him?” Nick said.
“He’s coming this weekend.”
“Good. ’Cause it seems like you could use a little support right now.”
She had never questioned Brandon’s support, but just now a tiny doubt sprouted in her. Had he even tried to get someone to switch with him? She wasn’t sure.
Emily pulled up the X-ray results on the monitor and studied the images, with worry growing on her brow.
“I have no idea what I’m seeing here, but your face is getting all funny. Something must be wrong,” Nick said.
“It’s a spiderweb fracture over the back lobe,” Emily drew a line with her index finger along the fracture on the screen.
“Did she do that when she fell off her horse?” asked Nick.
“No. It’s not from a fall. See how there are two sets of fracture lines? The second set intersects but then stops abruptly at the first set.”
“Yeah. I see it. What does it mean?” asked Nick.
Emily looked up at Nick with all seriousness. “These injuries are not consistent with an accidental death. If it were a fall, there would only be one set of fracture lines,” said Emily.
“I hear you, but I’m still not sure I understand what you’re saying,” Nick said.
“She was struck on the back of the head,” said Emily.
“You’re absolutely, positively, cross-your-heart sure?” Nick asked.
“Anatomy is anatomy. It doesn’t lie,” Emily said.
Emily moved Julie’s head to the left so she could get a better look. She positioned a lamp over the skull. Emily fished through Julie’s hair and gently rubbed her thumb along her skull. “Feel that.” She pressed Nick’s finger to Julie’s skull. “Feel it?”
Nick pulled his hand back. “Yes. But how … with what … what do you think caused it?” he stammered.
She redirected him to the images from Julie’s X-rays again and traced the fracture pattern with grease pencil. “There’s a pattern here and here and here,” she said as she circled three identical areas of trauma to the skull. “But from what instrument or object, I’m not exactly sure.”
It took Nick a second as the news soaked in, but he finally formed the words.
“Wait, Emily, so what you’re telling me is that this is a homicide?”
“Yes, I believe so. Julie Dobson was murdered,” Emily said. “The manner is clearly blunt force trauma to the head.”
Nick stepped back, eyes going wide.
“You okay?”
“We haven’t had a murder in Freeport in over two years.
“If we don’t have a murder in two days in Chicago, we’re doing good,” Emily joked. Nick didn’t find it humorous. Emily noticed his face was draining of color.
“Nick, you don’t look well. You need some water? Sit down?”
“I’m begging you, Emily Hartford—you’re gonna finish this autopsy, right? We need you. And you promised your dad you would help out.” Nick’s face was getting red and sweaty. Whatever he was feeling was more than nervousness. He paced the floor, radiating with anxiety and panic. “The press is waiting outside. And the killer … he could be anywhere. All this time that’s gone by since she was found … I’ve gotta get a jump on the press. And the Dobson family—how am I going to present this to them? Oh God, they’re gonna be devastated. How long can you hold off on the autopsy report?”
Emily felt an electric charge zip through her body. Standing in the same place she had as her father’s teenage assistant, she was no longer a student. No longer an observer. She held the power to help solve this case.
“Don’t worry, Nick” Emily said. “I know how important this is. I’m not going to do anything to jeopardize this case. I’ll have the report in the morning for you.”
“Thank you. You have no idea how much this means,” Nick said, grabbing his hat and keys and heading toward the door. “Oh, I said I would stay and help.”
“No, Nick—go. It’s okay. You’ve got some big fish to fry. I can take it from here,” Emily said.
“Thank you.”
“I’ll email you a preliminary report in the morning. It’ll give you something to present to the Dobsons,” Emily said. “You won’t have tox results for another week or so.”
“Yeah, that sounds like a plan. Just be extra, extra vigilant in your work. There’s a good chance this’ll end up in court once we catch the killer. I can’t afford any mistakes,” he said.
“You forget who you’re dealing with,” she said, feeling a yawn sneaking up on her.
“I think someone’s gonna need a cup of coffee. I’ll grab one for you from the cafeteria before I go.”
“No. Go.”
Nick was one foot out the door.
“You sure?”
“I’m sure. Are you wearing that to talk to the press?”
Nick looked down at his gown and quickly stripped it off. He tossed it into the laundry bin in the corner and slipped out the door, with a fresh smile for Emily.
“See you in the morning.”
“See you.” Emily smiled back.
As Emily grabbed a small electric saw and plugged it into the wall, she glimpsed down at the bulge of her ring. She thought about it for a second and peeled her gloves off. It would be best to remove the ring so it wouldn’t get in the way or be damaged while she was doing the autopsy. She remembered that her father had always done the same with his wedding ring. She slid the bulky diamond in her front jeans pocket.
Music. There was always music in the morgue. Emily found her father’s radio in a drawer and tuned it to the jazz station. She liked how few commercials they played in the middle of the night.
