Secrets, Lies & Alibis

by Patricia H. Rushford

  “Have a great day.” She adjusted her headset and gave him a wire-laden smile as he drove off.

  Mac pulled his unmarked patrol car out onto 164th Street and headed south toward the freeway, trying to get comfortable in the driver’s seat of the Pontiac Grand Prix. The form-fitting bucket seat fit well under normal circumstances, but with the added girth of a .40 caliber Glock handgun and a set of handcuffs, he needed an additional two inches on either side.

  He turned his car radio to the AM dial, tuning in to his favorite news radio station for the eight o’clock headlines. Mac parroted the opening remarks of the news program in the deepest voice he could muster. “Watch it tonight at five, read about it tomorrow, or hear about it now. It’s time for the news.” He laughed out loud, then looked to see if anyone had seen him clowning around. His integrity appeared intact for now, and he took a sip of his latte.

  Not surprisingly, the top story on the news was that of the body recovered by Oregon State Police at Bonneville State Park. “Assigned to the case is Master Detective Mac McAllister,” Mac added in his reporter-like voice.

  The news reporter continued on despite Mac’s aside. “Confidential sources close to this reporter are saying the body recovered could be that of Megan Tyson, the thirty-four-year-old Troutdale woman who was reported missing ten days ago. Oregon State Police have yet to officially identify the remains. In other news . . .”

  Mac frowned, wishing reporters wouldn’t make speculations like that. What if it wasn’t Megan? The family’s hopes would be lifted and then dashed again.

  He knew all about the Tyson case, and though the state police hadn’t been directly involved, he’d followed it with interest. He’d seen Megan’s picture in the newspaper and on television. She’d worked at a place called Fitness First in Troutdale, where coworkers described her as petite, athletic, and attractive. Mac also remembered she was engaged to be married, turning up missing a few weeks before the wedding. He wondered if the young woman had gotten cold feet. If so, he couldn’t much blame her.

  Then he wondered if she was now awaiting his arrival at the medical examiner’s office. For some reason the thought turned his stomach, and he wished he hadn’t ordered the rich coffee drink.

  AT THE OREGON STATE Medical Examiner’s Office in Portland, Dr. Kristen Thorpe took hot water out of the microwave and dunked the chamomile tea bag in and out a few times before discarding it in the wastebasket beside the small sink. She sipped at the herbal tea as she made her way to her cluttered desk. Setting down the cup, Kristen scanned through the intake records from the previous day, reading over the list of bodies transported to her office for autopsy.

  She was the lead medical examiner for the state of Oregon, supervising five medical doctors at her office and fifty-four deputy medical examiners statewide. With all of her people busy or unavailable, she’d been the one to go out to Troutdale yesterday to bring in the decapitated corpse, which in her view was a victim of a criminal homicide. Rather than assign the Jane Doe to one of the other doctors, she planned to do the postmortem exam herself. She didn’t usually take a personal interest in the cases that came into her office, but something about this particular victim haunted her. Kristen suspected the woman had been brutally murdered, and she wanted to be the one to discover the secrets her body held. She wanted to have a hand in seeing the murderer brought to justice.

  She’d have company this morning. Kristen smiled as she noted Detective Mac McAllister’s name along with Detective Kevin Bledsoe’s on the note her secretary had placed on her desk that morning. Apparently Detective Eric O’Rourke had called after she’d left the scene last night. While Bledsoe knew the ropes, Mac was the new kid on the block. She’d enjoy taking him through the hoops. She wondered if he’d ever been in on an autopsy before. “Better have some smelling salts handy.” She grabbed a couple out of her bottom desk drawer and slid them into the pocket of her scrubs.

  “Let’s see.” She settled a pair of half-glasses on her nose and began reading down the list. “Overdose. Overdose. Accidental drowning.” Nothing that couldn’t wait a few hours.

  “Okay, where did you guys put her?” She found the Jane Doe label and followed the line across. “Cooler number three.” Kristen took the last sip of tea, jotted the ID number on a neon pink Postit, and escaped the office and the paperwork. Closing the door behind her, she headed across the hall to Henry’s office.

