Thrilled to Death v5

by L. J. Sellers

  “This is a very difficult time, and I don’t usually welcome attention from reporters, but you seemed so concerned.” Elle Durham’s speech was a little sloppy. “I want someone to expose ThrillSeekers for what they are, the greedy bastards!”

  Sophie had no idea what she talking about, but her adrenaline was pumping. “What was Courtney’s involvement with ThrillSeekers?”

  “According to Brett, that’s Courtney’s boyfriend, she hired the company to kidnap her just for thrills. Now my baby’s dead, and the police won’t tell me how she died. I think those bastards at ThrillSeekers drugged her or something.”

  Sophie put on her headphone so she could type as she talked. She keyed ThrillSeekers into Google. “Have you spoken to anyone at the company?”

  “I tried, but the receptionist won’t tell me anything and she won’t put the owner on the phone.” Elle was both high and distraught. It made her a little hard to understand.

  “Do you have any idea how much she paid them?”

  “Brett wouldn’t tell me.”

  “Will you give me Brett’s phone number?”

  “Just a minute.” Ms. Durham came back with the number. “I don’t think Brett knows much. Will you call ThrillSeekers? I thought maybe a reporter could get somewhere with them.”

  Bloody unlikely, Sophie thought. Unless she pretended to be a potential client. “I’ll find out what I can. Now I have a question for you. Did Courtney know Danette Blake?”

  “You’re the second person to ask me, but I don’t know who she is.”

  “Who else asked you? Was it the police?”

  “It was Detective Jackson.”

  So Jackson thought the women’s disappearances could be related. Now Sophie felt sure the connection was worth pursuing. “Why would Courtney want to be kidnapped, Elle? Do you have any idea?” Sophie wished she were recording the conversation on her desk phone.

  Ms. Durham started to cry. “It makes her sound so crazy. Courtney wasn’t mentally ill. She was just unhappy. That’s why I sent her to a psychiatrist.”

  “Which psychiatrist?” Sophie remembered Kera telling her Danette had disappeared after a doctor’s appointment.

  “Why does it matter?”

  “I think it might be important. Another woman Courtney’s age is missing.”

  “That person you just asked about, what’s her name? Danette?”

  “Yes. She’s been missing since Monday morning.”

  “That’s so sad.” Elle let out a sob. Sophie wondered how much she’d drank. After a moment, Elle said, “Courtney’s doctor is Stella Callahan.”

  Sophie jotted down the name. “Thanks. Is there anything else you can tell me about Courtney’s abduction?”

  “The bastards dropped her off in a field. She had asthma!”

  “That sounds irresponsible. I’ll see what I can find out. Let’s stay in touch.”

  Sophie knew she would soon think of other questions, but right now she wanted to call Kera Kollmorgan and find out which doctor Danette had seen Monday. Then she would call ThrillSeekers and try to set up an adventure.

  This was a story.

  Jackson got up late after a short night of waking up every hour to pee. He glanced at the clock and realized he had to be at an autopsy in forty minutes. He bolted for the shower, feeling like he had lead in his legs. He’d almost driven over to Kera’s at three in the morning, but had decided it was too selfish. He was glad now he hadn’t. Between him and the baby, the poor woman wouldn’t have gotten any sleep. He wished Kera were here right now, brewing a pot of coffee, smelling delicious, and telling him he’d done the right thing and it would all turn out fine.

  He let the hot shower pour over his still-tired body. Would they ever be able to live together? His daughter vehemently opposed the idea, and Jackson wasn’t sure how he felt about raising a baby that wasn’t his responsibility. He tried to tell himself it was too early to assume Danette was dead and never coming back, but he wasn’t convincing.

  After the shower, Jackson glanced at himself in the mirror and groaned. He splashed cold water on his eyes, hoping to shrink the bags that were dark and swollen like a waterway about to burst. Wearing only a towel, he trotted up the hall and into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. Damn, the place was a mess. What the heck day was it anyway? Oh yeah, Friday; autopsy at eight.