She calculated that she had been up for twenty hours straight, with at least another five hours of work before she could hit the bed. But for some reason, standing at the autopsy table, the blade of justice in her expert hands, she suddenly felt very, very awake.
11
The sky was brightening to dawn when Emily pulled into the long, winding drive of her childhood home that lay on a ten-acre spread four miles due east of Freeport. She had meant to book a hotel room at the Pennington Inn, Freeport’s only hotel, but by the time she left the hospital, it was late, and no one was on duty at the reception desk. She decided she would crash at her dad’s home and deal with lodging later. Pulling into the driveway, she could tell that not one thing had changed about this place since her thirteenth birthday. She crawled toward the large, brick two-story, noticing a light on downstairs. There were two cars parked in the drive: a pickup truck she assumed was her father’s and a four-door sedan she thought was probably his spare car.
She sat in her car for a moment, preparing herself for what she might find on the inside of the house. Would her dad have changed the paint? Remodeled? What had he done to her room? Would it look like some sad shrine? And what about her mom’s stuff? Would it still be there? Had he kept anything? Over the years, there were moments when Emily wished for some memento of her mother’s, but bitterness toward her father had kept her from inquiring.
Emily shut the car’s engine down and stalled some more. In her mind, she ran through the layout of the home, visiting each room, nook, and cranny. She could recall every wall color, every knick-knack, every piece of furniture. She traveled the house in her mind’s eye, putting herself in the best hide-and-seek spots, playing Ping-Pong opposite her sister in the damp basement. In her mind, she rummaged through the old toy box that her mother had kept, even years after she and Anna had outgrown playing with toys. Under her bed was a box of Barbie dolls she had left behind. In the closet she kept a plastic bin of trophies, ribbons, and memorabilia from special events. At the bottom of the box were several childhood journals she hadn’t laid eyes on in twelve years, remnants of life before suffering. A whole ’nother life lay inside that she felt forced to revisit under the circumstances.
Emily glanced to the front window of the house and was startled to see a hand draw the curtain away. Who on earth was here? A shadow moved through the living room. Panic pulsed through Emily. A face appeared in the corner of the window, but Emily couldn’t make it out in the dim early morning light. Then, the curtain bounced shut. Was it a burglar? Should she call Nick? The eyes appeared for a second. Then they were gone. The porch light flashed three times. Clearly, the entity inside was trying to get her attention. An intruder would never do that. The situation now seemed a little less threatening. But wouldn’t her father have mentioned someone being here?
Emily waited a few more minutes, trying to figure out her best course of action as her breath steamed up the front windshield so she could no longer make out the house. She was wiping the steam off the window when suddenly the passenger door opened, wafting in a stiff breeze of cold, autumn air. Emily jumped.
“You coming in?” A woman hopped in, shutting the door behind her and gave Emily a squeeze.
“Oh my gosh. You really startled me,” Emily said, realizing the woman was Cathy Bishop. She looked the same as Emily remembered her. She wore short brown hair neatly styled, with modest makeup and simple jewelry. She was a busty woman with a trim waist and thin thighs, who liked to accentuate her assets, but always in a stylish, conservative manner. She never looked dowdy, even when she was out for groceries. Perhaps it was a consequence of her profession. As the town mortician who ran Bishop and Schulz funeral home, Cathy needed to present a professional appearance at all times. Even now, in the middle of the night, here was Cathy, sitting in Emily’s passenger seat, wearing a sleek pair of black slacks, a fitted sweater, and a silk neck scarf.
“I’m beginning to wonder if you planned to come in at all,” said Cathy.
“I wasn’t expecting anyone home,” said Emily.
“I see. So, your dad didn’t mention I would be here?”
“No, he didn’t.” Emily shook her head with a grin. “But I’m glad it’s you and not a thief.”
“I was at the hospital earlier, and when they moved him out of critical care, I told your father I would tend to a few things for him at home and make sure the house was ready for your arrival. How did it go with him?”
“Okay, I think,” Emily said, not wanting to dwell on it. “Thanks for calling me. I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you. I was in surgery, and then later Jo called, and I didn’t get a chance to return yours.”
“It’s okay. What matters is that you’re here,” said Cathy. “Do you think your dad’ll be okay?”
“He doesn’t think he’s that sick,” Emily started, “so the first hurdle will be trying to get that through his thick skull.”
Cathy laughed. “When I first saw him in the hospital, he told me it was just a little indigestion from a bad piece of meat he ate. Total denial. Thinks he’s invincible.”
“He’s gonna need to slow down his life considerably,” said Emily. “Maybe cut back on work. Change his diet.”
“Like that’ll happen.” Cathy laughed. “But I’ll see what I can do.”
“You’re not responsible for him, Cathy,” Emily said.
“But I feel that I am,” she said gently, and Emily detected a touch of intimacy.
