by Leslie Wolfe
“Can’t we standardize?”
“It’s not that great, you know. Let’s go, lunch is waiting,” he added, and led the way to the dining room.
He seemed tired and concerned with something. Laura found herself wondering, worrying. His black hair, short-trimmed, showed an increasingly receding line, and two small but deep ridges marked the bridge of his nose, one on each side.
“Hello, my dear,” Carol greeted her, then abandoned a flower arrangement to give her a hug. “You’re a little pale. Is everything all right?”
“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry,” she replied, as Carol shook Adrian’s hand.
“You know that’s the precise moment a mother worries, right?”
They all laughed, a quick burst covered by chairs being drawn back and glasses being filled.
“Let me help,” Laura offered, trotting behind Carol to get the food.
They’d prepared a treat, deviled eggs and bruschetta to open, and a mouthwatering roast beef with mashed potatoes.
Laura sat next to Adrian, their knees touching under the table. Amanda sat across from them and had already started her attack on the deviled eggs. Laura studied Bradley again. He ate slowly, staring down at his plate, his frown still visible.
“Bon appétit,” Carol said, and raised her wine glass.
They clinked and sipped the exquisite white wine, then resumed eating in silence.
“If you’d like, I can come work with you full-time, as early as September,” Laura opened the conversation, aware of how quiet everyone was. “I can step on it and finish early.”
Bradley looked up from his plate and smiled, a gloomy smile that didn’t touch his eyes.
“How about your MBA?”
“That can wait,” she replied. “I’m thinking you might be able to use the help.”
His smile widened, dissipating some of the gloom.
“I’ll be fine; I can handle it on my own for a while longer. I’m not that old, you know,” he replied humorously.
“I know you can,” she insisted. “You look a little tired, that’s all. I just want to help. Plus, Amanda’s already working, so why can’t I?”
“Ah, don’t even go there,” Amanda replied. “My daddy, yeah, him, got me an internship at a damn newspaper. Can you believe it? What a horrendous waste of my time!”
“Oh?” Laura reacted, “and what’s wrong with that?”
“It’s only Miami Daily, the biggest news house in Florida,” Brad replied, then took another mouthful of delicious bruschetta.
“It’s a newspaper, people,” Amanda replied, as aggravated as she could be. “When’s the last time any of you read a newspaper? Huh? They’re the dinosaurs of the news industry, and I’m wasting my time there.”
“You’ve got a journalism degree, don’t you?” Carol intervened in her calm, appeasing voice.
“Yes, I do, but what’s wrong with television? Why not intern for CBS? The only thing I’m learning at that newspaper is how to prepare a media corporation for Chapter 11.”
Adrian dropped his fork and the clattering noise brought silence around the table and furtive glances. He turned red and mumbled an apology, while Amanda shot him her megawatt smile.
Carol served the roast, then she took the first bite, keeping her eyes on Laura. She swallowed the bite and said, “Never mind the newspaper drama here, we’ll never hear the end of it, right?”
Amanda shot her a hurt glance. Seeing the two of them together was funny. Amanda was a younger, more rebellious version of her mother. Carol’s beauty still lingered, enhancing her classy appearance.
“I’m more concerned with you,” Carol continued, looking at Laura. “Are you losing weight?”
“Uh-uh,” Laura replied, with her mouth full.
“What’s going on with those sessions you’re doing? You have us worried, all of us.”
Laura swallowed and put her fork down, almost rolling her eyes.
“I have to do this. You, of all people, should understand.”
Brad stared at the plate again, pursing his lips, visibly unhappy with the way the conversation was going.
“Why put yourself through this? It can only hurt you, baby,” Carol insisted. Her warm voice reminded Laura of when she was younger, growing up in the serenity of their household, and having the same warm voice guiding her through life’s early challenges. Her eyes misted.
“I need your help, young man,” Carol continued, turning to Adrian.
“Oh, no need to ask, ma’am, I’m onboard already. But you know Laura,” he replied hastily, then shrugged.
“Guys, back off, please,” Laura pleaded, feeling tears choking her. “I have to do this; it’s important for me. My decision is made.”
She looked around the table for a sympathetic face, but found none. Brad’s grim expression wasn’t something she’d seen in the past, with very few exceptions. He’d always been there for her, encouraging her to do whatever she wanted, helping her forget she wasn’t their real daughter. Even Amanda averted her eyes.
“Is it the media attention?” Adrian asked, clasping Laura’s hand. “Is that what you’re looking for?”
She sprung from the table, unable to keep her eyes from welling up. A wave of sorrow swelled her chest. In that instant, she felt completely alone in the world, while the few people she loved ganged up on her. She covered her mouth with her hand, and put all the words she couldn’t speak in one tearful look she threw Adrian before she stormed out of the room.
18
Autopsy Findings
Tess led the way to the morgue, ignoring the whispered comments Gary and Todd exchanged while walking just a few feet behind her. She was eager to find out more about the three anomalous cases, and she knew that if anyone in the entire Palm Beach County area had done their job right, that would have been Doc Rizza, the medical examiner.
