Bitter Past

by Caroline Fardig

  He laughed. “Things like that happen to the best of us. So about you consulting for the department…”

  “Look, Detective—”

  “Nick,” he corrected me.

  “Nick. I don’t want to be a part of that world anymore. I don’t want to have to deal with the violence and the hurt that comes with it.” I shook my head, trying to clear out the disturbing images that had popped in uninvited.

  Baxter caught my arm and stopped me. “Did something happen? Usually people don’t have such a strong repulsion toward the job unless it was something big.”

  “This is me,” I said, ignoring him and nodding to the next house. His question was one I didn’t want to answer. Walking backward toward my door, I said, “Thanks for walking me home. Goodbye, Nick.”

  He sighed. “Goodbye, Ellie.”

  ***

  “Listen up!” I shouted, in an attempt to get my Intro to Forensic Science class quieted down so I could explain our lab practicum for the day. “Each group has a paper sack containing an article of clothing. Your task is to collect the loose trace evidence on the clothing, use your microscopes to determine what materials you’ve found, document the different types of trace, and properly bag and tag your evidence.”

  One of my prissier female students removed a shirt from her bag and looked at it with disdain. Her group had received an old shirt of mine that I had rubbed all over my hairy Golden Retriever yesterday. Clouds of golden fur clung to the dark fabric.

  She complained, “Um, Professor Matthews, like, what all kinds of trace are we going to find on this clothing? This is super gross.”

  I refrained from rolling my eyes at her. “Maddie, most of the time, forensic work is ‘super gross.’ If you’re upset about a little hair, how are you going to be able to handle collecting blood, saliva, and semen samples at crime scenes? Most crimes aren’t committed in someone’s freshly cleaned living room. They occur in dark alleys, crack houses, seedy bars, and old abandoned buildings, just to name a few. Criminalistics isn’t a field for those who are afraid to get dirty. You’ll see, smell, touch, hear, and possibly even taste things you wish you hadn’t. There will be bugs, vultures, rodents, bodily fluids, rot, mold, and unspeakably horrid odors. And that’s on a good day.”

  Maddie stared back at me with wide, frightened eyes.

  I continued, “Not only is there the gross-out factor, but there’s also the emotional side. Humans do more heinous and awful things to each other than you can begin to imagine. And to do your job, you’re going to have to be able to stare at the aftermath of these demented acts for hours on end and not let it get to you. When I worked for the Hamilton County Crime Lab, I saw things that still chill me to this day.” I hesitated for a moment as an upsetting memory flashed through my head. Clearing my throat, I went on, “I don’t want any of you to be blinded by how cool and exciting they make careers in forensics look on television. I want you to fully understand what you’re getting yourselves into. Despite the opposition, the new outdoor forensic research facility will be a good test to find out if you have what it takes to make it in the field. And if forensics isn’t for you, there’s no shame in that. Better to decide now than after spending four years getting a degree you’re unable to use.”

  I was fairly certain Maddie hadn’t thoroughly thought her college major through. From the concerned looks I was getting from her fellow students, it was clear that she wasn’t the only one. It wasn’t a terrible idea to run the prospective forensics students through the new body farm during their initial campus visit. If they vomited or passed out, they’d go to the bottom of the list for acceptance into the program.

  Getting back on track, I said, “But to answer the question you asked, Maddie, our lab today will concentrate on hair and fibers. Once you get the trace onto your tape, you should be able to easily distinguish the different types of hair under the microscope and determine what mammal they came from. Remember to look at the scale pattern of the hair shaft’s cuticle. You don’t have to worry about determining the origin or composition of the fibers. You’ll only need to be able to describe them on the evidence tag. Now let’s get lifting.”

  After class, I went in search of Cooper to see if he had made it in to work today. He wasn’t in his office, but I heard shouting down the hall so I followed the sound. When I rounded the corner into the main concourse of the science building, I found him.

  “You bastard! Vasti’s blood is on your hands!” yelled Tristan Sellers, one of the protestors from the night of the fundraiser.

