He bet this girl thought she could, too.
He was thankful for Lisa’s sake that she had not been raped before her death, although the lack of sexual assault meant a potential source of DNA was eliminated. But it also shed some light on the killer’s profile. He—or she—was likely not a sexual predator.
Dr. Guthro peered at the raw open wounds below Lisa’s hips. He ran his finger lightly along the edges of flesh, pulling back the skin and tissue to reveal the bone. It gleamed under the large lamp.
He then looked at where her arms had been cut off. For several minutes he went back and forth between the wounds on her hips and her shoulders. “Her limbs appear to have been severed by a bone saw,” he said, his voice puzzled.
“A bone saw?”
Dr. Guthro nodded. “Yes, like this.” He held up a small handsaw. It resembled a saw Ethan had in his shed.
“How easy is it for someone to get a hold of one of those?” Ethan asked.
Dr. Guthro pursed his mouth. “Not too difficult, I would think. They are found in any hospital. It wouldn’t take much to steal one.” Dr. Guthro pulled the skin back on one of the hip sockets. “But it wouldn’t have been used by just anybody. See this—” he pointed to the smooth bone beneath the pink tissue “—this is a very clean cut. It was done by someone who knew how to dissect a joint.”
Ethan stared at the M.E. “You mean like a doctor?”
Dr. Guthro nodded. “Yes. Or someone who is familiar with anatomy.”
He turned to Lisa’s right shoulder. “There is one finding that is unusual. See this cut here?” He pointed to the joint.
At first glance it looked as smooth as the other cuts. But as Ethan stared at it, he could see a small marking on the bone. “Is that from the teeth of the saw?”
Dr. Guthro picked up a magnifying glass and held it over the bone.
Ethan leaned forward to peer through it. “It looks like two lines with a circle in between.” He studied it for a moment longer, then stared at it incredulously. “Those aren’t geometric shapes. Those are letters.”
Dr. Guthro’s fingers traced the small lines and curves engraved on the bone. “I think you are right. This one looks like an L.”
“And the next one is an O,” Ethan said.
“And another L,” said Dr. Guthro.
“LOL.”
“His initials?” Lamond asked.
“Could be. Or it could be an abbreviation for something.”
There was silence. Then Ethan’s eyes met Lamond’s. “LOL. Laugh Out Loud.”
“Jesus,” Lamond murmured.
“So the killer left us a message,” Ethan said. “A definite fuck-you if I ever saw one.” The back of his neck tingled. This was no ordinary killer. Lisa MacAdam had not been killed in a fit of rage, or as a result of enflamed passion. She had been killed and dismembered in a clinical, dispassionate manner.
There was a psychological profile for a killer like that.
Psychopath.
“How did the killer make the marking?” he asked Dr. Guthro.
“Looks like he used a scalpel.” Dr. Guthro contemplated the bone. He pulled down his face shield. “Let’s see what the internal examination tells us.”
The assistant lifted Lisa’s body slightly off the table and slid a rubber brick under her back. Dr. Guthro cut a large Y incision on her torso. A rotting, sweet smell added a new foulness to the air. Ethan’s stomach churned. He had seen this procedure many times, but it still wasn’t pleasant.
Lamond stepped back a little. Ethan noted he had moved closer to the garbage can.
Lisa’s ribs were snapped with brutal efficiency by Dr. Guthro, and then the examination of her chest wall and abdomen began. Ethan watched silently as Dr. Guthro inserted a hypodermic needle into one of the veins below her clavicle. “Won’t even bother with the groin,” he muttered to himself. “Not much blood left.” He extracted a small amount for the toxicology tests and the DNA standard they would use to confirm Lisa’s identity—as well as rule out the victim’s trace evidence against other trace evidence that might show up on or in her body—then sliced through the rest of the veins and arteries, removing her heart and putting it on a scale. Then he removed her lungs—“Doesn’t look like she was a smoker”—and began to work on her abdominal organs.
When her stomach was sliced open, Ethan braced himself. The smell was awful. He glanced at Lamond. His face was pale and screwed into an expression that in normal circumstances would have made Ethan grin.
