by Gary Starta
Shirley, like most medical examiners, spent the lion’s share of his time crouching over the victims at scenes. Carter and Jill often joked about greeting Shirley from behind. They had a running bet on which colored hair tie he had used that day. Shirley wore his blond hair long, tied in a ponytail, tucked into the collar of his shirt. He told them his choice of hairstyle came from his Southern upbringing and a biological need to rebel. Shirley’s utility vehicle had become famous at scenes. It was the only one with a red and blue rebel flag affixed to its antennae. His big black-framed glasses, with their thick lenses, generally concealed his eyes along with many of his facial expressions. Yet when Shirley spoke, his voice was filled with compassion.
“The poor soul here,” Shirley said as he motioned to the car, “has been stuck with multiple alloy needles.”
“I see,” Carter said, peering into the car. Yet acupuncture needles are an instrument of healing. Could they really be used to kill?
Dozens of needles protruded from the victim’s body. Bloodied tatters of a sleeveless Tee hung from some of the needles like tiny flags. On other portions of the body, most notably the head, Carter found the needles had not produced any blood loss. The ME gathered his kit.
“I’m almost ready to release the body. I can’t do much here. I need him transported to the morgue—with needles intact. I owe it to our victim to find the exact cause of death.”
“Use every available resource to do that,” Carter said to Shirley.
Carter said to Jill, “Please begin processing.”
Carter strode over to the patrol car parked adjacent to Collins’ Audi.
He flashed his badge and the patrolman inside the car jumped out. The thirty-ish man had transferred to the homicide unit two weeks earlier. Carter had no prior opportunity for introduction. With the unit perpetually short-staffed, he had no time for one now.
“Officer Jamieson,” the officer stated. He drew a pad from his pocket and flipped through it. “I found the victim here in his car 6:14 a.m. A female hotel employee discovered him while dumping trash into that dumpster . . . right over there”—he paused to point, then he continued reading his notes—“ah, a Miss Sonja Rodriguez, she speaks broken English, kind of hard to understand.” He frowned and strayed from his notes, saying, “Plus she fell to pieces, crying and shaking, after just about every question I asked.” Reading again, he continued, “We identified the victim as a Dan Collins, thirty-seven, lived in Lynn. Whoever killed him made no effort to conceal the victim’s identity and theft does not seem to have been the motive.” Again, he looked at Carter, with a disgusted look on his face. “I found the victim’s driver’s license sitting right on top of the dashboard as if the killer was proud of his work. I guess you’ll have to determine if this was a serial or not. I’ve never seen anything like this in my thirteen years.”
“What makes you think this is a serial, officer?” Carter couldn’t make a connection, but the officer seemed experienced.
“Well, Detective, I can’t imagine why any sane person would turn anyone into a human pin cushion.”
“I’ll take your observations into consideration. Thank you.” I don’t really think I’ll be using the words ‘pin cushion’ in my report.
Carter turned away, to prevent the officer seeing the disgust on his face.
Well, I suppose not everyone can be as tactful and compassionate as our Mr. Shirley.
Chapter 4
Arriving at her home, accompanied by Jamieson, the cop who was the first on the scene, Carter had presented the news of her husband’s death to Dan Collins’ widow with no emotional fanfare. When he uttered the words, ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ he stared into Therese Collins’ eyes and found none of the usual emotions one might expect to find. Her eyes were non-committal. Her placidity continued at the morgue when she identified Dan as her husband.
How could this be? Carter practiced serenity. He avoided allowing his emotions to control his reactions. This woman stood beside the body of the man who was once her husband in rigid silence. Granted, the man had been covered to conceal the killer’s handiwork. What kind of relationship did they have that allowed such stoicism? Carter could only wonder. He was not going to press the woman for details at this time, but unexpectedly, some of her icy veneer began to melt moments after the viewing. She had paused to stop as Carter and Jamieson walked her down a corridor.
“What is the matter, Ms. Collins?” Carter asked. “Would you like to sit and take a moment before leaving?”
She nodded.
Carter and Jamieson gave Collins fifteen minutes alone. She sat on an aisle bench with her head bowed.
Jamieson, who was a detective in training, inquired if an interview was acceptable at this time.
“We’re walking a fine line, Officer. If she’s under duress and we are perceived to be taking advantage of her emotional state, we might not be able to use whatever she says in court.”
“And if it’s voluntary?” Jamieson asked.
Carter apprised Jamieson of the procedure. The officers would need her full consent.
