Eleven
Pete concluded his retelling of the story of finding Elizabeth Landis’ body. Graley studied her notes in silence, thumbing back and forth between the ones she’d just taken and earlier pages.
After several minutes, she asked, “You didn’t mention—was there any sign of the car being broken into?”
“None.” A detail that hadn’t helped Dustin’s case.
Graley tapped her lips with her pen. “DLK never damaged any of the cars either.”
“Really?” Pete hadn’t read that in any of the news stories. “Any idea how he gained entry?”
Graley looked at him. “I plan to ask him when I make the arrest.”
Pete’s phone rang. He ignored it, knowing Nancy would pick up the call.
“How much do you have on this guy?” he asked the special agent.
The hint of an irritated scowl flickered across her lips. “Not as much as I’d like.”
“But what do you have?”
Graley closed her notebook and appeared to ponder how much, if anything, to share.
“Come on, Graley. The days of law enforcement agencies being stingy about sharing have gone the way of the dinosaur. I told you what I know. You have access to our evidence. Now it’s your turn.”
She thought about it and opened her notebook again.
Before Graley could say anything, Nancy appeared in the doorway. Her expression told Pete something wasn’t right.
“Zoe’s on the phone.”
He snatched up the handset. “Zoe?”
Her shuddering breath reached him ahead of her words. “Franklin died.”
“What?” Pete slumped back in his chair, stunned. “What happened?”
“Cardiac arrest.” Her voice sounded strangled. “I just found out. I’m on my way to the hospital.”
“I thought he was stable.” Pete noticed Nancy had vanished from the doorway.
“I thought so too.”
Pete checked his watch. Not quite noon. “Are you all right?”
“Not in the least.” She punctuated the sentence with a humorless laugh.
He met Graley’s impatient gaze. The seed of an idea sprouted. “I’ll meet you there as soon as I can,” he told Zoe.
“It’s not really your jurisdiction.”
Thoughts bounced inside his head like a band of wild monkeys. He only verbalized one. “It might be.”
He hung up. To Graley, he said, “Our county coroner died.”
Her annoyed expression softened. Minimally. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I.” Pete rubbed his chin. “Coroner Marshall was supposed to testify in the Landis retrial. I’d intended to talk to him about it this afternoon.”
“Did anything questionable about the woman’s COD come up in the autopsy?”
“No. It was straightforward. Single gunshot to the head.”
“Then his death shouldn’t affect the retrial.”
Pete looked at Graley. Did she have any idea how callous she sounded? “Maybe not. But Franklin Marshall never kept it a secret that he had his doubts about Landis’ guilt.”
“Oh?”
Pete didn’t elaborate but couldn’t help thinking the late coroner would’ve been fascinated by the serial killer theory.
Astute enough to realize Pete had said all he was going to, Graley folded her arms. “When can I take a look at the evidence?”
Pete’s opinion of Graley sank. “When are you going to tell me what you have on your DLK?”
Again, she considered the request. “Let’s not waste any more of each other’s time than necessary. I’ll tell you what we have while you show me the murder weapon.”
The sooner she examined the gun and anything else that might prove or disprove Landis’ serial killer theory, the sooner she’d be out of Monongahela County and back at the FBI Headquarters in Pittsburgh. He picked up his phone. “Let me make a call.”
A weary-sounding Abby answered on the second ring.
“Did I wake you?” Pete asked.
“Not really.”
He reconsidered what he was about to request.
“What do you need, Chief?”
“Never mind. You need your sleep.”
“That’s not gonna happen anyway. Why’d you call? Do you need me to come in?”
He eyed Graley who was studying him. “I wondered if you’d be interested in working the rest of my day shift this afternoon so I can take care of some business in Brunswick,” he said to Abby. Then he added, “Instead of your midnight shift.”
She didn’t jump on the offer as quickly as he’d expected. Perhaps she and Seth had patched up their differences. Pete winced. Maybe Seth was the reason Abby wasn’t sleeping. Had Pete interrupted something else?
“I’d be short hours,” she said after a few moments.
Oh. “You can double up with Kevin for part of second shift to make up your time.”
The reply was immediate. “Okay. I can be there in a half hour.”
Pete thanked her and hung up. Graley continued to watch him. “My relief will be here in thirty minutes. Why don’t you go ahead to Brunswick, grab some lunch, and meet me at County Police HQ in an hour.”
She gave a quick nod. “One hour. Got it.”
After Graley left, Pete leaned back. He’d make sure the agent got her access to the evidence room, demand to know what the FBI had learned about the Deserted Lot Killer, and then head over to the hospital.
Zoe draped her arm around Paulette’s shoulders, the secretary’s soft weeping the only sound in the hospital room. No pinging of monitors. No yelping alarms. And since the nurse had closed the door to give the women some privacy, even the extraneous chatter from the hallway was muffled to near silence.
Franklin’s pale body lay in the bed where he’d died, his eyes closed. Zoe imagined hearing him comment on how the odds of the deceased’s eyes being open or closed were fifty/fifty. How could it be that she’d never hear his pearls of morbid wisdom ever again?