The automated doors swooshed open and she stepped in, greeted by a wave of chilly, humid air, heavy with the smell of disinfectant. She threw one quick glance and saw the two exam tables were vacant. She breathed out, relieved. Seeing a dead body on the cold slab always made her shiver, reminding her just how little had come between her own fate and that of any rape and murder victim who Rizza worked on. Yes, ten years ago, it could have been her on that table, but somehow she survived. And yet, seeing the morgue didn’t make her feel proud that she’d survived; rather she felt an immense sorrow for all the girls who didn’t.
Doc Rizza rose from his chair and came to greet them, wearing a wide grin on his chubby face. He was the only one who didn’t frown on her presence there. They went back, the two of them, and they both excelled at what they did. An unspoken alliance had formed throughout the years, and Rizza’s camaraderie was something Tess appreciated, by contrast with jurisdictional frictions and defensive behaviors that were the norm with the rest of the Palm Beach County Sherriff’s Office.
“Well, here you are, again,” Rizza said, then hugged her lightly. “You seem fine after your last adventure, but I know cracked ribs can be sore for a long time, so no bear hug for you today, missy.”
She laughed, while Gary and Todd stood a little stiff, waiting. Doc Rizza was part of their team, and to see him greet her so warmly must have made them feel betrayed.
“I heard you were coming,” Rizza said, “something to do with Garza?”
“Quite the opposite,” she replied, pulling a chair in front of the empty evidence. “We have three cases we need you to look at, and tell us what you remember.”
She laid out the three case files on the table and watched Doc Rizza put on his glasses and open the first one.
“Watson, yes, I remember this one.” He flipped through the pages, mumbling “uh-huh” every few seconds. “Who else have you got? The Meyers, yes, and the Townsend family.”
She waited patiently for him to refresh his memory. Then he disappeared inside the adjacent storage room, unlocked one of the large filing cabinets, and searched through it for a few seconds, then ex
tracted his own boxed records for the three cases.
“All right, we’re set. What do you want to know?”
“I believe these three families were killed by someone else, not by Garza.”
“What? How come?” His mouth remained slightly open, while he ran his hand through the unruly bunch of thinning hair he still had growing near the top of his head.
“Doc, can you confirm Emily Townsend was raped? This is a major departure from the Garza MO.”
“Um, yes, it’s written right here,” he said, pointing at one paragraph entry in his report.
“Yeah, I’ve seen that, just making sure.” She bit her lip, thinking hard. Was Garza yanking her chain? How did he know Mrs. Townsend had been raped?
She turned toward Gary. “Was there a formal interrogation of Kenneth Garza on the Townsend case?”
“Must have been,” Gary replied. “But it wasn’t my case, so I can’t be sure.”
“Well, he either was questioned about the rape or heard it on the news.”
“I don’t recall that information being made public,” Gary said.
Her eyes lingered on Todd’s face, absentmindedly, while she thought of options. What Gary did or didn’t recall was not solid enough for her.
“All right, all right, I’ll do it,” Todd said.
“What?”
“Check the media releases back then, to see if this piece of information was ever made public. Dig through archives.”
“Fradella, you’re the man,” she replied.
“That’s what everyone says,” he quipped, before the doors closed behind him.
“Especially the ladies,” Gary added, but there was no smile to go with that. “Countless ladies, you know.”
“You’re jealous?” Tess asked. “Really? He’s half your age, Gary. It’s his time now.”
He scoffed angrily, and she let it drop.
“Doc, what can you tell us about these three cases? Let’s start from assuming Garza didn’t kill any of these people, and let’s assume a single other killer did.”
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, while his eyes ran from one autopsy report to the next.
“The first thing worth mentioning is that the delay between the time of death of the men and the time of death of the women is increasing.”
She frowned a little and bent over the evidence table to see what he was talking about.
“Mr. and Mrs. Watson were killed at about the same time. Their respective liver temperatures were almost the same, only a 0.2-degree difference between them. That puts their time of death within minutes of each other. With the Meyer family, we see a delay, and I’ve explained that by underlining the fact that Jackie Meyer had been tortured for three, maybe four hours before being killed, after her husband died. Finally, in the Townsend case, Ralph Townsend and Cindy Townsend, the daughter, both died at about 9:30PM, while Emily Townsend died at about 3:30AM the following day. Six hours later.”
“Did it take that long for her to die? I see that the cause of death was exsanguination due to sharp-force trauma.”
“No,” Doc Rizza replied, and shook his head vigorously. “The fatal stab nicked her right common iliac artery. She bled out in minutes.”
“But he tortured and raped her for six hours before that?” Tess asked.
“Precisely. He started by stabbing her there, superficially. The pain must have subdued her instantly, but the stab itself wasn’t lethal. It was just a form of restraint he used.”
She felt a wave of nausea hit her and grabbed the end of the evidence table to steady herself.
“Walk me through what happened with all three women,” she asked quietly.
“Rachel Watson was the cleanest kill of all three,” he replied, while his eyes searched Tess’s inquisitively.
She looked away. He was perceptive, Doc Rizza, like any good ME should be.
“She was stabbed three times, two of the wounds more hesitant, superficial, while the third was the fatal one, deep, almost completely severing the abdominal aorta. She must have been dead within a minute or two.”
