by Lisa Regan
“Dee Tenney and Sebastian Palazzo,” said Josie. She turned to Mettner. “Speaking of Sebastian, who gave the death notice?”
She could tell by the pained looks on both Noah’s and Mettner’s faces that they had done it. Mettner said, “It was bad. Really bad.”
Noah said, “We were going to drive him to the emergency room and get him admitted to the hospital for seventy-two hours on suicide watch but then a coworker from the pharmacy came over. She promised to stay with him and call 911 if he got agitated again.”
Mettner added, “I told her to just go outside since we’ve got a unit stationed out front of his house anyway. He hasn’t left since his wife went missing.”
Gretchen said, “Chief, what do you want us to do? Bring Dee and Sebastian in and ask them point blank if they’ve got secrets?”
“Not yet,” said Chitwood. “Both of them are under police guard so if either of them is the kidnapper/killer, they’re not going to be in any position to hurt anyone else for now. Let’s focus on the other things for today and see what breaks.”
The phone on Josie’s desk rang. She snatched it up. “Quinn.”
On the other end, Dr. Feist said, “I’ve finished Faye Palazzo’s autopsy. You have time to stop by for a few minutes?”
Chapter Thirty-One
The scene at the morgue was almost identical to the one from the other day when Josie and Gretchen had visited after Krystal Duncan’s autopsy. Faye Palazzo’s body lay on the same exam table, a sheet pulled to her neck. Dr. Feist strode in from the door that connected the exam room to her personal office. Today, her scrubs were salmon-colored. As Josie and Gretchen entered, she waved and pulled off her skullcap, shaking her silver-blonde hair loose. She gave them a grim smile and beckoned them closer to Faye’s lifeless form.
“I know you were both at the scene,” she said. “Which means you already saw the pink color of her skin, indicating carbon monoxide poisoning, as well as the wax on her lips and the name on her arm.”
Josie and Gretchen both nodded.
Dr. Feist pointed to the bruises along Faye’s jawline that Josie had noted at the scene. “You saw these?”
“Yes,” said Josie. “She struggled.”
“She did but I didn’t find any skin under her fingernails or any kind of bruising anywhere else on her body.”
Gretchen said, “Meaning she was restrained except for her head?”
“I don’t think so. I think if she had been restrained, we would see evidence of that. Ligature or tape marks or something somewhere on her extremities. I think that by the time the killer poured the wax into her mouth, she was too weak to put up enough of a struggle to leave us any evidence. But given the burn patterns on the inside of her mouth and throat, the killer didn’t get his timing exactly right the way he did with Krystal Duncan.”
“The wax was poured into her mouth before she died,” Josie said.
“Yes. I think she instinctively tried to turn her head away, even in her weakened state from the carbon monoxide poisoning, and the killer had to hold it in place.”
Josie’s stomach burned. She couldn’t help but think of Sebastian Palazzo. He would find out the details of his wife’s murder eventually. It would be torture for him, although he already seemed as though he was in agony. He’d lost his son and his wife now within two years of one another. How would he survive this, she wondered. Clearly Faye had been his entire world. How did anyone survive losses like this? How was she surviving the loss of Lisette? How had it already been four months since Josie had watched her take her last breath? How was Josie still walking and talking and moving through life when such a large part of her soul had been torn away from her?
“Josie?”
She blinked and looked up from Faye’s face to see both Dr. Feist and Gretchen staring at her. She wasn’t sure which one of them had called her name. Slowly, as if she was afraid to startle Josie, Gretchen extended a hand. In it was a tissue. Josie didn’t take it. Instead, she touched her fingers to her cheek and came away with moisture. Quietly, almost reverently, Dr. Feist said, “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you cry.”
“I’m not—” Josie began but more tears spilled out. Reluctantly, she took the tissue from Gretchen and wiped at her face.
“I cry, you know,” said Dr. Feist.
Josie blinked again, annoyed by the pressure behind her eyes, wanting to let the tears fall to relieve the feeling if nothing else. “What?”
