by Jen J. Danna
“It’s some kind of angled blade? How wide is that groove?”
“It’s 1.4 millimeters.”
“So narrow, but without a knife edge. What kind of odd blade is that?”
“One that isn’t really meant to be a blade. Now, keep in mind we aren’t going to conclusively prove it by finding the murder weapon because that’s likely long gone, but Kiko has a great idea as to what it might be.”
Leigh stepped back from the microscope and turned around to find Matt’s senior grad student by the gurney. “Okay, I’ll play. What are you thinking?”
Kiko retrieved her laptop from her workstation. “Remember, I’m an artist, and one of the things in an artist’s toolkit is a palette knife. It’s a small trowel, about four or five inches long with a wooden handle and a pointed triangular blade. That made me think about other times I’d seen something similar but bigger in size. Juka helped me track it down.” She brought up a picture on screen of a trowel with a pale wooden handle connected by a short metal arm to a wickedly pointed triangular blade. “This is a bricklayer’s pointing trowel. It’s used for applying and smoothing mortar when laying bricks.”
“Ouch.” Leigh stepped closer, bracing a hand on the desk and leaning in closer. “That looks sharp as hell.”
“It would be,” Matt said. “Sharp enough to do the job. Also, very sturdy and strong, which I think was needed for the second injury.”
“The same tool was used for both?”
“I think so.” He picked up two vertebrae from the lower back and led Leigh over to the lighted magnifying lens, setting one of the bones down on a stainless steel tray on the counter. “Come in close, because I’m going to have to angle this so you can see it. Now, this is T-12 or the last of the thoracic vertebrae. Normally, it’s oriented like this, with the body of the vertebrae facing toward the anterior side and the spinous process projecting out the back on the posterior side of the body. This hole in the middle, the vertebral foramen, is where the spinal cord runs through all the vertebrae in sequence.” He angled the bone under the bright light. “Can you see the defects around the spinous process?” He indicated the narrow bony projection angling downward from the posterior side of the bone.
Leigh moved in close, resting her cheek against his shoulder as she leaned in to look through the magnifying lens. “I don’t see what you’re … Wait, yes I do. Those nicks in the bone?”
“That’s them.” He turned the bone over. “This is the inferior side, or the bottom of the bone. This is a little tougher, but do you see that scoring?” Her head moved in a nod against his shoulder. “Do you see how it goes right under the body of the vertebra? That’s going to be key.” He set down T-12 and picked up the next vertebra. “This one is L-1. Take note that this bony projection, the superior articular process, is chipped on the right side and shows several nicks that I’d describe almost like false starts with a saw. Additionally the superior surface of the body is scored. Put it all together and we have a good idea of what happened.” He flipped off the bright light and Leigh stepped back.
“We’ve taken samples from both locations to look for trace evidence, but at this point, I’d be willing to testify that one weapon was responsible for both injuries. The back injury came first.” Matt turned around, using an index finger to draw a line over his back, slightly below his kidneys. “Vertebrae T-12 and L-1 are right here. The killer used the pointing trowel to immobilize his victim, using it as a blade to cut the spinal cord between those two vertebrae.”
Leigh winced. “He used a trowel to cut the guy’s spine? Wouldn’t that be hard to do?”
“It wouldn’t be easy,” Matt said. “For starters, the bony projections on the vertebrae are not only for attachment of the back muscles, but also to protect the spinal column. The chips and nicks in the bone are testament to multiple attempts to force the blade through. Also, because of the presence of the spinous process, he’d have to come at the spinal column slightly from the side. But the scoring on the bone goes clear past the vertebral foramen to the body, so it’s clear that the tool passed through the spinal cord, severing it.”
“That would take pure brute strength,” said Paul. “And a very sharp trowel.”
Kiko picked up one of the vertebrae, examining it. “I think the only way to make it work was to have the victim facedown on the ground. One or two downward thrusts with the blade and he’d be able to get it through the spine if he really leaned on it. But even still, the killer must have been strong.”
