Decency

by Rex Fuller

  “Other than it looked like a beautiful young woman just died? No… except the detective in charge at the scene was from Baltimore.”

  “Okay, that’s it on the evidence technician. Here’s the most interesting interview tape. The autopsy pathologist, Dr. Scott Gray, 39, black male. Damn smart. My take is, he must truly believe he is allowing the dead to speak. Otherwise, a smart black internist would be out minting money.”

  “Dr. Gray, your autopsy report on Samantha Pierce which you have just reviewed for me concludes she died of natural causes possibly occasioned by allergic reaction to prescription medication. Just describe for me how you came to that conclusion.”

  “It’s very simple. There were no indications of homicide or suicide.”

  “What do you mean ‘no indications?’”

  “Let me preface this with a little perspective. If you ask me as a human being, do I want to believe that an attractive young woman just reaches the end of life? My answer is the same as anyone’s, No. “But that’s not the question. If you ask me as a scientist, is there any scientific evidence of unnatural interruption of the life processes in this particular body, my answer is that, based on the technology, we have, that answer is, No, not unless someone can show me a fallacy in my procedure. In the absence of such evidence or faulty procedure, the ineluctable conclusion is death by natural causes.

  “So that brings us to the procedure itself. I visually examined the outer skin, finding no trauma. I vacuumed the hair and the surfaces of the hands, feet, and microscopically examined the outer tissues of the vaginal and rectal openings, finding no foreign substances. The only substance worthy of note was the presence of capsaicin in the nasal passage in quantity consistent with seasoning her food with black pepper. I took samples of the nasal, oral, vaginal and rectal cavities and chemical analysis later revealed no unexpected substances. I microscopically surveyed the head and the possible entry points for injection and found no indication of invasion or trauma. I removed and resected the brain, the heart, and the lungs. There was no evidence of gross or small vessel hemorrhage or blockage of blood flow. I surveyed the abdominal cavity and found no evidence of bleeding or other inappropriate presence of fluids. I sampled the contents of the stomach, large bowel and small intestine. Chemical analysis resulted in no evidence of poison or other unexpected compounds, the only compounds not native to the woman were those from her meals and the medication for menstrual pain for which she had a prescription and it was not present in sufficient quantity to cause death or even untoward symptoms.”

  “Capsaicin? I like Mexican food, Doctor, so I know what that is. Is it possible that the woman was pepper sprayed?”

  “Yes. But unlikely. There was no evidence of it around the head. If you peppered your huevos rancheros this morning you have as much pepper in your nasal cavity. Remember a person hit with pepper spray will draw in only a small amount because they immediately stop inhaling to avoid the stinging. Plus, capsaicin breaks down fairly rapidly. Think about it. What’s the longest you ever felt the effects of, say, a habanero? An hour? After three hours only trace amounts remain.”

  “What about in the eyes?”

  “Same thing. Beyond three hours, trace amounts. I did not do a microscopic examination of the fluids of the eye nor chemically analyze them. That could be a conceivable flaw in the procedure. However, nothing to suggest that it was warranted was apparent to me.

  “More to the point. Even if you pepper spray someone, you have not killed them. You then would have to first subdue the person, because they can still put up a hell of a fight. Presumably, subduing them will create some trauma. Then to kill them you have to interrupt the life processes controlled in the brain, heart, or lungs. None of that was apparent.”

  “All right, what else can you tell me?”

  “You have not asked me what I consider to be the most effective means of causing death without obvious trauma.”

  “And.”

  “Electric shock applied to the heart to cause fibrillation. There are devices available generally that can cause death in that way. Electric shock to the brain can cause it to cease to function properly as well but the devices to do it with are not generally available. In any case, some evidence at the cell level of burning of nerve tissue would be present. I looked for it and didn’t find it.”

  “Anything else?”

  “There are compounds that can cause death and then disappear by metabolic process in the digestive tract or the blood. I found no indication of injection or other introduction and no residue. So that remains a possibility.

