Jonelle gripped the sides of the chair. “I’m only trying to save you some time.”
“And I appreciate it.”
Tankersley got up and stood outside his cubicle. “Hey, Burt, can you come here a minute?” he shouted.
“Burt may be able to help us with this,” he said, sitting back down. “He used to work in the Property Crimes Division before coming over to Homicide.”
A round-faced man about two inches taller than Jonelle, a good thirty pounds heavier, and with skin the color of bittersweet chocolate, approached Tankersley’s desk. His short-sleeve white cotton shirt had what looked like a mustard stain down the front. His lime green tie, decorated with tiny yellow and blue balloons, hung loose around his neck.
“You rang, professor?” He smiled down at Jonelle.
She smiled back.
“This here is Marvin Shorter’s niece, Jonelle Sweet. You remember me talking about Marvin? Old Gulf War buddy of mine.”
“’Course I do. Pleasetomeetcha, Miss.”
Jonelle shook the outstretched hand.
“Detective Thelonius Burton,” Tankersley said. “Burt to all who know and love him. Despite appearances to the contrary, he’s one of the best D’s on the force.”
Burt shoved his hands in his pockets. He lowered his head and rubbed his foot along the carpet. “Aw, shucks,” he said.
Jonelle giggled. “Why did you call him professor?”
Burt nodded at Tankersley. “Just look at the man. Those glasses, the bow tie, and he’s wearin’ chinos. Chinos for gosh sakes. Man’s a hundred years old and he’s wearin’ chinos.” He leaned toward Jonelle and whispered conspiratorially, “And he’s been known to wear a tweed jacket with those gawdawful elbow patches.”
“You sayin’ Sears makes shirts with mustard stains?” Tankersley quipped.
Burt looked down at his shirt. “I’m hurt, prof. Sears? I’ll have you know it’s Tar-jay all the way.”
Tankersley and Jonelle laughed.
“What’s so funny?” hollered a voice from the back.
No one answered.
Tankersley stopped laughing. “Gotta question for you, Burt. Heard anything lately about any grave robberies?”
The detective’s face turned serious. “Still happens sometimes, from what I’m hearing from some of my drinking buddies. Used to be these lowlifes dug up bodies for jewelry or other valuables buried with the deceased. Nowadays I’m hearing graves are being desecrated for the metal urns, copper vases, flag holders, and anything else the robbers can sell for scrap.”
Burt looked up at the ceiling. “Now, lessee if I remember right. Think I heard somewhere that copper is sellin’ for about three dollars eighty cents a pound.” He looked at Jonelle. “The creeps think no foul, no harm. Nobody gets hurt, so what’s the big deal, kinda thing. Somebody steal somethin’ from a grave ‘a yours?”
Before Jonelle could answer, Tankersley asked, “What about actually removing the bodies?”
“You mean for some kinda satanic ritual or something? Yeah, still happens from time to time. Haven’t heard anything like that in a while, but I can ask around. Now there have been a few stories about scumbag funeral directors takin’ money from the bereaved and disposing of the bodies like trash. That what you’re talkin’ about?”
Jonelle shook her head. “Based on what I’ve found out so far, the bodies were dug up and sold for money.”
“Whole bodies?” Burt asked, looking from Jonelle to Tankersley and back again.
She nodded. “I don’t think these guys were in it for any kind of organ harvesting or ritualistic, satanic cult thing.”
Burt whistled. “Bodies, you’re sayin’? As in more than one? Something rotten in Denmark here, folks?”
“Could be, Burt. Need your help with something.” Tankersley scribbled on a piece of paper. “See if anyone recognizes the name Jorge Bustamante. And ask if they can check to see if there are any complaints against Pleasant Valley Perpetual Rest Cemetery in Montgomery County. Also known just as Perpetual Rest.”
With a shake of the head Burt took the piece of paper. “Grave robbers! Help me Rhonda. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thanks. Appreciate it.”