  Henry Thiele had been her aid since she started working here five years ago. She turned the knob and poked her head in. “Hey, Henry, how goes it?”

  “Morning, Doc.”

  “Ready to go to work?”

  He sighed. “Can one ever be ready?” His black hair and ebony eyes twinkled despite his hangdog tone.

  Henry took off his denim jacket and placed it over the back of a black stool, already wearing his faded blue scrubs underneath.

  “What are we working on this morning, Doc?”

  “A Jane Doe. I brought her in last night. She should be in cooler number three unless someone switched her.” Dr. Thorpe handed Henry the note. “Here’s her ID.”

  When Kristen had arrived with the van the previous night, two swing-shift guys had helped her unload. She left the victim in their capable hands and went home. She had almost stayed and gone right to work on the woman, but common sense got the better of her. Her little boy needed her far more than a corpse.

  “I’ll go get ready while you put Jane in the autopsy room,” she told Henry. “We have a couple of detectives observing. They should be here any minute.”

  MAC PULLED INTO THE PARKING LOT of the old red brick building that housed the state medical examiner’s offices. As he was getting out of his car, a gold Ford Taurus pulled into the lot and parked beside him.

  “Morning, sir,” Mac said over the roof of his Grand Prix.

  “Morning.” Kevin closed the driver’s door behind him and leveled a hard gaze on Mac. “One thing to remember if you plan on getting along with me, Mac.”

  Startled, Mac took a step back. “What would that be, sir?”

  “Drop the ‘sir’ bit; I work for a living. Have you been to these things before?” Detective Bledsoe opened his trunk and leaned in.

  “Oh yeah, once or twice.” Mac had no idea why he’d just lied to the man. Wanted to make a good impression, he supposed. Truth was, Mac had managed to avoid autopsies until now.

  “Good. I’ll photograph and gather the evidence. You package the items I give you and log them on Form 65.”

  “Form what?” Mac cleared his throat.

  “Form 65—you know, the department’s evidence sheet.”

  Embarrassed, Mac nodded. “Oh sure. Um . . . I don’t have one with me.”

  “You sure you’ve been in on an autopsy before?”

  Mac looked toward the building and licked his lips.

  Kevin grinned and slapped him on the back. “I thought so. Look, son, let’s get something straight. You don’t have to pretend to know more than you do. You’re here to learn. I’m here to make sure you learn right. So don’t try to impress me. And for heaven’s sake, don’t lie to me. If you’re going to be my partner, I need to know I can trust you.”

  Mac bit into his lower lip and ducked his head. “Yes, sir— Kevin. Sorry.”

  The senior detective pulled out the hard plastic case of his 35mm camera. Then he reached in again, this time withdrawing a second black plastic case marked Evidence on the outside in white stenciled letters. This he handed to Mac. “Let’s go, partner.” He closed the trunk and hurried toward the building with Mac trailing by a few feet. Kevin stretched out his wrist and glanced at his watch. “Right on time.” He grinned back at Mac. “Punctuality is a good measure of a man.”

  Mac felt as though he’d committed a major sin and been redeemed. He was beginning to understand why his new partner had such a good reputation.

  They entered through the north door of the building and walked into the room on their immediate left. “This is where they�
��ll be performing the autopsy. The administrative offices are down a hall and the walk-in coolers are to the right.”

  In the center of the autopsy room stood two stainless-steel tables, each with a grated top to allow liquid waste to pass. There was a sink at the foot of the tables, with an extended water hose at the top. Above the tables hung a scale, the type you’d find in a grocery store to weigh produce.

  Cabinets filled with various medical supplies and containers lined the walls. Below the cabinets, a number of wooden pegs held single large rubber gloves and heavy black rubber aprons. The six heavy industrial aprons looked alike, except for the one on the end.

  The apron under the name Thorpe had pink lace across the chest area and along the neck strap. As Mac entered, Kristen caught his eye and winked. “I’ll be right with you. Say, would one of you mind giving Henry a hand with the body? He’s in the cooler.”

  “I need to get set up,” Kevin said and turned to Mac. “Why don’t you give him a hand?”