A sheet covered him from the chest down, round EKG pads still stuck to him. The machines had been shut off. Someone had done a quick cleanup of the debris that occurs when doctors and nurses attempt to save a life. Zoe noticed a ripped paper wrapper from a syringe sticking out from under the bed, evidence of the failed effort.
“I can’t believe he’s gone,” Paulette said through the tissue pressed to her mouth. Then she huffed a tear-soaked laugh. “How many times have I heard that line? Everyone says it, don’t they?”
Zoe rubbed the secretary’s arm. Words formed in her brain, made it to the back of her tongue, and dissolved before she could speak them. None felt adequate.
And as Paulette pointed out, they all sounded cliché, especially when referring to a man who’d been around death his entire life.
Paulette sniffled and looked up at Zoe. “You’re the county coroner now.”
Zoe had been tossing around titles for the last few months. Chief deputy coroner. Acting coroner. Now, all the qualifiers fell away. Who was it who’d said, “The buck stops here”? She exhaled long and deliberate. The caseload now stopped at her doorstep.
A soft knock on the door drew her attention. A nurse, the same sad faced one who’d greeted her and Paulette when they arrived, poked her head in. “Is there anything I can get you ladies?” she asked, her voice soft, respectful. “Coffee? Tea? Water?”
Zoe looked at Paulette who gave a quick shake of her head. “No. Thank you,” Zoe told the nurse. You’re now the county coroner. “But I’d like to talk to you if you have the time.”
“Sure.” The nurse glanced at Paulette whose gaze remained glued on Franklin. “Here?”
“No.” Zoe rubbed Paulette’s arm again. “Will you be all right for a few minutes?”
“Yes, of course.” Paulette lowered her soggy
tissue and lifted her eyes to Zoe’s. “You take care of business. It’s what he’d want.”
It was what he’d insist. “I’ll be right outside if you need me.”
Zoe headed for the door, stopping to grab the notebook she’d started carrying. In the hall, the nurse—her name badge said Dorian—stood next to the wall, out of the way of traffic. She jammed her hands into the pockets of her scrubs’ smock top. “How can I help you?”
“I’m—” Zoe couldn’t say the word coroner without the modifier yet. “—the acting Monongahela County coroner—”
“I know.”
“I need to know what happened.”
Dorian’s posture stiffened. “As his friend or officially?”
Zoe hesitated. “Both.”
“I can speak with you as Mr. Marshall’s friend. However, he died here in the hospital, which puts it outside of the coroner’s office jurisdiction.”
“Mr. Marshall was the coroner’s office,” Zoe pointed out, although she knew the nurse was fully aware of Franklin’s identity.
Dorian lowered her gaze. “The hospital administrators have already been on the phone with us about this. His death was a result of complications from diabetes, and therefore does not meet the criteria of suspicious or unnatural to fall into the coroner’s jurisdiction.” She sounded like she’d memorized a prepared statement.
Zoe eyed the woman but heard Franklin’s voice in her head. Choose your battles. Or in this case, she needed to choose with whom she did battle. The nurse was only doing her job. Zoe pocketed her notebook and plastered a smile on her face. “I understand. I wasn’t implying wrongdoing.” Yet. “I’m just shocked by Franklin’s death. I thought he was doing better.”
Dorian’s all-business façade dropped away. “I thought so too. Earlier this morning, his vitals were stable. We’d gotten his glucose levels back to where they needed to be. He was demanding to be released, although the doctor wanted to keep him at least another day. I went in to check on him about ninety minutes ago and noticed his heart rate was up. He complained he was hungry, but he’d had a good breakfast. I suspected his levels had dropped. I gave him the rest of the diet soda he had on his tray and went to get the glucometer.”
“Diet soda?”
“Yes. They may be sugar-free, but there are still some carbs in them. Not ideal by any means but better than nothing until I could get some juice.”
“Okay. Then what?”
Dorian stuffed her hands in the pockets of her scrubs. “When I returned, he was unconscious. His glucose was at thirty-two. I was getting ready to push 60cc’s of D-50 through his IV when he coded. We weren’t able to get him back.”
Zoe made a mental note of the times of Franklin’s last meal and dose of insulin and thanked Dorian for her help.
“What’s going on?”
Zoe looked up as Wayne approached. “Haven’t you heard?” she asked.
“Heard what?” He glanced at the closed door.
“Franklin…” Her mouth went suddenly dry. “Franklin died this morning.”
For once, Wayne was speechless. After a couple of false starts, he asked, “Are you all right?”
She shook her head slowly. “Not really.”
“I thought he was improving.”
“So did I. But he’s been in failing health for a while. You don’t get on the transplant list for no good reason.”
He studied her. “Why do you look like some superhero female warrior about to ride into battle?”
“Because the hospital administrators are arguing they have jurisdiction over Franklin’s death.”
“And you want to do the autopsy.”
“I don’t want to. But don’t you think Franklin would insist his death be investigated by his own office?”
Wayne didn’t have to think about it long. “Absolutely. Do you suspect something?”
She mulled over the question. “I have no reason to. Like I said, he’s been sick a long time.”