“It would appear from the gastric contents that her last meal was ingested at approximately 6:00 p.m.,” Dr. Guthro said. He eyed the soupy mess. “Looks like hamburger and fries.”
That did it for Lamond. Ethan bit back a smile. Lamond was addicted to fast food. Ethan didn’t know how he managed to stay in shape. Watching Lamond hurry out the door, his shoulders hunched, Ethan wondered if this would cure him of his habit.
“Nothing unusual in here,” Dr. Guthro said, ignoring the detective’s hasty departure. His hands worked methodically in the girl’s abdominal cavity. “No sign of internal injuries. No sign of drug overdose.” He removed the rest of her organs. A cavity remained, reminding Ethan of the carapace of a lobster.
Dr. Guthro sliced a long vertical line through her neck and peeled back the skin. “The hyoid bone is crushed. Supports strangulation as cause of death.” He glanced at Ethan. “But just in case, we’ll check the brain for signs of trauma.”
The assistant moved the block and slid it under Lisa’s skull. Dr. Guthro stood behind the girl’s head and deftly sliced her scalp from one ear to the other. He lifted the top flap of skin and pulled it down over her face, exposing her skull. Ethan forced himself to detach. Do not think of this as a living, breathing teenage girl who was a daughter, a granddaughter. She is a victim. Despite his efforts, his jaw clenched when Lisa’s hair flopped onto her features like a Halloween mask.
The whirr of the Stryker saw drew Ethan’s eyes away from her face. Dr. Guthro cut a “cap” in the bone and pulled it out of her skull. Her brain was exposed. “No sign of subdural hemorrhage.”
He severed her brain from the spinal cord and pulled it out, making a sucking sound that Ethan could never describe but would never forget. Dr. Guthro placed the organ on the scale and left the assistant to record the data.
He stepped around the table to stand by Ethan and lifted his face shield. “We’re done for now. We’ll send the toxicology request stat. We should have the results by tomorrow morning at the latest.”
Ethan picked up his briefcase. He longed to get some fresh air. “Thank you, doctor.”
“You are welcome. I hope we come up with something.”
Ethan nodded. “So do I.” He walked toward the door. While he was removing his scrub gown, he glanced one final time at the autopsy table, now bloody. The assistant was placing the organs back into Lisa’s abdominal cavity. Dr. Guthro was threading a needle.
Ethan watched him for a moment. It was the assistant’s job to put the body back together. But Dr. Guthro never let them. He always did it himself, stitching the flaps closed as carefully as he cut them open.
Lamond leaned against the wall outside the autopsy suite. He managed a sheepish grin. “Sorry ’bout that. Won’t happen again.”
“I’m sure it won’t,” Ethan said. He slapped Lamond on the back. “Come on, let’s get some supper. There’s a hamburger joint on the way.”
13
Ethan glanced at his watch as he pulled into the station. It was 9:08 p.m. Acid burned in his gut. He shouldn’t have baited Lamond about the fast food. Now he was paying the price.
As soon as they got to the war room, Redding hurried over. “Drake, Lamond, the victim’s grandmother, Mrs. MacAdam, is waiting to talk to you. She’s been here about an hour.” He paused. “She’s been crying ever since.”
“Where is she?” Lamond asked, squaring his shoulders for the second time that day. First Judge Carson, now Lisa’s grandmother. It had been
a long day.
“In the soft interview room.” The soft interview room was reserved for families and children. It had upholstered furniture and a coffee table as opposed to the hard interview room, which was furnished with upright chairs and no table. The interviewer didn’t want a barrier when interrogating a suspect.
“Look, Lamond, I know you are the liaison, but I think I should take this one. There are some things Judge Carson told me that I need to corroborate with Lisa’s grandmother.”
Lamond hesitated. His desire to prove himself was written all over his face. But Ethan needed to interview Mrs. MacAdam. There was no point in both of them sitting there. There were too many leads to follow up. “In the meantime, get in touch with Mr. MacAdam and any other relatives who might have information.”
Lamond nodded. “Right.”