Officer Jamieson offered to get her a drink and she accepted the interview. Carter observed the woman’s body language. There wasn’t much except for a recent habit. Her eyes would dart back and forth every so often. Carter was certain her eyes had remained fixed previously. His instinct was to assume the woman needed to unburden herself. Maybe it was just part of the grieving process. But if it wasn’t, he might be able to include or exclude her as a suspect.
“Let’s take a seat in here.” Carter motioned Collins into an interview room which was sparse except for table and chairs. A minute later Jamieson joined them with a cup of tonic. He placed the soda in front of Collins and took his seat next to Carter. Collins sat opposite from the men.
“I have some suspicions as to who might be responsible for this.” Collins made the statement as a matter of fact. She sipped from the cup. Jamieson, seated across the table from her, nodded. “This is an informational meeting, Missus Collins, but for your protection, we will be recording it.” Jamieson pressed the record button. He also logged in a notebook the time the interview started and assigned it a case ID number.
Carter observed Jamieson’s tactics. For a detective in training, he appeared already experienced. And thanks to the soda cup, they now had Collins’ DNA.
Carter laced his hands together on the desk. The widow remained silent. She stared down at her bag which was situated in her lap. “Missus Collins, can you tell us about your husband’s habits? Where he might have been earlier this morning?”
Carter observed Therese holding back something, perhaps finally ready to emote. It could be rage; invisible reins tugged at her face, her lips and cheeks sagged intermittently. Was this a delayed response to grief? She continued to stare downward for another moment.
Carter wrapped a hand about his right wrist. He peeked at Officer Jamieson who sat in a non-confrontational posture. His hands were folded as well. The detectives dared not do anything to spook Ms. Collins in this crucial moment. If she was about to reveal a pertinent detail, they must appear non-threatening. Gazing downward, she exhaled, before she began to talk.
“I wouldn’t know much about his routines. He sold houses. He would meet with people at all times of day. The last time I saw him was approximately 7 last night. I threw him out. I know it sounds callous, but he was having an affair with a holistic healer, the kind that sticks you with needles. I should have known something was amiss weeks ago. He had been seeing her to treat his back pain.” She sighed. “I just thought you should know I had seen him alive last night. I could only suspect Dan had been with his doctor.”
Carter eased back. He removed his hands from the table. “How long had you suspected his affair?”
“For a few weeks, it came to a head last night when I received confirmation of it from a private detective.”
“How would you describe your relationship with Dan during the past few weeks?” Carter a
sked.
Collins pursed her lips. “It was strained, obviously. We hadn’t talked much until last night. I confronted him and he didn’t deny it. It wasn’t much of an argument. I told him to leave. He agreed. I suspected he went to her place. It’s the reason I’m telling you all this. I think you should investigate her involvement. His death seems too coincidental.” She rapped a knuckle on the table.
“But you don’t know for certain where Dan went after leaving your house?” Carter asked.
“He didn’t say. I assume he did. I also assume this woman might have learned he was married.” She raised an eyebrow. “You might imagine how she could have reacted.”
“It would help us, Missus Collins, if you could sign a statement.”
“Of course, I want you to find who did this.”
Carter pondered the woman’s motives for sharing information. It would make sense she would want to point blame away from her. He hoped that was the case for her sake because any lie she would make on her statement could be brought against her later. He had just been given two strong motives. The wife, disgusted at herself for being duped, may have found a means to kill Dan with the very instrument that had not only brought him relief from pain, but led to pleasure in the arms of the holistic healer. If the acupuncturist were the killer, she might have used her needles as a handy object in a fit of rage. Perhaps, Dan had not told her he was married until last night as Therese Collins insinuated. Still, if the wife were the killer, then her plotting would be more premeditated. She would have planned to acquire the needles. Funny. The same instrument of murder could be used by two different people in two entirely different manners—but calculated or not—the weapon was just as lethal. Yet despite Carter’s penchant for running with his gut instinct on cases, he would wait for Dr. Shirley to confirm Dan had indeed died from wounds inflicted from needles.
Carter didn’t imagine either of the two women possessing enough rage to stick a man with dozens of needles. If the blow to the victim’s head was the non-natural manner of death, perhaps a jilted or angry lover might be able to commit such an act. If the head injury was only contributory, then it was paramount to find whoever used the needles. Carter’s mind flashed as to who might be a third suspect.
“So Missus Collins, would you share the information your private detective gave you?”
“Yes, the detective confirmed they were fornicating in the confines of the doctor’s residence. She lives in Lynn.”
“Do you know if she practiced there?”
“I don’t know, Detective Carter. But I will tell you I was the one who supported him so he could become successful enough to catch another woman’s eye. He had the nerve to bite the hand that feeds.”