“I cry,” Dr. Feist repeated. “All the time. Privately, of course.”
Josie stared at her blankly.
A warm smile spread across the doctor’s face. “You think I can do this job every day and not get upset? I have to autopsy children. Sometimes infants. I did the autopsy on this woman’s son and on Krystal Duncan’s daughter. I don’t know what’s worse: the violence that human beings are capable of inflicting on one another or the fact that even if you stopped all that violence, people would still die and their loved ones would still be left behind with huge holes in their hearts and lives.” Dr. Feist stared down at Faye, a somber expression on her face. With one finger, she traced the bruises along Faye’s jawline. “So I cry,” she added. “In the car, in the shower, in the bathroom. Sometimes a good hallway or even an elevator will do. I don’t do it because I need comfort. There is no comfort for this. I cry because it lets some of the tension out. It helps me let go of some of the sadness and sorrow. It reminds me I’m still human.”
Josie’s throat was thick with mucous. She coughed to try to clear some of it and said, “That works?”
Dr. Feist shrugged. “For me, yes. I’ll never be okay with murder and death and loss and grief, but it gets me through the worst days.”
Josie pressed the tissue to her cheeks again, but it was soaked through. Gretchen handed her another. She turned away from them, dabbing at her tears again, trying to compose herself, but the harder she tried, the more tears came. “Jesus,” she muttered.
Josie didn’t know how many minutes passed but after several more tissues were soaked through, the tears abated enough for her to turn back to her colleagues. Dr. Feist smiled kindly. “It doesn’t have to leave this room, Josie.”
Gretchen nodded.
Josie sucked in a shaky breath and walked back to the table. “I’m fine,” she said. “Let’s get back to work.”
“Okay,” said Dr. Feist. “What I can tell you is that the immediate cause of death was asphyxiation from the wax in her airway although, given the cherry red of her viscera, just like what we saw with Krystal Duncan, even if the killer hadn’t poured the wax into her throat, she would have died from carbon monoxide poisoning. No sign of sexual assault. Nothing else remarkable on exam or autopsy. She was a very healthy woman. A little underweight, perhaps, but in great shape, physically.”
“What did you want us to see?” Josie asked.
“A couple of things.” She moved to Faye Palazzo’s feet and then slowly peeled the sheet up, folding it at Faye’s knees so that her shins were exposed. At first, Josie only saw angry red lash marks across both of Faye’s legs. Then she realized they weren’t lash marks. It was the shape of something imprinted on her skin. Dr. Feist said, “I know what you’re thinking—these horizontal red marks across her skin look like someone either whipped her or that her legs were resting against something slatted for a long period of time, but remember when we talked about livor mortis?”
Gretchen said, “How the blood settles in the lowest parts of the body, turning the skin purple or black—”
“Or cherry red in the case of carbon monoxide poisoning,” Dr. Feist interrupted. “Livor mortis is when that settling becomes fixed and no amount of manipulating the body changes it. The red you see here is where the blood settled.”
Josie said, “What about the white marks? It looks almost like she’s got red and white stripes across her legs.”
“The white is contact blanching. Where you see the white is where her legs were resting against something that
prevented the blood from settling in that area. It does look like stripes—or, as I said, slats of some kind. Livor was fixed when you found her, which means she had been dead for eight to twelve hours before she was moved to the location where you found her.”
“Which means she had to have been killed pretty soon after disappearing from her home,” Gretchen said. “At least within a twelve-hour window.”
“The killer didn’t keep her,” Josie said. “He didn’t need anything from her. He only meant to kill her.”
Gretchen nodded. “He wanted something from Krystal. Information. That’s why she was gone for so many days and why she logged into her work database. Or why he made her log in.”
Josie took out her cell phone and fired off a text to Noah. “I’m asking Noah if he and Mett have had a chance to check back in with the law office yet. I’ll tell him to look beyond the cases that Krystal was working on. If you’re right, Gretchen, then there was something in that law firm’s files that the killer wanted.”