Turning to Jonelle, Tankersley said, “I’m gonna check into this Saint August-something cemetery in DC, see if—”
“Hey, hold on,” Burt interrupted. “That name I have heard recently. Saint Augustine Eternal Rest for the Weary in DC has had some complaints. Something to do with citizens looking for and not finding relatives they had buried.”
Jonelle sat up straighter. “Can you check that out? There’s somebody works there, name’s Calvin. I believe his last name is Plant, and I think he’s involved in this.”
She turned to Tankersley. “Calvin’s the key, I can feel it. Once we confront him, we make him tell us exactly what’s going on.”
The detectives looked at each other.
“We?” they asked in unison.
Tankersley frowned at Jonelle. “Let the police handle this,” he said in measured tones.
Defeated, Jonelle slumped down in her seat. “Okay. Right. I’ll leave it to you guys.”
Tankersley nodded to his colleague. “Fill you in on the details later, Burt. Thanks.”
“Sure, no problem. Let you know what I find out.” He saluted Jonelle. “Was a pleasure, ma’am.”
“Me too.”
After he walked away, Jonelle said, “I like him.”
“So do the rest of us. Guy’s a sponge. You tell him something, he remembers it. And has eyes like a hawk. He’s found stuff the crime scene techs missed.”
Several seconds of silence passed. Jonelle played with the zipper on her purse.
“Uh, I kinda hate to ask this. I know you want to go home, but, um… ”
“It’s okay, Jonelle. Long as we’re talking about it, let’s hear the rest.”
She took a deep breath. “See, thing is, I’m curious about how Cornelius Manross died. Is there some way you can check to see if the autopsy’s been done yet?”
Tankersley rubbed his face. He seemed to age a few more years. However, his voice revealed no signs of his apparent weariness as he turned back to his computer.
“Let me see if I can find out which detective caught the call. Name’s Cornelius Manross you said?”
Jonelle nodded.
Tankersley pressed a few keys and waited.
A short time later, he said, “Looks like Lonnie Severs caught the call. I’ll leave him a note to check the autopsy results, if they’re in.”
Tankersley scrolled down on the computer.
“Well, I’ll be damned. Says here, autopsy results are in already. Must be slow in the morgue.”
Tankersley studied the screen in silence.
Jonelle wanted to scream at him. Read out loud!
CHAPTER 27
Adrienne glanced at the clock on the wall across from the counter and groaned. “Almost nine freakin’ thirty already,” she muttered, vision blurred from staring at what felt like the zillionth student change form on the computer screen.
She had hoped to be home by now, relaxing in front of the television, a glass of Cabernet in her hand. When she left Jonelle’s house earlier that day, the plan was to pick up some papers from the university and head home. As assistant director of the medical school’s administration department, she had earned that privilege. But when she arrived at work, the long line of students trying to drop and add classes in order to meet that day’s deadline inundated her staff and destroyed those plans.
Now, with everyone else gone for the day, here she was, several hours later, still sitting at the last position. She looked up. The steady stream of students had finally dwindled down to just one single individual.
“Help you?” she asked the harried-looking young woman in a white lab coat, standing patiently behind the “Form A Line Here” sign.
The young woman walked up to the counter. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to drop
Dr. Hammond’s class.” The student handed over the request and smiled weakly, pointing at Adrienne’s hand. “Pretty nails.”
Adrienne glanced down at her fingers done in lime green with tiny rhinestones centered in each one.
“Thank you. It’s a weakness of mine.”
The student held up her left hand and displayed fingers bitten down to the quick. “Nasty habit I have, but I can’t seem to stop.”
Adrienne studied the form for a moment. “You do know, don’t you, that the other Gross Anatomy classes are filled?”
The student picked at the sleeve of her white coat and nodded. Tears welled in her eyes and she swallowed hard before speaking. “I know I need this class, but I just can’t deal with that doctor anymore. No matter what I do, he just screams at me.” She sniffed.
Adrienne reached for the box of tissues and offered it to the student.
“Thanks,” she said, taking a tissue.