  “There is just no indication of anything other than natural causes. She just died possibly sparked by allergic reaction to the medication but there is no way to test for that specifically on the dead like you can a live person.

  “You have not asked me the sixty four dollar question.”

  “Okay. I’ll bite.”

  “Is it possible to kill someone or to kill yourself and not leave any evidence in or on the body? The answer is, of course, yes, as a theoretical proposition. But as a practical matter it is next to impossible. The reason is this. You have to make the science lie. To do that you have to be able to control the circumstances so completely as to eliminate accidents and anything that will interrupt the path of causation that you have chosen. Only, say, one person in 10,000 has the knowledge to set up the circumstances and the skill and dexterity to actually carry it out. Could she have killed herself, and tried to make it look like natural causes? Yes, but that too is beyond the knowledge and skill of almost everyone, you have to be able to get the necessary compounds that metabolize very rapidly, and thus disappear in the body, and administer them in the right way, that is, take the right amount. Almost always if you or someone else uses one of those compounds, you or they leave a trail of it somewhere around the scene. Sorry, but this looks to me like natural causes right down to the molecules.

  “What kinds of compounds metabolize and disappear fast enough?”

  “There are quite a number. Many commercially available products contain some of them. The inhalants used by glue sniffers contain them. Cleaning and degreasing products do also. Still you have to know what you are doing. For example, the inhalants will produce small vessel hemorrhaging in the brain and lungs that could be detected in autopsy. Many of these compounds won’t even do that if ingested. They just disappear. Even in small amounts, a prescription size pill, or liquid encapsulated in a gel that size, they still produce lethal depression of the central nervous system, but no symptom or tissue damage that would be discovered on autopsy.”

  “Okay. Thanks Doc.”

  “Now that brings us to the detective. Captain George Yancey, 41, white male, divorced and remarried, two kids from first marriage, one from second. Heavy child support. Burnout candidate. Thinks his job is like trying to hold back the ocean.

  “Not even worth playing the tape. Does not remember, or claims not to remember the case at all. Does not deny that it is his signature on the report.

  “Could he be lying? The question then would be, about what, and then, why? Nothing is obvious. I talked to his neighbor, his postman and his former wife.

  “The neighbor, Quentin Smith, says Yancey is a good guy, takes kids to movies and Orioles baseball games.

  “The postman says he doesn’t get a bunch of dun letters or anything else special. My check of his financial and credit records does not suggest a financial motive.

  “His former wife, Nancy, remarried name Bloomberg, says he’s a softy at heart. He does what he can. He mostly keeps up with the payments and no, he wouldn’t hurt anybody. She says he used to have nightmares about the victims he saw and she didn’t think perpetrators do. Interesting take.

  “So, there you have it.”

  “What’s your gut feeling, Gil?”

  “I’m in the same position as the pathologist. My gut doesn’t want the facts to be what my head says they are. But they are what they are. Say someone subdued her w
ithout trauma, how did they produce death without some evidence being left behind, or if they did, how did they get in and destroy the evidence without evidence of that being left behind?

  “There is the possibility that the Baltimore police captain killed her or was in cahoots with someone who did, then destroyed the evidence collected at the scene. But that would be so clumsy. Assuming he could get called to the scene - a big if - how is he going to be sure of destroying all of the evidence collected and the receipts? Possible I suppose. Especially if he took his time later destroying it. Plus, he’s been hanging around. Big easy target of a suspect. Why not take off for Aruba? And if you ask me, a cop would do it an easier way. A cop would deep six the body to delay the start of the investigation or dump it somewhere to make it look like a typical murder.”

  “You don’t see it?”

  “I wish I did.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Gil…appreciate the fast work.”

  “See you around. And if anything develops here, give a call.”

  Gil left and Kelly turned to Bonnie.

  “We need to make a ‘to do’ list and divide it up. I’d like to work on developing it together. Can you come back up in an hour or so, after I’ve had a chance to do some initial tinkering?”