Gretchen nodded and turned her attention back to Dr. Feist. “You’re telling us that Faye Palazzo died while kneeling on something slatted?”
“Yes,” said Dr. Feist.
Josie said, “Where would you find slatted floors? A deck of some kind? The bay of an auto repair shop?”
“Or a barn,” supplied Dr. Feist. “Come look.”
She covered Faye Palazzo’s legs and walked toward the counter at the back of the room, beckoning for them to follow. Her laptop sat next to several evidence bags. Usually at this point in any conversation about an autopsy, Dr. Feist opened her laptop to show them results of x-rays or read off other notes about her exam. This time, she bypassed the laptop and went straight to a small paper evidence bag, which she had already labeled. “Hummel is coming by for these shortly. I can’t leave here until he’s taken them into custody. Before I show you why I think she might have been kept in a barn of some kind, I just want to bring this to your attention. In this bag is a single diamond stud earring.”
Josie said, “I noticed at the scene she only had one.”
Gretchen asked, “Had the other one been torn out? Maybe in the struggle with the killer?”
Dr. Feist shook her head. “No. There was no tearing at all of the lobe of her other ear. I think she took the earring out herself. Either that or it fell out but there’s a good chance that she took it out and left it wherever she was held.”
“What makes you say that?” Gretchen said. “I lose earrings all the time.”
Dr. Feist lifted an index finger in the air, as if to tell them to wait for it. Then she snapped a pair of gloves on and picked up a larger evidence bag. Carefully, she took the contents out and placed them onto the stainless-steel counter. A pair of tan ballet flats. “These are the shoes that Faye was wearing when she was found. They’re flats so they didn’t have any tread on the bottom that might produce trace evidence, but on the inside of both shoes I found hair.”
Gretchen’s brow furrowed. “Hair?”
From yet another bag, Dr. Feist pulled two clear plastic baggies with several strands each of a pale-yellow hair. Each strand was two to four inches in length and kinked in unruly curls. Josie leaned down, bringing her face within inches of the bags so she could get a closer look. “Animal hair?”
“I believe so. It has to be sent to the lab for analysis, but I am fairly certain you’re looking at animal hair.”
“She stuffed her shoes,” said Josie. “She knew she was going to die. She took out her earring and left it and then she stuffed her shoes with animal hair.”
Gretchen said, “The killer would have known to brush off her clothing and skin. He probably did. That would explain why there was nothing on either Krystal or Faye when the ERT processed their clothes and when Dr. Feist did her exam. The killer cleaned them both up.”
“But he didn’t take their shoes off,” said Josie. “Why would he?”
“She took a risk,” Gretchen said. “Ballet flats fall off easily.”
“Even if the killer had found the hair inside her shoes,” Josie replied. “She would already have been dead. The only risk was that forensic exams wouldn’t turn it up.”
“What kind of animal do you think we’re looking at here?” Gretchen asked Dr. Feist.
The doctor shook her head. “Oh, Detectives, I’m no animal expert. I just knew something was off when I removed her shoes. I’ve done a lot of autopsies in my time, and I’ve never seen that before.”
“A goat,” Josie suggested. “Sheep? It’s too long and curly to be from a cow.”
“Alpaca, maybe?” Dr. Feist said.
Gretchen nodded. She took out her notebook and started scrawling words down.
Josie said, “The only problem now is that we’re in the middle of Central Pennsylvania. Do you have any idea how many barns there are just on the outskirts of Denton alone? How many farms?”
Gretchen looked up. “I’m gonna say a lot.”
Dr. Feist laughed. “More than a lot.”
Gretchen took out her phone and checked the time. “Everyone is out on the street working this case. We’ve still got to interview Corey Byrne and either Mett or Noah should be out tracking down Ted Lesko. Checking on area barns could take hours.”
“Get Lamay to do it,” Josie said, referring to their desk sergeant, Dan Lamay. “He can start the list while he’s manning the lobby. He’ll do it if we ask.”