  Cooper and Tristan stood face-to-face, both visibly shaking, surrounded by a throng of onlookers.

  “That is absolutely untrue. Please, let’s go and talk about this in private,” Cooper pleaded, his voice wavering.

  Several of the students were filming the exchange on their phones. Between social media and the Ashmore Voice’s new video blog, or “vlog” as the kids called it, these videos would be shared and viewed by everyone on campus. Poor Cooper was going to be a viral sensation for the second time this week. By dinnertime, he would be convicted in the court of public opinion, guilty or not.

  “No way, man. I’m not going anywhere with you! It wasn’t enough that you used her and broke her heart, but now…” Tristan trailed off, sobbing. He raised his hands in a gesture of despair and muttered almost to himself, “I almost had her out of her shell, and now…she’ll never…”

  His face ashen, Cooper reached out to Tristan. “Tristan, I—”

  Tristan shoved Cooper’s hand away and ran, bumping into gawkers on his way out the door. The crowd dispersed, but not before some of them threw Cooper disgusted looks. Cooper strode my way, likely running for the sanctuary of his office. As he passed me, he grabbed my elbow and whisked me down the hall with him. Once we were inside his office, he slammed the door and closed the blinds covering the window facing the hallway. He collapsed on his chair and put his head down on his desk.

  “What was all that about?” I asked.

  He groaned. “I made the mistake of giving my condolences to Tristan.”

  “He seemed to know an awful lot about Vasti—and about your relationship with her. Did they have a connection besides being fellow protestors?”

  His head still down on the desk, he answered, “They were dating.”

  I snorted, “Those two were dating? She’s way too cool for him. I’m not seeing Vasti with a little hipster loser like Tristan.”

  “It’s true.”

  “If it is, then that gives him some serious motive. The significant other is often the strongest suspect. Do you know if the police questioned him?”

  “I don’t know. And I don’t want to talk about it.”

  I held up my hands. “Okay, sorry.”

  We sat in silence for a while, neither one of us moving until Cooper suddenly reached into his desk, pulled out a bottle of Mylanta, and chugged it.

  “Coop, you need to calm down,” I said, my unease growing as I watched him begin to pace back and forth in his office.

  He wiped a hand down his face and exploded, “I cannot calm down! The police are at my home as we speak, going through my possessions, trying to find something to tie me to the murder!”

  My stomach clenched. If the police were searching his place (the guest house on the grounds of his parents’ estate), they knew what they were looking for—most likely the murder weapon. They were confident of his guilt if they had enough on him to secure a warrant to enter his home. I didn’t tell him that, though. Even though I was trying to keep an open mind, I was beginning to worry there was something else he wasn’t telling me.

  After his outburst, he went back to pacing. I didn’t have any encouraging words to say, so I kept my mouth shut. There was a knock at the door. Cooper jumped, a terrified look on his face. He stood frozen in his tracks.

  When he didn’t open the door, a voice called, “Dudley, it’s Tyler. Open up.”

  Cooper’s face crumpled into a disgusted frown. I could tel
l he was contemplating not answering, but Tyler wouldn’t give up.

  “I know you’re in there, cousin. I can see you through a crack in the blinds.”

  Emitting a low growl, Cooper opened the door and ushered Tyler inside, quickly closing the door behind him. “It’s not a good time, Tyler,” Cooper warned.

  “You can say that again,” Tyler replied, his expression waffling between concern and glee. Something about his demeanor coupled with his slicked-back hair and beady eyes made him look like a caricature of the greasy political toady he was. He turned to me, purring, “Ellie. What a pleasant surprise.”

  Unsmiling, I waved my hand in greeting.

  Cooper eyed Tyler. “What is it, Tyler? You’ve never come to my office before.”

  Grinning like a Cheshire cat, Tyler said, “I’m afraid I have to be the bearer of bad news, Dudders. Your mother sent me here. The police evidently didn’t find what they were looking for at the guest house, and now they have a warrant to search your father’s gun collection.” He seemed to enjoy delivering the bad news.