  He dressed, gulped a cup of coffee, and poured a second cup into an insulated travel mug. On the way to his car, he realized he didn’t have his carryall. Cursing under his breath, he went back into the house. This was not a good sign. He needed to be alert and sharp. He had two important suspects to interrogate. Valder was in isolation at the county jail. It was less convenient having him there instead of in a holding cell at the department, but Jackson had decided to cover his own ass by booking Valder into a facility where he would get the appropriate medical attention for his phobia.

  It was Eddie Lucas he was counting on today. If Lucas didn’t confess, they would probably never find Danette’s body or be able to prove Lucas had kidnapped her and Valder had killed her. Or maybe Eddie killed her when he realized his mistake. Jackson worried he might not ever know. Not knowing was tough to accept. It would be even harder for Kera and Mrs. Blake. Jackson needed to give them closure.

  Back in his cruiser, he drove too fast and made calls on the way. He checked in with McCray, who was writing up the paperwork for a complete search of Valder’s property, including his computer, phone records, and bank accounts. It was asking a lot from a judge, especially based only on his theory of mistaken identity kidnapping. Evans and Schak would soon be on their way to Valder’s home to wait for the go-ahead on the search. Jackson would join them after the autopsy.

  When he called Kera, she didn’t answer. Had she gone back to work at the clinic? Jackson left her a message: “Sorry I couldn’t come by last night. I was on the job until about three this morning. I think we’ve caught a big break in this case and it involves Danette. I wish I could tell you more. Hang in there. Call and leave a message, so I can hear your sexy voice.”

  In the basement of North McKenzie in an area known as Surgery 10, a small crowd had already assembled near the bank of stainless steel refrigeration units.

  Normally, only the pathologist, the medical examiner, and the lead detective would be present for an autopsy. Today the district attorney, Victor Slonecker, and one assistant DA, Jim Trang, were also standing around the table where Courtney’s lifeless naked body was exposed to the group.

  “I’ll get started now,” Rudolf Konrad said dryly, giving Jackson a look. Konrad was forty-something, but his round face and thick blond hair made him look younger. Jackson had been late to his first autopsy with the new pathologist and apparently he hadn’t gotten over it.

  “Sorry to be late.” Jackson resisted the urge to explain that he had worked from five yesterday morning until three this morning.

  “We drew blood and sent the samples to the state lab with orders to prioritize them, and we hope to have toxicology reports by late this afternoon or tomorrow,” Konrad said, glancing at the medical examiner, who had most likely performed the tasks.

  Gunderson spoke up. “I sent her clothes to the city’s crime lab after I examined them. I found almost nothing noteworthy on her clothing. Except in the pocket of her jeans, there was a tiny plastic bag containing a white powder, which may turn out to be cocaine.”

  The assistant DA said something under this breath to Slonecker, his boss. The pathologist ignored him and began meticulously searching Courtney’s skin, starting with her feet. Jackson grew uncomfortable. Five men were looming over and staring at the naked and perfectly sculpted body of a young woman. It felt voyeuristic and wrong. Yet they were all just doing their jobs. Slonecker and his assistant were present because Courtney Durham was high profile, and Jackson guessed the DA was under some pressure from Elle Durham to prosecute her daughter’s killer. Jackson wasn’t sure yet a crime had been committed against Courtney. If it had, he wou
ld do his part to bring her justice.

  Still, he couldn’t help but think the rich girl’s selfish and outrageous behavior may have led to Danette Blake’s abduction and death. It was hard not to be angry about that.

  “I’ll start by examining her backside,” Konrad said, for the sake of the recording. Gunderson stepped up and the two men expertly rolled the corpse.

  Reddish-purple bruising covered Courtney’s back, buttocks, thighs, and calves. “Significant livor mortis on entire backside of body,” the pathologist reported, his voice deep and full, yet deadpan. Although disturbing to look at, the discoloration was simply blood pooling in the lowest parts of a lifeless body. Still visible in the curve of her lower back was a massive tattoo, a complex design of flowers, vines, butterflies, and a sunrise. It took Jackson by surprise. He knew tattoos were more mainstream now, especially for young women, but he still thought of them as working class body art. Apparently he was wrong.