“Unfortunately,” Adrienne said, setting the box down within reach of the young woman, “Dr. Hammond’s class is the only one that has any openings left.” Adrienne remembered that three other students also dropped that same class.
She looked at the drop/add form again and typed the student’s university ID into the computer. She frowned. “Are you Cathy Cho?”
The young woman nodded, a tissue pressed against her nose. Straight black hair fell forward onto her face.
“Cathy, you’ve dropped Dr. Hammond’s anatomy class twice before.”
Cathy ran a trembling hand through her hair. “I know. At the start of each semester I tell myself I can handle it this time. I mean, everyone knows Hammond is the best teacher in the school. So I go ahead and enroll in his class. But he’s just so, so… ” Tears streamed down the student’s face. She grabbed another tissue.
Adrienne waited as the young woman struggled to compose herself.
She knew the university had received several complaints from students against the doctor over the years. Most objections centered around his smoking in class which was against university rules. A few were from those who felt he was “picking on” them. But the man was tenured and had a brilliant mind, even though his behavior seemed erratic at times.
Adrienne thought back to her confrontation with Dr. Hammond in the staff parking lot. She recalled the fierceness in his voice when she mentioned how he should use computer models to teach some of his classes.
She asked Cathy, who had finally stopped crying, “Did you file a complaint against the doctor with the department chair?”
The young woman gasped. “Oh, no. If he found out—”
“Okay, okay,” Adrienne said, raising her hands, palms out as if warding off something unpleasant. “It’s all right.” She didn’t want the young woman to start crying again.
“Can you be more specific as to what makes his classes so hard for you to endure?” Adrienne glanced at the clock again and groaned inwardly. Shit!
Cathy took a deep breath. “Well, the class always starts out fine. You know, the lecture part?”
Adrienne nodded encouragement. She needed to hear more. Despite the long day and desire to go home, an unsettling thought percolated somewhere in the back of her mind.
“But when we go into the lab and begin work on the cadavers, he starts acting, well, kinda weird.”
“Weird how?”
“It’s almost like he’s got some kinda personal relationship with the bodies we’re dissecting. I know it sounds strange, but all the students in his classes talk about how he seems, I don’t know, personally connected to the bodies in some way. Did you know… ” The young woman lowered her voice and leaned toward Adrienne. Cathy looked around to see if anyone else was listening, but the two women were alone. “He actually prays over each body before he takes the first cut!”
“That’s not necessarily weird, Cathy,” Adrienne said. “It’s possible he’s just being respectful. Those bodies were once living human beings. What else do you think Dr. Hammond does that’s strange or unusual?”
Cathy stood straighter. In a stronger voice, she replied, “Take, for example, when we first strip the skin away. You know, to expose the muscles? If anybody cuts a little too deep, he freaks out! Tells us we’ve ‘ruined them—they don’t come cheap.’ And on and on like that. I mean, the man screams like a banshee. Scares the heck out of me.” She shuddered.
“So, what you’re saying is, when each of you takes a turn to work on a body, he sometimes goes ballistic?”
Cathy shook her head. “We don’t all work on just a few bodies. There are lots of cadavers to work on in the lab.”
Icy fingers tapped a tune on the base of Adrienne’s spine.
“I’ve worked here fifteen years. I know cadavers are in short supply. Yet, you’re telling me, there are plenty to go around in Dr. Hammond’s class?”
Cathy nodded. “Sure. That’s why I kept signing up for his class. In spite of his freaky attitude, his class is really the only one where there seems to be enough bodies to work on. We don’t all need to crowd around just a few.”
A little voice whispered suspicions in Adrienne’s mind. She shifted her weight in the suddenly very uncomfortable chair.
“Anything else you can tell me about Dr. Hammond’s class that you find a little peculiar?”
Cathy didn’t answer right away. She picked at the sleeve of her lab coat again. “This last time was a little, uh, personal.”
Adrienne waited for her to continue.
“I was standing there, in the lab, and Lucy Nguyen and I were about to open the chest on this one cadaver, when, out of the blue, Dr. Hammond walks up to us and says, ‘You know, it’s real hard to find Asian bodies to work on.’ Then he smiled. Creeped us out.”