  Dumbfounded, Cooper asked, “Why in the world would the police need to look through my father’s guns…and what does it have to do with me?”

  Growing serious, Tyler said, “They think they’re going to find the rifle that was used to shoot that girl at your research park.”

  I gasped out loud, a cold chill sweeping through me. Not only did they have probable cause to search Cooper’s home, but they also had the murder weapon narrowed down to a specific type of rifle. Recalling Tyler’s one-sided pissing contest with Cooper at the fundraiser, I realized that Cooper would at least have to know his way around a firearm to take part in his family’s annual big game hunting trip. That gave Cooper means and motive to kill Vasti. To top it off, Cooper had told me himself that he was “out for a drive” around the time Vasti was killed, therefore giving him the opportunity to have killed her. He could argue his innocence until he was blue in the face, but he was starting to look guilty on paper. I hadn’t seen the evidence personally, so I didn’t want to make a judgment, but admittedly I was beginning to wonder if he wasn’t in some way involved.

  While I was mulling over that new information, Cooper had started pacing yet again. He was muttering, “But I didn’t kill her… There’s no possible way they could find any evidence… Because I didn’t kill her…”

  Placing his hands on Cooper’s shoulders, Tyler halted his pacing. “Listen, Dudley. Your dad is scrambling to do damage control, mostly for himself. If I were you, I would steer clear of him for a while. Your mother said for you to go to the family cottage on Lake Monroe until this blows over. Let your lawyer take care of it.” Tyler handed him a set of keys.

  If Cooper fled, it could seal his fate, whether he was truly guilty or not. A little circumstantial evidence and a suspect skipping town would give the DA the upper hand at a trial. Perception could make or break a jury’s decision.

  I shook my head. “No, Coop, that will look bad. Take your lawyer and go talk to the police again. If you’re up front with them and show them you have nothing to hide, I think it could go a long way toward getting this worked out before things get out of hand. Give the system a chance to work for you.”

  His face contorted with the pain of his inner struggle, Cooper choked out, “I…I don’t know… What if I go in and they…arrest me?”

  “If they issue a warrant for your arrest, they’re going to arrest you whether you go in or not. You won’t have a choice in the matter. And believe me, you’ll help out your case a lot more if you go to them rather than making them have to find you. Besides, an arrest doesn’t equal a conviction. It doesn’t even have to equal any formal charges. Go offer to cooperate with the police. It’s your best chance.”

  “This is all just too much.” He ran his hands through his hair. “Maybe…maybe some time away would clear my head.”

  Tyler patted him on the shoulder. “If the cops can’t find you, they can’t arrest you.”

  I exclaimed, “That’s the worst advice I’ve ever heard! Cooper, you can’t run. If you’re innocent, the evidence will prove it.”

  His eyes desperate and close to tears, he cried, “You said ‘if.’ Don’t you believe me, Ellie?”

  Realizing my slip a moment too late, I said, “I didn’t mean it that way… I only meant—”

  He shook his head. “I need some air.” Wrenching the door open, he stormed out and down the hall.

  Tyler turned to me, smirking. “Ruining someone’s day always makes me hungry. Why don’t you join me for lunch, sweet thing?”

  It took all of my self-control to keep from decking him. Instead, I stood and brushed past him on my way out the door. “Not a chance in hell.”

  “Your loss.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Hoping to find a better lunch date than sleazy Tyler, I stopped by my office to grab my purse and continued down the hall to my friend Samantha Jordan’s office. Not finding her there, I turned back around and headed for the forensic anthropology lab. Sam was a true scientist—all of her free time went to research, and she was a total scatterbrain when it came to real life. I found her, or rather smelled her, boiling down a foot in a large pot in her lab.

  “Tell me that’s not your lunch,” I joked, entering the room.

  “Ha, ha. You’re the third person who’s said that,” Samantha replied, not amused. Holding the skinless, dripping, severed foot over the pot with a large pair of tongs, she studied it like it was a thing of wonder.

  “Speaking of lunch, would you like to venture off campus for something to eat?”