“You’re a great friend to all of us all these years. I probably never thanked you enough.”
“Your family has always been a joy to me. And I hope we get to spend more time together in the future under better circumstances,” she said.
“Perhaps.” Emily left it at that. It seemed a strange comment to make after all these years, but Emily skirted around it and said, “He even thought he was strong enough to tackle an autopsy tonight.”
“What? The Dobson girl?” Emily nodded. “That stubborn man,” said Cathy. “I heard about it today, but I didn’t mention anything to Robert. I knew it would only stir him up.”
“Well, it did. But I made it clear he couldn’t get involved. Instead, I got roped into it,” said Emily. “That’s why I’m arriving here so late.”
“Classic Robert. But no better choice than you,” said Cathy. “Terrible tragedy. What was the cause of death?”
Emily glanced at Cathy. “Cathy, you have to keep this just between you and me because I haven’t even told the family yet.”
“Promise. Confidentiality is my bread and butter,” she said.
“Homicide. She has a fracture to the skull.”
“Did you tell Nick?”
Emily nodded. “He was there. And I sent him the official report an hour ago.”
Cathy shook her head sadly. “This is going to be tougher than I anticipated. I’m meeting with the Dobsons tomorrow to make funeral arrangements. But don’t worry—my lips are sealed.”
“Does Nick have any leads on suspects?” Cathy asked.
“I don’t know,” Emily replied. “He said he had an investigation under way.”
“It’s kinda scary to know there’s a killer out there,” mused Cathy. “I wonder who would want to hurt that poor girl?”
Emily’s thoughts raced to the community of Freeport who didn’t know yet that they had a killer in their midst. This was the kind of place where people left their cars unlocked and their front doors unbolted. Emily made a mental note to keep both locked while she was here.
“So, I guess I’m crashing here for the night … or rather the day. I didn’t get a chance to book a room,” she told Cathy.
“No worries. I already made up a bed for you,” Cathy said.
“Oh that’s sweet, but I don’t want to dirty fresh sheets. I can just use the couch. I’m only crashing for a couple hours before I head back to the hospital,” said Emily.
“Your dad wanted me to stress that you’re welcome to stay here as long as you want.”
“I don’t think we’re quite on that level just yet,” Emily said, strumming her fingers over the top of the steering wheel. Her two-karat engagement ring caught Cathy’s eye.
“Emily Hartford. Are you engaged?” Cathy exclaimed, snatching Emily’s hand to get a better look. “Does your dad know?”
“Not yet,” said Emily. “I was too busy trying to keep him from fleeing his hospital room for the morgue.”
“I kinda feel privileged that I get to hear about it first,” Cathy said with a smile. “Spill it. I want all the details.” Cathy was wide-eyed for her story.
“His name’s Brandon. He’s a general surgeon at Northwestern. We met in med school at U of C, where he was on soccer scholarship and …” Emily paused and bit her lower lip slightly. She was doing it again. What could she tell Cathy about Brandon that wasn’t on Brandon’s LinkedIn page? She thought for a second and then said, “And he introduced me to sushi on our first date, took me to Thailand for Christmas break, and he wants us to do international medical missions in South America once we retire.”
“Wow. Some catch. When are you getting married?” asked Cathy.
“Not sure,” Emily responded.
“Here? In Freeport?” Cathy asked, hopeful.
“Oh, I don’t think so. He’s never even been here.” She knew how it sounded as soon as it slipped from her lips. “His family’s all in Chicago.”
“I see.”
“I don’t know. It’s all pretty fresh.”
“Well, there’s time for all those plans. I have to say, if this isn’t the path to your father’s recovery, I don’t know what is,” Cathy said with a growing smile.
“What do you mean?” Emily asked.
“Your happiness means everything to him. It always has,” Cathy said. “And his happiness means everything to me. Another wedding in the family. How wonderful,”
Emily looked confused. “Another?”
Cathy read her puzzled look and then realized. “What? He didn’t tell you at the hospital? I told him he needed to tell you now.”
“Tell me what?” Emily shook her head in disbelief.
“He called you two months ago. Do you remember?” Cathy said.
“Yeah, I think so. I know I got a message from him recently. But I never …”
“You never returned it,” finished Cathy. “This needs to stop. He’s your father.”
“I … I … What did I miss?” She felt fifteen again under Cathy’s scolding.
Cathy held up her left hand to reveal a simple platinum band.
“Your father and I got married a month ago,” she said. “It was a small ceremony at church with just a dozen or so friends. He wanted you—we wanted you to be there.”
“But my Aunt Laura … she never said anything,” Emily said.
“Your father instructed her not to say anything to you. He wanted to see if you’d return his call.”
“I see,” Emily cringed, feeling guilty. “Well, congratulations.”
“Thank you. And likewise. I won’t say anything to Robert about your engagement. It’s your news to tell,” Cathy said.