Ethan rapped quietly on the door to the interview room, and walked in. Mrs. MacAdam sat slumped on the sofa. A box of tissues and an untouched cup of tea sat on the low table in front of her.
Ethan walked toward her and held out his hand. “Mrs. MacAdam, I am Detective Drake.”
She shook his hand. Her fingers were icy and limp.
Ethan lowered himself to the armchair opposite her. “Mrs. MacAdam, your granddaughter has been the victim of a terrible crime.” She nodded, her eyes welling with fresh tears. He added quickly, “I realize this is a very painful time for you, but I ask that you do your best to answer my questions so we can catch the person who did this to her.”
Marian MacAdam cleared her throat. “Of course.” Her voice was firmer than he expected.
He began his round of background questions. All of her answers corroborated with Judge Carson’s. It seemed that Lisa was free to do whatever she wanted most of the time. Mrs. MacAdam tried to keep tabs on her by inviting her over after school and staying for dinner.
“But I couldn’t do that every day. I had other commitments…” She flushed. “You know, other friends, bridge club, this and that. Besides, I couldn’t insist she come every day. Her mother has custody. That’s why…” She stopped abruptly.
“Why…?” he prompted. The back of his neck tingled.
She pursed her mouth. “You are going to find out, anyway. I was getting worried about Lisa. She had become erratic, wouldn’t show up on the times I was supposed to see her, and—” she glanced down at her clasped hands “—and I think she had stolen some money from me.”
“To buy drugs?”
The bluntness of his question seemed to both surprise and reassure her. “Yes.” Her shoulders relaxed. “Lisa had been using drugs for a couple of years, on and off, since the time her parents separated. But I thought she had stopped. Then a few months ago, she seemed to be picking up all her bad habits again.”
“Do you know why?”
Mrs. MacAdam shook her head. “No. She could be a moody girl. She got into that alternative stuff, you know, dyeing her hair and getting a tattoo…”
Ethan leaned forward. “A tattoo? Where?”
“On her ankle.” Mrs. MacAdam shook her head. “She lied about her age at the tattoo parlor, and they never asked for ID. I had warned Lisa she could get some terrible diseases, but she didn’t listen. You know what teenagers are like. They think they are immortal.” Her eyes suddenly glistened with tears.
“What did the tattoo look like?”
“It was a cartoon. Of a dog.” Her lip quivered. “She had a nickname for it. Rufus.” She blinked rapidly a few times.
Ethan didn’t want her dissolving on him. He changed the subject. “Did you ever give her pocket money?”
“No. Her mother did, though.”
Ethan stopped writing and looked at Mrs. MacAdam. Judge Carson had told him that Mrs. MacAdam was giving Lisa money. Who was telling the truth? And why would one of them lie about it?
Mrs. MacAdam threaded a handkerchief between her fingers. “I kept telling Hope not to, that Lisa would buy drugs, but she wouldn’t listen. She told me that she had to give Lisa money to buy her meals.” She leaned forward on her elbows. “Look, Detective, I’ll be frank with you. I wasn’t very involved in Lisa’s life when she was young, but when Robert left the marriage, I felt I needed to step in. She never had a home-cooked meal unless she came to my house. It became apparent to me that unless she lived with me, no one would look after her.”
The grandmother may look frail, but she had her head screwed on right. “Did you ask her mother if Lisa could live with you?”
Mrs. MacAdam’s mouth twisted. “Ask Hope? She’d never allow it. People would judge Hope if she sent her daughter to live with me, and rightly, too.”
“So what did you do?”
Mrs. MacAdam gazed at the wall behind his head, her expression wistful. “At first I thought if I just invited Lisa over, she would come.” She glanced at him, her eyes seeking understanding. “But then I realized she was using drugs again. And Hope wouldn’t do anything about it. Too concerned about how it would look to have a daughter in rehab when she’s up for the Supreme Court.”
His neck tingled again. Judge Carson was being considered for the Supreme Court?
“What did you do?”
Mrs. MacAdam straightened. “I went to see a lawyer.”