“Aren’t we assuming he was a manual laborer?” Juka asked. “If he was a bricklayer, he had to be strong since he’d be lugging sacks of mortar and piles of bricks for a living. A pampered politician who probably never did a day of manual labor in his life would be no match at all for him.”
Leigh moved back to stand at the head of the gurney. “So the killer paralyzes his vic. That gives him the time to brick him in because the vic can’t walk away.”
“But he could move his arms,” Matt said.
“The gouges in the wall. He was paralyzed from the waist down, but he still tried to claw his way out. Although he never had a chance because of the crates shoring up the wall.” Leigh looked back up at Matt. “So if the man was trapped, why the fatal injury? Rowe said he would have asphyxiated inside that wall. Why not let him die slowly?”
“Because it would have been too slow. Imagine you were the killer,” Matt said. “You could kill the man outright and then hide the body, but instead you keep him alive during the process. Why?”
“Revenge,” Paul said. “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“I agree. If it’s the kind of death we think it was, the killer wanted his victim to suffer and know exactly what his fate would be. But, the killer also didn’t want the vic lasting until morning when someone might come in and hear yelling from behind a bunch of crates and a brand-new wall. I think he tried to find a middle ground. That was the fatal blow. Not deep enough or angled enough to hit the aorta or the heart, but it could easily have hit the internal thoracic artery. Now, I don’t for a moment think our bricklayer had that kind of anatomical knowledge. He probably was simply trying to miss the heart itself, and, in doing so, missed most of the major vessels as well.”
“It had to be a little nick,” Kiko said, “or else Ward would have bled out fast and we know that didn’t happen.”
“Agreed. But he would have been gone for sure inside an hour or two, probably less. And during that time, he gets bricked in. Then the killer camouflages the new wall and simply walks away while the victim dies, then later decomposes and liquefies. Which reminds me, I know what that powder around the remains is. I dropped it off with a colleague first thing this morning to run it on the mass spec and he sent me the results about an hour ago. It’s pretty simple stuff. Calcium oxide.” When Leigh simply stared at him blankly, he said, “Maybe you’ve heard it by its common name: quicklime.”
“Uh … no?”
“Then Paul’s going to be your man on this one because he’s been researching it since we found out.” Matt turned to Paul. “What have you got?”
Paul leaned back against the benchtop and casually crossed his ankles, basking in the attention. “A couple of interesting things, actually. For starters, the most important aspect of quicklime chemically is its ability to bind sulfur compounds.”
“That totally explains it,” Matt said.
Kiko and Juka murmured in agreement.
Rolling her eyes, Leigh waved a hand. “Sorry, but the dummy in the room doesn’t get it. What does that totally explain?”
“First of all, you’re not the dummy in the room,” Matt said. “You’re just the only one without a science degree.”
“That makes me feel so much better,” Leigh muttered with a sideways glare.
“And none of us have a degree in criminal justice, so you can run circles around us there. Okay, let’s put this in perspective for you. Remember Tracy Kingston?”
“I’m nev
er going to forget Tracy Kingston.”
Early during their first case together, the team had stumbled across Tracy’s mutilated and decomposing body when they interrupted the murderer digging her grave. The scar puckering Matt’s right biceps was testimony to the life and death struggle that had ensued.
“Let me be more specific. Do you remember just before the firefight, when I stopped you because I could smell the decomp gases coming off the body?”
Leigh nodded. “Putrescine and cadaverine. I remember.”
“Exactly. Those are among the sulfurous compounds produced during decomposition.”
The light dawned in Leigh’s eyes. “Ohhhhh. That totally explains it.”
Matt patted her shoulder and grinned. “There’s an echo in here.”
“Quicklime has actually been used in open burials for centuries,” Paul continued, “and likely for just as long in clandestine shallow graves to hide the smell of decomposition. Calcium oxide binds with the sulfur in those compounds to produce calcium sulfate, a totally non-odiferous compound. That still leaves all the nitrogen-based compounds and a few others, but it will knock down the worst of the smell.”