Adrienne hadn’t been aware she’d been squeezing her arms across her chest until the young woman had finished.
“I see,” she said, relaxing her grip. “Did he ever mention how his classes seem to have plenty of cadavers to work on?” She placed her hands on the counter.
Cathy shook her head. “He never said. And, honestly, I was too scared of the man to really want to risk asking him anything and drawing more attention to myself.”
“Wait just a sec, okay?” Adrienne reached down for her purse and removed her cellphone. She motioned to Cathy to remain by the counter as she walked three spaces over. She called Jonelle and got voice mail. Adrienne turned her back and lowered her voice.
“Jonelle. It’s me. Call as soon as you get this message. It’s urgent. I’m playin’ Nancy Drew here, and I don’t know what I’m doing.
“Sorry about that,” she said, coming back to face Cathy. “Tell you what, even though it’s filled, I’m going to let you into Dr. Pritnam’s class. I think that’s probably a better fit for you. If she complains, tell her to come see me.” Adrienne keyed some information into the computer, added the new class code and room number to the student’s form, and returned it to her.
Cathy beamed. “Sweet! Thank you so much!”
Adrienne watched the young woman rush out of the office, white lab coat flapping behind her.
She sat back in her chair. Over the years, Adrienne had heard the doctors complain about the lack of cadavers for their classes—bodies were in short supply all over the country. That was why the university invested so much money in computer models. Yet Cathy Cho just told her Dr. Hammond had plenty of cadavers for his students.
Adrienne looked at the clock again. Nine fifty. Why didn’t Jonelle call her back? Jonelle had told her about the eight o’clock appointment with Jorge.
The appointment. Adrienne placed her head in her hands.
The appointment was at the cemetery.
The cemetery where Jonelle’s husband went missing.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered to herself.
CHAPTER 28
“Uh, anything interesting in there?” Jonelle pointed to Tankersley’s computer screen. “Is that the autopsy report?”
He shook his head. “No. We d
on’t have those computerized yet. Stan Eiser, he’s the lead detective in this case, notes that the medical examiner mentioned a strong, pungent smell. The examiner immediately recognized the odor as formaldehyde, or some kind of mixture containing formaldehyde, when he opened up Cornelius Manross’ body. Eiser flags this in his case notes as something he should check further. Could be the smell’s not all that unusual, though, considering what you’re alleging this guy did.”
Jonelle remembered back to that evening’s conversation with Jorge.
“Is it possible to get that stuff inside of you, just by handling the bodies? And how long would the effects remain in someone’s system?”
Tankersley shrugged.
“Could you get a copy of the actual autopsy report?” Jonelle asked.
Tankersley turned weary eyes on Jonelle.
“I’ll go see if Eiser has a copy of the report on his desk. If not, that means we’ll—excuse me—I’ll have to wait until the Records Department opens up in the morning.” He rose to leave.
Jonelle stood to follow the detective.
He raised his hand. “Nope. You wait here, I’ll be right back.”
Jonelle squeezed her right hand in a tight fist and flopped back down in her seat. A slow burning sensation crept up from her neck and settled at the top of her head.
Del was my husband, she thought. Tankersley wouldn’t even be looking into the case if it weren’t for me.
Still ticked off with relinquishing control of her situation to someone else, Jonelle slid over into Tankersley’s chair. She grasped the curser and scrolled down Eiser’s report, looking for something, anything, that might jump out at her. The report described the clothes Manross wore when his body was found, as well as the contents of his pockets. She smiled at the mention of betting stubs. His wallet contained three hundred and forty-five dollars in cash and two credit cards, a debit card, and a few photographs. Farther down she read that a niece named Kimberlea Manross identified the body.
The sound of Tankersley’s voice forced Jonelle back to her chair. Before he sat down Tankersley glanced at his computer screen. One corner of his mouth tilted upward. He cleared his throat.
Burial Plot (A Jonelle Sweet Mystery Book 1) Page 19