  Mac nodded and headed into the cooler, which was separated from the autopsy room by a hallway. The cooler was like an enormous walk-in refrigerator with a freezer section. Bodies lay in plastic bags on gurneys, most likely on hold for the morticians or awaiting autopsy.

  Inside, Henry stood over a steel cart containing a body bag and reading the label affixed to the zipper. His once-black hair had streaks of gray that made his hair look frosted.

  “You must be Henry. I’m Detective McAllister. Dr. Thorpe sent me to help you with the body.” Mac could see why she’d asked.

  Henry looked far too thin and frail to be lugging around corpses.

  “Appreciate that,” he said, looking far from pleased. “This is the one.” He then pointed to another body. “Pull that other stiff outta the way so I can get her through.”

  “Sure thing.” Mac examined the frosty handle on the steel cadaver cart before grabbing hold.

  “Go ahead, son; he won’t bite,” Henry said impatiently, waiting to push the other cart out.

  Mac pulled the cart out of Henry’s way and noticed something that looked like milk crates in the back of the freezer. He asked about them.

  “Spare parts,” he said. “Why, you missing something? Lookin’ to upgrade maybe?”

  Mac grimaced. “No thanks.” He took a closer look and noticed that the plastic milk crates did contain body parts. He spotted an assortment of arms, legs, and even a head. Trying to sound nonchalant and give the impression he was not as squeamish as he felt, he asked, “How long do you keep these?”

  Henry looked annoyed. “How long do I keep them? I don’t, son. The state keeps them until we find the poor sap that lost them. They turn up in rivers, in the desert, and along the side of the highway. All the fixin’s of a person back in there, just no grave or name to put them with.”

  “Hmm.”

  “If you ain’t missing something, boy, you’d best not be lookin’. Now come on. Dr. Thorpe is waiting.”

  Within moments they were ready to begin the process. Kristen Thorpe looked directly at Mac. “Have you been in on an autopsy before?”

  He avoided looking at Kevin and answered, “No.”

  “Okay, then. I’ll try to explain as we go. First, the sole purpose of this examination is to identify the cause of death. If the cause of death is homicidal, or an unnatural death, then we need to determine if the death is a criminal homicide, which means another person caused the death. It’s my job to determine whether or not that’s the case.

  “First thing we want to do is get her under the x-ray,” the doctor went on. “We need to find out if there’s any lead in her.”

  Henry pushed the cart under a large suspended x-ray machine, guided it into place, and then unzipped the body bag, unleashing the terrible odor that had caused Mac to vomit the day before. He started breathing through his mouth.

  “Whoa.” Henry folded the edge of the outer bag down around the cart. “This is a bad one.”

  “We can leave the sheet on her for now,” Kristen said. “I just needed that metal zipper out of the way for the x-ray.”

  Mac stared at the sheet, noticing where body fluids had apparently soaked through, creating an outline of the corpse.

  Kristen tucked a couple of smelling salts into Mac’s hand. “In case you need them. I don’t want you to faint on me.”

  “Thanks.” Mac broke one open and took a whiff, thankful for the pungent smell that temporarily overshadowed the odor permeating the room.

  Henry gave him an unsympathetic smile as he tied a black rubber apron around his waist and pulled on his elbow-length gloves. “I’ll bring the x-rays in to you all. You can wait in the hall if you want.”

  Feeling sweaty and a little faint, Mac took off his brown sports jacket and stepped outside the room. He placed the jacket on a hook in the hallway near the entrance. Breathing in some fresh air, he loosened his tie and unfastened the top button of his blue oxford cloth shirt. Then stalling for a few more seconds, Mac glanced down at the visitors log near the coatrack. Kevin had already signed them in, listing “investigation” next to their names as the nature of business.

  He scanned the names on the list above theirs, noting several area morgues that had listed “deposit” or “withdrawal” next to their names. He was about to go back into the autopsy room when the door opened and a woman stepped inside.

  “Allison?” Mac asked as recognition set in. Allison Sprague was one of the agency’s top forensic scientists. He knew her by reputation as well as having talked with her when he’d worked in the child abuse unit.