He leaned forward. He could imagine how Judge Carson would react to that. “It was Kate Lange, correct?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
He could see how this was unfolding. And it was a fucking mess. When Judge Carson found out about this, she was going to blow a gasket. “And…?”
Mrs. MacAdam wound the handkerchief tightly around her index finger. “She told me I didn’t have a good case. That the courts were reluctant to remove a child from her mother, especially a teenager who didn’t want to go.”
He jotted down this information. Kate would have to be interviewed. Shit.
Marian MacAdam twisted her handkerchief. “I’d heard Lyons McGrath Barrett was a good firm, but I didn’t feel Ms. Lange gave me good advice.”
He leaned forward. “Why not?”
“She told me I didn’t have a case unless I had proof that Lisa was endangering herself.”
“Did she give you any advice about how to get it?” He watched her closely. Had Kate observed her statutory responsibility?
Mrs. MacAdam’s eyes fell to her handkerchief. “She told me I could call Child Protection but I told her I didn’t have any proof…”
“And did you?”
She stared at her handkerchief. “I didn’t think I did…it was just a feeling.” She met Ethan’s eyes. Beseeching him not to judge her. It was a look he’d received so many times, he usually felt little sympathy. But in this case, he felt a twinge of pity. This woman would likely never get a full night’s sleep again. “I didn’t think a feeling counted.”
She was right—in a way. It was hard to act without some concrete evidence. And yet, cops acted on instinct all the time. Feelings, as Marian MacAdam put it, could make or break a case.
“What about your lawyer?” He avoided saying Kate’s name. “Was she going to call them?”
She shook her head. “I asked her not to. I wanted to keep the matter private.”
“Why?”
“Because I knew that if Lisa found out I’d involved the authorities she wouldn’t come live with me.”
“You’d lose your case.”
She hung her head. “Yes.” Tears ran down her cheeks. The consequence remained unspoken but it was obvious what they both were thinking: and now you’ve lost Lisa. Marian MacAdam swallowed a sob.
“We need to find the person who did this to her,” Ethan said firmly. He couldn’t have her disintegrate on him. There’d be plenty of time—the rest of her life—to be subsumed in recriminations and loss. Right now he needed to get whatever information he could extract from her before time and grief blurred her memory. “We need to establish a time line.”
She nodded, her head still bent. She closed her eyes for a moment. Then she took her handkerchief and wiped it ove
r her cheeks. She stuffed it into her sleeve and straightened. “I don’t have a lot of information,” she said. “I was at my cottage.” What she did know she recounted in a defeated tone. Ethan closed his folder. It was 10:07 p.m. They were both exhausted. He stood. “Thank you for coming in, Mrs. MacAdam.”
“Can I see her?” she asked.
He picked up his file. “That’s up to Judge Carson.”
Tears welled in Marian MacAdam’s eyes. “I was afraid you’d say that.” She walked to the door, her body shrunken in her camel overcoat. Neither of them spoke as Ethan led her through the security door to the main foyer.
“Do you have an alarm system, Mrs. MacAdam?” he asked. She looked as if she would fall to pieces if anyone so much as tapped her arm.
“I live in a condo, Detective. There is good security in our building.”
He nodded. “Make sure you use it.” Given that Lisa’s mother was a criminal court judge, and, in particular, Judge Hope Carson, there could be a number of killers with bones to pick.
Or cut off.
14
Wednesday, May 2, 6:00 a.m.
The rising sun sent a shaft of light under the blind, lightening the room to a cool blue. Sleep had proven a faithful accomplice to Kate’s conscience, abandoning her to a night of insomnia while her mind twisted with recriminations.
She pushed the bedcovers back and sat up. Alaska had only been living with her for a short time, but he knew this was his cue. He padded over, his dog tags making a light jingle in the otherwise silent room, and nuzzled her hand. She rubbed his head. “You are the only good thing in my life right now, boy,” she whispered.
She discovered how true that statement was when she opened her front door.
The morning paper lay on her front porch.
She picked it up and braced herself for what the headline would say. But it didn’t prevent her heart from stopping in her throat.
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