“Great idea,” said Gretchen, dialing Lamay’s desk phone. As she gave Dan instructions, Josie turned to Dr. Feist and smiled. A real smile. “This is brilliant,” she told the doctor. “Thank you.”
Dr. Feist nodded. “Let’s hope it helps you find this killer. I don’t want to see another one of these cases ever again.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
As they approached the next stop, the bus pitched to the side. There weren’t as many kids on it now. No one cheered. Gail looked over at Bianca who had gone silent and paler than Gail had ever seen her. Her hands were clenched around the backpack in her lap. Gail heard one of the kids who was getting off the bus say, “Dude, I think I’m gonna be sick.”
She lifted herself out of her seat a little so she could see the bus stop. No parents waited. Once the kids hit the asphalt, they scattered, running home. A loud grinding noise came from somewhere under them. The whole bus vibrated.
Behind them, Nevin said, “What’s he doing? Did the bus break down?”
Gail felt a shiver start in her legs and work its way up her entire body. This wasn’t fun, and she didn’t like it anymore. “Maybe we should get off,” she said to Bianca.
“You mean off the bus? Here? This isn’t our stop.”
“You said something is wrong with Mr. Lesko. Maybe you’re right. We should just get off. I can call my mom.”
Bianca said nothing. She looked frozen like a statue.
Nevin said, “We could probably just walk from here. It’s not that far.”
Their bodies jerked forward and then back and the bus lumbered on, picking up speed so fast that the scenery outside was just a blur.
“It’s too late now,” said Nevin.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Gretchen had gotten to the station hours before Josie that morning and had a chance to speak with Corey Byrne’s boss to both verify the dates and times that Corey had been at work since Krystal Duncan went missing, and to find out precisely which job site he would be on that day. Again, Gretchen drove, weaving through the streets of Denton as if she’d lived there her entire life. Frigid air blasted into Josie’s face, cooling the sweat that had formed on her upper lip in the time it took to walk through the hospital parking lot. Josie tried to muster some anger toward Noah for letting her sleep so late, but it was the best rest she’d gotten in four months. She felt more clearheaded than she had since Lisette died. For the first time, she had fleeting seconds where she thought of her grandmother without experiencing utter devastation; instead, seeing Lisette’s knowing smile in her mind’s eye an
d hearing her voice: “I know, I know. You’ve got to get back to work. Go, go!”
Corey Byrne was working in a new apartment building being erected on the northern end of Denton University’s campus. Gretchen parked in a dirt-strewn lot behind it among a row of pickup trucks Josie guessed belonged to construction workers. The skeleton of the building was intact and one side had walls while the other was still open. As they rounded the front of the site, a sign announced that the building was destined to be new housing for graduate students. They worked their way through the site, talking to three different people and climbing four floors before finding Corey hanging drywall in one of the rooms on the closed side of the building. He started to tell them they couldn’t be there until Gretchen flashed her badge.
He put down his tools and wiped his palms on his jeans before shaking both their hands. “I didn’t know you were coming,” he said. “My boss—”
“Gave us permission to speak with you,” Gretchen filled in.
A yellow hardhat rested on his head. He reached up and took it off, revealing thick, golden-blond hair. Josie’s first thought was that he didn’t look like the father of a teenage girl. He barely looked old enough to have a fourteen-year-old, but then Josie remembered how Heidi had told them that her mother was only nineteen when Heidi was born. It was probable that Corey had been around the same age at the time, which would make him younger than the average parent in his area of West Denton. Not only that but he looked nothing like the other people living in his neighborhood. Most of the residents were college-educated and in their late thirties or early forties—even their fifties like Virgil Lesko—with white-collar jobs. Corey was an outlier—young and handsome, working a physical job each day. The seemingly endless work hours had sculpted his body into something gym rats could only dream about. His white T-shirt was tight and soaked with sweat, revealing every muscle of his arms, chest, and washboard abs, which rippled every time he moved. Josie could see why Faye Palazzo would have been attracted to him.