“Hesitant? As in he’s never done this before?” Gary asked.
“It’s a possibility, yes,” Rizza replied. “Although, if I were a betting man, which I’m not, I’d bet he’d killed before, only not stabbed someone before. The shootings of Allen Watson and the children show absolutely no hesitation.”
“Stabbing is personal,” Tess added. “Can we assume Rachel Watson was the intended target?”
“Strictly from a medico-legal perspective, and with the conjuncture of the other two female victims, yes. However, I can’t assume. That’s not my job. My job is to state the facts, and let you guys infer all you want.”
“How about Jackie Meyer?”
“She was tortured. She had deep, skin-piercing bite marks on her breasts and thighs. She displays what we call overkill: multiple deep, life-threatening stab wounds made repeatedly. The lethal incision was this one here, in the lower abdomen.”
Tess closed her eyes for a split second, then looked at some additional photos that weren’t in the case file she had. She swallowed hard, forcing her nauseated stomach back into its place.
“One more thing,” Doc Rizza said, “she was redressed.”
“I was just about to ask, how was she bitten and stabbed so many times, when she was found with her clothes on?”
“That’s a good question. I found some blood here, right under this button,” he pointed at the top button of Jackie Meyer’s shirt. “She was found lying on her back, and this button is inches above her wounds. Technically, blood shouldn’t have been found there, right between the button and the fabric, unless she was redressed after the bites and the torture, by someone wearing blood-stained gloves.”
“Do you think the redressing explains the smudges we see in the blood pools?”
“Most likely,” Doc Rizza replied. “There could be other factors at play, but I can’t say for sure what.”
“Let’s walk through this,” Tess said. “He comes into the house, shoots the husband, then what?”
“Then stabs the wife once, here,” he said, pointing at a small, gaping wound in Jackie Meyer’s abdomen, on the left side. “It’s not fatal; it missed all the critical organs and blood vessels, just cut into her spleen. Very painful. With an attack like that, she was immediately subdued, unable to do anything to defend herself. Then, for three to four hours, he bit and cut into her flesh, causing numerous superficial wounds, up until the final stabbing came.”
They were silent for a few seconds, while Tess and Gary reviewed all the photos again, with the newly added perspective.
“Doc, I wanted to ask you, what did you mean by ‘Unusual skin distension pattern in stab wound. No trace elements found’? See. Right here,” she pointed at the entry in the report.
“Ah, yes. It’s about this wound, the fatal stab. Are you familiar with Langer’s lines?”
“No,” Tess replied, then looked at Gary. He shook his head.
“They are lines of natural tension in the skin, due to the orientation of the collagen fibers in the dermis. They run parallel to the underlying muscle fibers, and they are the reason why the scar from your appendectomy is oblique. You see, if you cut along Langer’s lines, there’s no tension to pull the incision open. But if your cut is perpendicular to these tension lines, the wound naturally gapes. Like you see in most of these wounds on the sides of her abdomen, but not here, at the center, where Langer’s lines run vertically.”
“I see, got it,” Tess replied.
“That comment you found in my report has to do with this wound, the fatal stab, which appears to be gaping more widely than we can attribute to Langer’s lines. The head and tailing of the wound appear slightly forced open.”
She frowned and felt a chill down her spine.
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning it’s possible something was inserted into the wound. That something, whatever it was, left no trace elements for
me to find.”
“Oh, God…” Gary said. “Please tell me it wasn’t—”
“We don’t know what it was, and we can’t speculate.” Doc Rizza cut him off grimly. “No trace elements.”
Tess wanted to speak, but no sound came out. She cleared her throat, then tried again.
“How about Emily Townsend?”
“Same story, only no bite marks. He raped her instead, multiple times, after she’d been stabbed, but before delivering the fatal blow. It must have been a blood bath, but no DNA, no trace elements were found.”
Tess closed her eyes, trying to clear away the imagery that formed in her mind. Then she felt a wave of anger build up.
“How the hell was it possible for these three murders to be attributed so lightly to The Family Man? I see more and more discrepancies, and I’ve only been looking at it for a few hours.”
“Back then, they didn’t seem so different, you know,” Doc Rizza replied calmly. “When we saw the Watson stabbing, we assumed he was evolving. The same with the other two cases. Who was to know, back then, that The Family Man would keep on killing for years to come, unchanged in his MO, or his signature? They say hindsight is twenty-twenty for a reason.”
“How about that horrific Garza signature, which didn’t appear in any of these cases? Didn’t that bother anyone?”
Gary scoffed and scrunched his lips, ready to blow up.
“It did, and I remember that conversation clearly,” Doc Rizza said. “But we didn’t understand the psychopathic brain back then the way we do today, after years and years of research on fMRI machines.”
“How about the rest of the Garza cases? Did you notice anything even remotely similar with these?”
“No. There were no stabbings in any of the Garza cases, other than these three, which now, in our current framework, makes more sense to exclude. Most of all, Garza’s signature was always the same, rigorously the same.”
“Tell me. I know only what I read in the case files, but I’d like to hear your perspective.”