  “That’s right, the brains of the outfit is here.” Allison walked up beside him. “Now we can begin. Just stay out of the way so I can solve another caper and have you macho types take all the credit.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Mac shook her extended hand. “How are things?”

  “Good, except for having to work the weekends.” She rolled her eyes. “Eric O’Rourke briefed me on the scene and condition of the body. I’m here to take any trace evidence back with me to the lab.”

  “Hey, Allison.” Kevin grinned as she came into the room. “How have you been?”

  “Morning, Kevin, great, just great. I hear you’re getting ready for retirement.”

  “I’ve been ready for a long time. But yeah, only ten months to go.”

  “Dr. Thorpe will be right in,” Kevin announced. “She had to take a phone call. I’m all set up with the camera tripod and evidence bags.”

  The three of them walked into the exam room together.

  Dr. Thorpe and Henry entered the autopsy room a few minutes later, with Henry pushing the body of the victim in front of him. “Negative for traces of lead or metal on the x-rays.” Kristen was still examining the black plastic film.

  Kevin looked down at his digital pager and, after excusing himself, stepped out of the room.

  “I didn’t know you were invited to this party too, Allison,” Kristen said, noticing the forensic scientist for the first time.

  “I crashed it. Didn’t want these guys messing up my evidence.”

  “I heard that.” Detective Bledsoe poked his head back into the room.

  Allison laughed. “You were supposed to.” She grinned at Kevin as he left the room again.

  Dr. Thorpe pulled the lace-trimmed apron over her head and tied it around her waist, then placed a surgical cap over her spiked hair. After pulling on the long rubber gloves, she picked up a felttip marker and went to a white board.

  Henry rolled the body onto the autopsy table and pulled off the sheet. The room quieted as Kristen wrote on the board with the squeaky black pen:

  NAME: Doe, Jane RACE: White DOB: Unknown

  Setting down the pen, she waited until Henry had placed the severed skull with its attached hair mass in the sink area of the table, then she measured the body from the feet to shoulders.

  “About four feet, six inches. With the head intact, that would make her about five-foot-two.” She paused to make the n
otation on the board.

  “What do you say, Henry, one hundred to one-fifteen?” Dr.

  Thorpe asked.

  “I’d put her at, oh, the heavier side of one-fifteen, maybe a little more,” Henry replied.

  Dr. Thorpe was writing the estimated height and weight on the board when Kevin returned. “We have two missing person hits in the area over the last fourteen days that could fit our victim.

  One is a Latino out of the Damascus area; the other is Megan Tyson, a woman from Troutdale. Both were in their mid-thirties, with the same general height and weight.”

  “Any other identifiers?” Kristen asked.

  “The Damascus woman should have an appendix removal scar and a scar under the right eye.” He glanced at the skull.

  “This isn’t her.” Kristen scanned the victim’s abdomen. “No appendix scar.”

  “The other woman had no remarkable scars, although she would have had a rose tattoo on her left shoulder.”

  “Bingo.” Kristen pointed to a faint discoloration on the shoulder. “Looks like we have a tentative ID. Okay Megan Tyson, if that’s who you really are, let’s find out what happened to you.”

  Chapter Nine

  I’m going to call Eric back,” Kevin told Mac. “We need to get the gang over to the Troutdale P.D. to get a complete rundown on the victim.” Kevin punched numbers into his cell as he walked out of the room. “Go ahead and start the procedure, Mac. Get a lot of photos.”

  “Right.” Mac took several photographs of the victim from different angles before Kristen began. Though he struggled to stay objective, his empathy kept getting in the way. He didn’t want to see the decomposing corpse as the attractive woman who’d gone missing ten days ago. Anger, disgust, compassion, horror, and a thousand other feelings tangled into a tight mass in the pit of his stomach.

  “I’ll shoot backup for you, Mac.” Allison lifted a camera out of a large bag and began snapping shots. Mac wasn’t sure if this was routine procedure or if she didn’t trust him to do the job. He kept his comments to himself, deciding that it wouldn’t hurt to have a few more photos just in case. He was glad to have her intrude on the job and on his thoughts.