  Returning the foot to the pot, she removed her gloves and replied, “Yes, I’m starv—”

  “Dr. Jordan,” snapped Dr. Gianna Alessi, stalking into the lab.

  Gianna was a biology professor and the resident shit-stirrer of the department. She could have been a beautiful woman, but she always wore her hair in a severe chignon and had an angry frown on her face. She had no use for me, I assumed since I had no doctoral degree. I usually tried to steer clear of her.

  Flinching, Samantha replied, “Yes?”

  “Why are you taking Dr. Cooper’s classes this afternoon? What the hell is going on with him? I was out in the hall when he burst into Dr. Graham’s office, announced he would be out the rest of the day, and then ran.” Dr. Thomas Graham was the head of the science department, our boss. Gianna was always busy tattling on the rest of us and sucking up to the poor man. She pretended she was his right hand woman, but she wielded no actual power.

  Samantha shrugged. “I’m not sure what’s going on with him. He raced in here a few minutes ago and asked me to cover his classes. My TA is capable of taking over my lab this afternoon, so I agreed.”

  Gianna turned her wrath onto me. “You’re close to him, Ms. Matthews. Tell me what you know, right now.”

  What I knew was a mix of gossip and confidential information pertaining to a murder case, neither of which I would ever share with her. I answered simply, “No.”

  Narrowing her eyes at me, she said, “This is a departmental issue I need to be brought up to speed about. I’m sure you know exactly what’s going on.”

  “Not really, and even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you,” I said. “You should cut Dr. Cooper some slack. He’s beside himself about what happened out at the research facility. We all are.”

  She let out a nasty bark of laughter. “I told him that ridiculous facility would be nothing but trouble. It’s morbid and disgusting, and I was against it from the beginning. But of course, he’s an Ashmore, so he gets whatever he wants.” She turned on her spiky heel and headed for the door. “Now maybe our esteemed board members will do what they should have done all along and pull their support,” she added over her shoulder.

  Once she was out of earshot, I said, “Am I the only one who hears the ‘Wicked Witch of the West’ music when she walks into a room?”

  Samantha laughed. “No, I hear it too.” Sobering, she asked, “So what
is up with Dudley? Something is definitely wrong with him.”

  I sighed. “I shouldn’t talk about it. I know too much.”

  “Ugh. For once in your life you finally have some gossip, and you won’t share it.”

  I didn’t mind telling Gianna to piss off, but it was much harder to keep things from my closest friend. “Sorry, Sam. It may not be the gossip you’re craving, but if you come get lunch with me I can tell you about my hot date tonight.”

  “Hot date?” she cried, grabbing her purse. “Let’s go. I want to hear all about it.”

  We walked out the back entrance of the science building and across the street to the nearest off-campus café. Samantha insisted I give her Rob’s vital information on the short walk over. After ordering our lunch and finding a table, she started the inquisition.

  “So about this hunky bodyguard. You said you chatted him up at the fundraiser for the research facility when you were supposed to be begging rich people to hand over their money with Dudley. That’s some pretty good multi-tasking,” she said, popping a whole strawberry into her mouth.

  I rolled my eyes. “Cooper was in charge of the begging, not me. Besides, Rob is handsome and charming and impossible to resist.”

  “Where is he taking you tonight?”

  “I don’t know. I’m meeting him at my office at six.”

  “Hmm. Maybe I’ll just happen to be hanging around right about then so I can see for myself how handsome he really is,” she said, twisting a strand of her red hair around her finger. “Oh! I almost forgot. Speaking of handsome men, a little birdie told me you had drinks with some hot cop last night, and that you got home really late. By my count, that’s two dates in two days. I don’t know if I believe all your complaining about having a dating dry spell.”

  I grimaced. My sister and Samantha had a bad habit of discussing my love life behind my back, more often than not embellishing it for their own amusement. “Now, last night was definitely not a date. A detective I know had a case that didn’t add up, so he asked me for my help. That’s all. We happened to meet in a bar.”