Wayne cocked an eyebrow at her. “But?”
“But it’s Franklin. He was a fighter.” She choked on the last word as a rush of heat stung her eyes. Blinking it away, she swallowed the lump in her throat. “I know the hospital will do their own autopsy, and I’m not saying they’d cover up any mistakes…”
“Franklin was a well-known public figure.” Wayne brought his face closer to hers, locking onto her gaze. “I’m sure the hospital administration wouldn’t want even the hint of impropriety or the suggestion of a coverup. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
He was giving her fodder for the inevitable argument she was destined to have with the admin. “Yeah. I do.”
“Good.” Wayne’s gaze shifted over her shoulder. From his expression, Zoe would’ve guessed he’d accidently backed into a large gauge needle. “Oh, no,” he muttered.
Zoe turned to see what caused the reaction.
Loretta Marshall stormed toward them looking like the Angel of Death personified. “Where is he?” she demanded. “The hospital called to tell me Frank died.” She locked her dark, tearless eyes on Zoe. “What have you done with his body?”
Stunned, Zoe looked toward the door.
Loretta turned and slammed into the room.
Zoe grabbed Wayne’s arm. “Crap. Paulette’s still in there.”
They pushed through the door to find Franklin’s secretary in the same spot Zoe had left her, but instead of weeping quietly into a tissue, Paulette stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Impassive, Loretta stood at Franklin’s bedside. No hint of tears. No sign of grief. Zoe froze, Wayne at her side, watching and waiting for some reaction.
After what felt like a half hour but was more like half a minute, Loretta turned her back to her late husband, looking at Paulette, then at Zoe. “Now what?”
Zoe had been wondering the same thing. “I’m going to meet with the hospital about having the coroner’s office take possession of the body. I’ll arrange to have him moved downstairs to the morgue. We’ll do the autopsy as soon as Doc Abercrombie’s available.”
“Autopsy?” Loretta’s dark expression darkened further. “There will be no autopsy.” She swept a hand at Franklin. “He died of kidney failure in a hospital.”
“All we know is, yes, he died in the hospital. The autopsy will determine what caused his death.”
She took two menacing steps toward Zoe. “Did you not hear me? I’m his next of kin and I said there will be no autopsy.”
Loretta towered over her by several inches, but Zoe refused to be intimidated. Or at least she refused to let it show. “I’m afraid you don’t get a say in the matter. I’m the county coroner. I’m the one who determines when there will be an autopsy. Not you.”
The widow glowered at Zoe, her lip curled, revealing one canine tooth. Zoe wouldn’t have been surprised to have seen a fang. What she did see was unabashed rage. Loretta leaned closer. “Don’t make the mistake of taking me for a fool. You have no authority in a hospital death. And the hospital will absolutely take my wishes into account. There will be no autopsy.”
Zoe felt like the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees. The worst part? Loretta was right. If Franklin’s death investigation was left to the hospital, her demands would carry considerable weight.
Wheeling, Loretta faced Paulette. “You. You were Frank’s secretary, correct?”
“Yes,” she squeaked.
“I want to see all his documents regarding the business.”
“But—”
Loretta didn’t wait for the response and brought her fury back to Zoe. “I want you out of Frank’s office by tomorrow morning.”
“That won’t be—” Before Zoe could tack on “possible,” Loretta plowed past her and through the door.
Silence settled over the room once again. Until Wayne said, “Wow.”
Zoe reache
d out to grasp the back of a chair before her knees buckled.
Wayne caught her, gripped her shoulders, and forced her to meet his gaze. “Forget that woman. You have to hold it together right now. I know you and Franklin were close, but he doesn’t need a friend anymore. He needs you to do your job.”
Her mouth dry, she nodded. “Loretta knows a lot about the legalities of a hospital death.” Zoe looked at Paulette. “Is she a lawyer?”
“No,” the secretary replied, her voice tight. “She’s a pharmaceutical sales rep.”
Twelve
Pete watched as Special Agent Graley examined the gun that had claimed Elizabeth Landis’ life.
“Small caliber revolver,” she said quietly, more to herself than to him. “Consistent with DLK’s weapon of choice.” She looked at Pete. “You said it was found in a dumpster?”
“Behind the husband’s office building. Along with that.” Pete nodded toward two paper evidence bags.
“Not very smart.” Graley replaced the .22 in its box. “Dumping evidence of your crime near your own workplace.”
“He held onto the stuff for over two weeks before disposing of it. Waited until he thought it was safe.”
“Clearly, he thought wrong.” Graley opened the first bag and removed a black hoodie and pants.
“Forensics determined the blood spatter on the hoodie is consistent with blowback from a shot fired at close range. And it’s a match to the victim,” Pete said.
“What about other DNA or fiber evidence?”
“No. Both pieces had been washed.” Not thoroughly enough to keep the forensic techs from gathering blood evidence, but there had been no way to positively identify the clothing had ever been in Landis’ possession. Hirst had asked that it be removed from evidence. The judge denied the request.
Graley meticulously examined the hoodie before returning it to the paper bag. She moved on to the final piece. The crumpled plastic grocery bag.
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