“So whoever put the vic behind the wall dumped in the quicklime knowing the body would decompose back there and not wanting anyone to be able to smell it.” Leigh looked down over the expanse of pale bones. “I hate to say it, but that was clever.”
“It was,” Paul agreed. “Now, there’s one extra piece to the puzzle. Keep in mind how the body was hidden behind a fresh brick wall. So whoever hid the body was familiar with masonry. And up to the time of the Second World War, quicklime was one of the major components of mortar.”
“Add this to the murder weapon and all the dots connect.” Leigh started ticking points off on her fingers. “A bricklayer would know all the components of mortar and would have those materials on hand. He used a tool at hand to kill and then to camouflage. He had the strength to carry it out.”
“And then he walked away,” Matt said, “his crime completely undetected. What are the chances the old guy did it?”
“After all this time? He might have simply been an accomplice after the fact who knew about the body’s location. Remember, he never said exactly where the body was. And we don’t even know that he was a bricklayer. Maybe he was just told about the body, but not responsible for it himself. I’m going to have to talk to him, but I’m not sure what reliable information I’ll get. It might be a better idea to talk to his family.”
“Let’s do both,” Matt said. “Can you arrange it?”
“I can. You want in on it?”
“Do you even need to ask?”
“Then I’ll set it up. Can you get DNA going ASAP? ID on this vic is going to be a crucial point for the Peter Holt case.”
“You get me comparison samples and I’ll get you your answers right away.” He grinned at her. “And in the meantime, let’s take Samuel Kain on a walk down memory lane.”
CHAPTER NINE: PROOF
* * *
Proof: refers to the alcohol content of a beverage. In the U.S., proof is equivalent to twice the alcohol content as a percentage of volume. Thus, a 100-proof beverage is fifty percent alcohol by volume. The term originated in the eighteenth century when the rum used to pay British sailors was “proofed” by mixing it with gunpowder to see if it contained enough alcohol to burn.
Tuesday, 1:32 p.m.
Office of Chief Medical Examiner
Boston, Massachusetts
“I’m ready.” Evelyn Holt squared her shoulders, her expression coldly set as she stared resolutely at the shuttered glass separating her from her son. Dressed all in black, with her hair scraped back into a tight bun that erased any trace of softness from her face, she exuded an air of brittle stoicism.
A silent spectator, Matt leaned against the wall on the far side of the viewing room beside the only furniture—a small nondescript couch and an end table with a box of tissues and several pamphlets on grief counseling. He’d asked to attend the viewing, and, to his surprise, Leigh had agreed. Only moments before, Leigh had escorted Mrs. Holt into the room, but the older woman had looked neither left nor right, and his presence remained unremarked.
Leigh stepped up to the small intercom on the wall, pressing the small white button. “Open the blinds, please.”
The blinds immediately slid open to reveal a small, spare room on the other side of the glass. A single table in the center of the room held a form under a long white drape. A technician in green scrubs and a white lab coat stepped away from the window to the head of the table. She looked over at Leigh, who nodded. The technician pulled back the drape and folded it neatly over the chest of the corpse.
Evelyn Holt’s back was to Matt so he couldn’t see her face, but her single sharp indrawn breath cut through the silence as she swayed slightly on her feet. Concerned she was about to collapse, Matt pushed off from the wall to take a single step toward her, but the older woman reached out a shaky hand to steady herself on the windowsill and he froze.
Leigh gave him a single small shake of her head and he stepped back.
“Mrs. Holt,” Leigh said gently, “can you confirm that this is your son, Peter?”
“Yes.” The single word was hoarse and laden with unshed tears. “That’s Peter.” Giving up the pretense of indifference, she dropped her head into her hands and started to weep.
Leigh nodded through the glass at the technician who quickly covered the body again. Taking her arm, she helped the older woman over to the small couch, settled her onto the cushions, and passed her the box of tissues. For a moment, the room was quiet except for Mrs. Holt’s jagged breathing as the elderly woman struggled to pull herself together.