  What could he do to keep his daughter from ever doing this to herself?

  Konrad searched Courtney’s backside, starting at her feet. “Slight discoloration in the heel of her left foot. Could be due to lividity. There are no needle marks under the toes and no trace evidence. The tattoo around her ankle is several years old and healed well with no scarring.”

  Jackson struggled to pay attention. The travel mug of coffee was in his car getting cold.

  Konrad continued his inch-by-inch examination of Courtney’s skin until he reached her shoulders. “I’ll now examine the front side of her body.”

  He and Gunderson rolled Courtney over and the process started again.

  “Her hands show no signs of defense wounds, but there are abrasions around both wrists consistent with being bound.”

  “Bound by what?” Slonecker asked.

  Jackson answered, “Seth Valder, our main suspect, admits Courtney was handcuffed while she was in his house during her kidnapping adventure.”

  “Hmm.” The district attorney kept his face neutral.

  Konrad worked his way up to Courtney’s head and neck, stopping suddenly to reach for a special magnifying glass. He examined her neck for an endless five minutes while they all waited silently.

  “There are layers of bruises on both sides of her neck,” Konrad reported. “Some occurred weeks ago and others are newer. Because the bruises accumulated over time, it seems unlikely that any one event connected to the markings caused her death. I won’t know until I have the body open and can examine the hyoid bone.”

  Konrad made a soft noise in his throat. “There appears to be a layer of makeup over some of the bruises. In that makeup, I believe, is a partial fingerprint.”

  “I’ll be damned,” Jim Trang said, breaking the stunned silence. “Can you lift it?”

  “I think so. I’d like to come back to this area and spend more time after I complete the rest of the autopsy.”

  “This is too critical to wait,” Slonecker argued. “If there’s a print, we need it now. A fingerprint means she was strangled.”

  “Not necessarily.” Konrad finally looked up from his close scrutiny. “These bruises are consistent with sexual asphyxiation. If they contributed to her death, it could have been accidental suffocation. Also, the fingerprint may belong to the deceased.”

  No one in the room wanted to believe it. Jackson remembered threatening Brett with the possibility of finding his fingerprints on Courtney’s neck. He’d thought at the time it was just a bluff.

  “Let’s cut her open and look at her hyoid bone.” Slonecker was clearly impatient with the process.

  “I’ll get there,” Konrad said, “but first, I’ll examine her genital area.”

  Jackson looked away as the pathologist probed between Courtney’s legs. Even in death, she deserved some privacy.

  Konrad took swabs from every orifice and placed them in tiny glass containers. After a moment, he said, “No sign of swelling or tearing. No semen present. It seems reasonable to conclude she was not raped in connection with her death.”

  Slonecker spoke up. “Any sign of consensual sex?”

  “There are no signs, but it’s still a possibility if a condom was used and discarded.” Konrad glanced at Jackson. “Was a condom found at the scene of her death?”

  “No.”

  Slonecker folded his arms across his chest. “Doesn’t that contradict your theory about the neck bruises being related to sex?”

  “Not at all.” The pathologist’s voice was still deadpan. “The neck bruises could have been caused by consensual sex engaged in over a period of weeks before her death. Or even hours before her death. The pressure on her neck during climax may have even killed her. If they used a condom, or he failed to ejaculate, that sex may have occurred moments before she died. I have drawn no conclusions except that she was not forcibly raped in a way that caused visible damage.”

  The room was quiet while Konrad pushed two gloved fingers into Courtney’s rectum. Jackson was watching the pathologist’s face and saw him make a small frown.

  “What is it?”

  “She has anal scar tissue.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I can’t know for sure, but my best guess is she was repeatedly assaulted at an earlier time.”

  Jackson drew in his breath. Jim Trang mumbled, “Oh God.”

  “How sure are you about this?” Slonecker asked. “Is there any reason to tell her mother? Elle Durham is very anxious and calls me twice a day.”