  “Be glad to. See you then.”

  “Thanks.”

  Pulling the file closer, Kelly wondered where to start.

  The third document in the file after Bonnie’s e-mails was Samantha’s last letter. Reading it again brought her face to mind and freshened the understanding of how bright both her brain and personality were.

  Dear Mom and Dad,

  Once again, I’m all right. If there really was something wrong with me, or if the depression and paranoia determination was real, don’t you think you would be able to tell?

  Don’t worry. I love you. No matter what happens I’ll always love you and cherish the knowledge that you will always love me…

  …we should all be so lucky as to write a last letter to our loved ones as good as this one…not even Tom and I were that lucky…

  Kelly noticed a penmanship quirk. Samantha made tiny little jot marks under individual letters as though touching the pen to the page while proofreading…

  …wait a minute…! it can’t be…!

  In the first paragraph of the letter, the underlines were,

  Once again, I’m all right. If there really was something wrong with me, or if the depression and paranoia determination was real, don’t you think you would be able to tell?

  The ensuing paragraphs were marked,

  Don’t worry. I love you. No matter what happens I’ll always love you and cherish the knowledge that you will always love me.

  Heck, I’d love to come home and help wait tables and get the crop, just like I used to. Or if you get tired of me, I can live anywhere for a couple years on the money I’ve saved.

  I’m really very happy, thanks to the way you brought me up.

  NO MATTER WHAT HAPPENS, I’M ALRIGHT.

  “God in Heaven!”

  “c” “o” “d” “e” “k” “e” “y” “d” “i” “a” “r” “y” “p” “a” “g” “e” “t” “e” “n”

  “Jannie! Samantha Pierce can not only speak for herself, SHE’S SCREAMING AT US!!!”

  Jannie rushed in. She could not remember the last time Kelly was truly excited about anything.

  “What girl? What ‘screaming?’”

  “Here. Look!”

  Turning the letter around for Jannie to read and pointing to the underlined letters,

  “Read it. Spell the words with each underlined letter!”

  “What underlined letters?

  “Well, not underlined, see the little tick marks?”

  “Yeah, now I do. C-o-d-e-k-e-y-d-i-a-r-y-p-a-g-e-t-e-n. Let’s see, ‘c-o-de-k…?’ No, oh, ‘code.’ ‘K-e-y.’ ‘Key.’ ‘D-i-a…’ ‘Diary.’ ‘Page.’ ‘Ten.’ ‘Code key. Diary page ten!’ It’s like two complete sentences! Kelly, you did awfully good work finding that.”

  “Let’s just hope it takes us somewhere that can help her. Do we have her diary in the things her parents sent?”

  “No.”

  “That means it’s likely in one of two places, at her parents’, or with the police, which probably means lost.”

  “Do you want me to check?”

  “Let me think a minute.”

  …can we take the risk of picking up the phone and talking about a “diary?”… if someone at NSA is listening, would it mean anything to them…? what would they do if it did…?

  “No. Just put me on a plane to Omaha and get a rental car there. I’ll call the Pierces on the way to the airport to tell them I’m coming.”

  “Okay, I’ll have the reservations in a jiffy.”

  Jannie marched out to make the call.

  Kelly keyed the intercom, “Bonnie, you still there?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Forget the meeting. Sit tight, I’ll be right down.”

  Showing the letter to Bonnie caused her to gasp.

  “My God, they look just like errant touches of the paper or, at most, proofreading marks. We didn’t even think anything of it.”

  “Let’s see what the messages are in the other marked letters.”

  Checking a few of Samantha’s letters made it clear the “code key” was needed to decipher the messages indicated by the marks. It was a jumble.

  “Here’s what we do next, Bonnie. No matter what, don’t ever mention a diary on the telephone, or to anyone outside the firm. Double check the police report. I don’t remember any mention of a diary being seized, and Gil didn’t mention it, so I don’t think it’s there but make sure. Questions?”

  “If I find it, do I call you?”