Leigh laid a hand on her arm, rubbing lightly. “Mrs. Holt, is there anything I can get you? Anyone I can call for you?”
“No, thank you.” Mrs. Holt wiped her face and daintily blew her nose. “Is there anything else you know at this time about Peter’s death?”
“Nothing so far, but I will be talking to Peter’s coworkers and to Ms. Ballantine either later today or tomorrow.”
“If there’s anything I can contribute, anything to help speed up the process, you’ll let me know, won’t you?”
Leigh didn’t even blink in the face of an apparent bribe. “That won’t be necessary, Mrs. Holt. I have all the resources I need, but thank you for the offer.”
Mrs. Holt wilted slightly at the rejection. “When can I get … when can the funeral home come to get Peter?”
“As soon as they can arrange it. He can be released right away. We have some personal effects that were found at the scene. We’ll need to hold onto them for a little while longer as evidence but I’ll let you know when they can be returned to you.”
Mrs. Holt blinked owlishly at Leigh for a moment, as if she was having trouble following the conversation. “What personal effects?”
“What he was carrying at the time of his death. His wallet and keys, his cell phone. What appears to be a pair of antique cuff links. They look like a family heirloom and are probably valuable, but they’re well-protected here and I’ll get them back to you as soon as possible.”
“Cuff links? We don’t have any heirloom cuff links in the family.”
“They’re small gold ovals with inlaid blue stones depicting a Roman ruin. But perhaps—Mrs. Holt!”
Matt jumped forward as the older woman started to topple off the couch, catching her shoulders even as Leigh tightly grasped her arm. Together they eased her back on the cushions.
The older woman was already starting to push their hands away. “Are you all right, Mrs. Holt?” Leigh asked.
Mrs. Holt closed her eyes as if fighting a wave of pain. But when she opened them moments later, her expression was blankly composed. So alarmingly so that Matt drew back in surprise at the woman’s control.
“Thank you.” She shook off Leigh’s hand and stood. She regally straightened her spine, once again fully in charge of her
emotions, despite her tear-streaked cheeks and red, watery eyes.
“I’ll walk you out,” Leigh said.
Jaw clenched, Matt balled his hands into fists to keep from reaching out, repeating the mantra in his head as his one chance walked toward the door. Throw it away, throw it away, throw it away.
The two women slowly crossed the room. Mrs. Holt paused briefly at the door, carelessly dropping the used tissue in the wastebasket near the doorway. Then they were gone.
Matt sagged back against the wall in relief. Victory snatched from the jaws of defeat at the very last second. He strode over to peer into the garbage can, satisfaction spreading warmth through his chest at the sight of the single tissue sitting in the otherwise empty can. Gotcha.
Leigh reappeared, pulling back sharply as she nearly ran into Matt standing so close to the doorway. She put a hand out to brace against his upper arm. “What are you doing?”
“IDing our vic.” Matt reached into his pocket, pulling out a pair of latex gloves and sliding them on.
Hand on hips, Leigh narrowed her gaze on his jeans. “Do you always carry gloves?”
“Lately, yes. I never seem to know when I’m going to need them since I met you.” Bending over, he picked up the discarded tissue. “But I admit this time I planned it.”
Leigh’s look of confusion suddenly cleared, her expression taking on a sly cast of understanding and approval. “That’s why you wanted to be here. You wanted to see if we could get her DNA.”
“Considering why she was here, it didn’t seem unlikely to me. Unless she was hard as diamonds, she was going to be emotionally shaken by the sight of her dead child. It’s natural. And since you didn’t seem to want to come out and tell her about the possible identification of the remains behind the wall …”
“I’m going to have to tell her if it really is Charles Ward. But right now, while we’re looking at two members of her family dead and I’m not sure what the connection is, I’m leery to give anything away until we know for sure. And she was hard as diamonds. Did you catch her reaction at the end there?”