  Konrad responded, but Jackson wasn’t listening. He was thinking about Courtney and her irrational behavior and how it could all be a byproduct of childhood sexual abuse. Even the sexual dysfunction that Dr. Callahan had been treating her for made more sense now. Poor girl. Who had done this terrible thing to her? How much did it matter to his investigation?

  The sudden whine of the stryker saw caused Jackson to jump. He never got used to this part of the process no matter how many times he’d been through it. Konrad made a Y-shaped cut into the chest cavity, then grabbed the loose flap of skin and flipped it up on her face. It made a loud sucking sound, and the smell of decaying organs filled the air. Jim Trang bolted from the room. It must have been his first autopsy, Jackson thought.

  After taking a section of her lung and examining it up closely, Konrad said, “Her lungs were deprived of oxygen, which is consistent with suffocation.”

  “Are you calling it a homicide or not?” Slonecker demanded.

  “Not yet. We’re going to look at her hyoid bone too.”

  “We found an asthma inhaler under the body,” Jackson added. “Her mother confirmed that Courtney had asthma attacks sometimes when she was outside.”

  Konrad glanced over at Gunderson, the medical examiner, who had failed to report the information. “It’s not often a person dies of an asthma attack,” Konrad announced, “but during an episode, the chest muscles tighten, making the bronchiole tubes constrict. The lining becomes swollen and sticky with mucus. Less air flows into the lungs, and less oxygen enters the bloodstream.”

  Jackson remembered his conversation with Parker at the lab. “A crime technician says her inhaler was empty.”

  “She could have had an asthma attack and not been able to treat herself,” Gunderson noted.

  “Let’s look at her hyoid bone right now,” Slonecker demanded again. “I need a ruling and I need to get back to work.”

  A flicker of irritation flashed on Konrad’s face. “Certainly.”

  A few minutes later the pathologist announced, “The hyoid is intact, making it unlikely this woman was strangled with significant force, yet the surrounding blood vessels are occluded.”

  “What are you saying? Was it a homicide or not?”

  “My report will say her cause of death is undetermined.”

  Chapter 22

  Jackson checked his cell phone as he left the overpark. His only call was from Sergeant Lammers, requesting a meeting with him in Chief Warner’s office ASAP. Oh boy. The chief only took
a direct interest in cases if they were high profile, like the situation with the mayor last fall. And now again with the daughter of a rich, prominent family who used their money to make good things happen in Eugene.

  The drive from the hospital to city hall took four minutes. Jackson bounded up the stairs from the parking garage and headed straight for the bathroom. The pink in his stream startled him. His urologist had not mentioned blood.

  From the privacy of the bathroom, he called Dr. Jewel. The chief could wait five minutes. The receptionist tried to tell him the doctor couldn’t come to the phone, but Jackson said, “I’ll hold for him, even if it’s twenty minutes.”

  “That’s really not necessary. The doctor will call you back.”

  “I’ll wait. Please tell him it’s important.”

  As he waited, Jackson rehearsed what he would say to Warner and Lammers. Finally, Dr. Jewel came on the line. “Wade, what’s going on? Is there a problem with the stents?”

  “There’s blood in my piss.”

  “A little bit of blood is fairly common. What color is your urine?”

  “Ugly pink.”

  “When is your surgery scheduled?”

  “I don’t know. Your office was supposed to call me.”

  “Just a moment.”

  The handle rattled on the bathroom door. Jackson ignored it.

  Dr. Jewel came back on. “I’d like to do this operation Monday morning at six. I assume that works for you?”

  His body screamed yes, but his head wondered if he could wrap up the bulk of the Courtney/Danette investigation by then. If not, could he let himself turn it over to his team?

  “The bleeding is a concern,” Jewel prodded.

  “Okay. I can’t stand these stents anyway.”

  “My assistant will give you all the pre-surgery instructions. In the meantime, take it easy. Sit around and read or watch TV for a couple of days.”

  Jackson jotted down the information on the back page of his notebook. He wondered when he could make time to pre-register at the hospital. He would also need to eat at least one decent meal before Sunday afternoon when he had to start his pre-surgery fast.