  “No…I’m heading for Nebraska which is where I think it has to be. If I call you, I’ll ask you, ‘Did you see the book,’ just that, ‘the book,’ you’ll know I mean the diary.”

  “Okay. Otherwise, I’ll wait to talk to you when you get back.”

  “Right. We’ll still need to do a lot, fast. We’re down to about ten days and the only way to get done is map our things to do.”

  “Good luck at the Pierces.”

  After meeting her at the café, Kathy Pierce led the way out to their farm in her old Ford Ranger.

  When she turned into the driveway the simplicity of the Pierces’ lives was obvious. From a country road running east and west, their gravel driveway led north a hundred yards. The Pierce house was a tiny two story white clapboard, awaiting its turn for painting. The barn and out buildings already had their turns and shined red, the color of oxblood shoe polish. The house faced west, affording views of the weather both in the morning out the back at breakfast time, and of approaching afternoon storms out the front. To the north, an infantry of tall firs stood guard against the polar gusts that attacked in winter. The driveway curved around to the right to the back door where Kathy pulled to a stop.

  Kathy got out and motioned to park behind her, leaving an access route for another vehicle to pass, always a likelihood where tractors and trucks spend their productive lives trekking back and forth from house and barns to fields. Blocking someone else’s path would be a sin.

  “Here we are, Kelly. Our home.”

  “It’s just what I pictured it looked like.”

  A short footpath led past a small herb garden and a well-worn, steel foot-scrape to the back door. The door, which did not appear to even have a lock, opened onto a small mud room where jackets and coats hung from wooden pegs on the wall above several pairs of eternally spattered boots, awaiting the next chore.

  The interior door opened with a squeak into the bright kitchen. It was a place where someone who knows what they are doing worked. No clutter. Spotless counters. Pots and pans hung above the stove.

  “I’ll just put on some coffee. Make yourself at home in the dining room. We’ll go up to Samantha’s room in a minute.”

  The dining table was a
perfect 3 x 5 rectangle, hand made of oak, with four chairs, two on each side. An antique hutch was on one wall. A bookcase, also handmade, was on the other. It housed a library in microcosm. The top shelf had reference books, dictionaries, a thesaurus, almanacs and gazetteers. Next down was the current year’s National Geographic, the Bible, and a bookend to allow some additions. Next down was The Complete Works of Shakespeare, editions of collected poems by Frost and Sandburg, and Milton’s Paradise Lost. The bottom shelf held two stacks of newspaper sections, the Omaha World Herald, and The Wall Street Journal.

  …nothing in the room is decoration…only needful things are here…

  Kathy forged on through the room, “Come on upstairs. We’ll get started and I’ll come back for the coffee.”

  “I’m impressed with your library.”

  Kathy smiled slightly, “You’re easily impressed.”

  The living room proved her meaning. It had just enough room for the plain velveteen sofa and chairs, coffee table, large screen TV, and full bookshelves that lined every wall.

  Kathy glanced back and, smiled knowingly. “We both always tried to read. Now, it’s a solace.”

  At the top she pointed, “Here is Samantha’s room. She pretty much kept it fairly plain. The keepsakes from growing up are in boxes in the closet.”

  A single canopied bed with pale floral coverings dominated the room. Four framed pictures hung on the opposite wall. One showed her with a prize winning calf. In another she mugged with her high school buddies in their graduation caps and gowns. The third had her sitting in front of a large computer console. The last was of Samantha and the Secretary of Defense holding an award presented to her.

  Kathy opened the closet and turned on the light with a pull-string. A dozen boxes were stacked floor to ceiling.

  “You mentioned a diary. It could be anywhere in these things. Generally, they’re stacked chronologically. The bottom boxes are the earliest. There are things like baby stuff, then her old toys and books…high school things… there’s an old portable Toshiba computer from college, I think it was one of the first ones…on top of that is what you’re looking for…her personal things from Maryland. We had an auctioneer back there sell the furniture, clothes, utensils and what not.”