Jamieson glanced at Carter. The detective surmised Jamieson was drawing similar conclusions. Maybe Therese was involved in the death and was taking this opportunity to remove suspicion. But this was all supposition at this point. The detective didn’t know for certain if the needles were the murder weapon. He couldn’t be sure if Therese made the leap to insinuate the doctor’s involvement out of mere jealously or some knowledge that Dan was indeed stuck with needles.
“I would appreciate the name of the private eye you hired.”
She rummaged a moment to fetch the PI’s business card.
When she found it, she sighed and flipped the card onto the table. Jamieson winced. Carter suspected the newbie hadn’t seen it all. One can never predict the reaction of an emotionally charged person. I hope, for Jamieson’s sake, he never stops wincing at bad behavior.
“I settled up business with Mr. Fishburne last night, after Dan left. The PI would have testified in court about the affair. I don’t know how he can help you; he stopped the surveillance prior to Dan’s murder.”
Carter nodded, appearing passive. Inside he was wondering why the woman was so quick to dismiss the PI’s involvement. If Therese Collins was using this interview to direct blame away from her, why wouldn’t she want me to suspect her detective for hire?
“I do want to ask you more questions, however. So here’s my card. I’ll be in touch. I would appreciate if you allow Forensics to search your house and yard.”
“What do you need to search for?”
Carter asked only to evaluate Ms. Collins’ response. What item might she fear be uncovered in a search? If the needles were the murder weapons, they had been left at the scene. No efforts were taken to conceal them. Carter had to consider alternative evidence based upon Collins’ response. If the weapon, the instrument which would be determined by Dr. Shirley as the cause of death, had not been left at the scene, police would need to find it. It could be Ms. Collins unconsciously slipped up, admitting she knew how Dan was murdered beforehand. She wasn’t exactly shocked at the sight of her husband. Yet Carter also began to suspect her involvement with the PI Fishburne. Did the PI indeed conclude his investigation of Dan Collins prior to the man’s death? Ultimately, could Carter believe everything Ms. Collins had told him to be the truth?
“I’m sorry, Missus Collins. We can’t share details of the investigation. But we thank you for your time.”
Carter could have interviewed the PI next, but thought efficiency demanded he speak with the acupuncturist. If she were guilty, the less time she had to invent alibis and rehearse lies the better. He searched the Internet to find her address. She had an office in Peabody. Carter assumed she kept day hours there and invited Jamieson to accompany him. It had been a few hours since the body had been discovered. If the doctor, Anna Wong, did murder Mr. Collins, she might have fled. It was obvious to suspect an acupuncturist of using needles but just as ignorant to dismiss other’s involvement. A meeting with the doctor might substantiate if the women possessed a deep enough hatred to convert her own healing tools into weapons. Maybe Wong had either already calculated an explanation eliminating her involvement or would give herself up, proud she had terminated her two-timing lover. The police had found Dan’s driver’s license in plain sight resting upon his dashboard. It reminded Carter of a serial case four years earlier. The killer had left Tarot cards to mark his kill. With the most probable murder weapon left at the scene, the murderer wanted his or her handiwork to be acknowledged. Perhaps the killer felt justified in killing Dan. There could be another motive besides love. Dan worked as a real estate broker according to his wife. He could have enemies, buyers and sellers alike. Still, the needles suggested the wife or girlfriend’s involvement—unless someone else knew about Dan’s acupuncture therapy. Perhaps a crafty business associate used the needles to throw police off track. Ultimately, a series of interviews would be required to eliminate all suspects. Additionally, the Collins and Wong neighborhoods would have to be canvassed for any potential witnesses. Carter had already surmised no one at the hotel had seen the murder—at least according to statements. But people do lie. And just as Carter thought about that conundrum, the PI’s name flashed in his mind. He swore he had heard this man’s name before. Fishburne—it reminded him of the actor who starred in the Matrix movies. Yet he felt the name had been uttered within the hallways of the crime lab. Still, he couldn’t place who had said it. This small mystery gnawed at Carter as he drove to Peabody.
Chapter 5
Stanford Carter activated his hands-free cell phone with a voice command. He was calling the trace lab while en route to Anna Wong’s office. Forensic scientist Tony Gelder answered on the second ring. Sometimes Gelder’s phone rang ten times before answered.
“Hi Tony. I need your assistance.”
“I bet I know what you need, Detective. Thing is, I’m waiting for Dr. Shirley to release all the needles to me. I did analyze five so far and have found only the victim’s DNA contribution on them. I’m thinking the perp used gloves.”
“And I would bet you to be right, Tony. But I need more than trace analysis of the needles. Please attempt to identify the brand used.”
“Sure thing. But needles are needles. Still, I’ll call some manufacturers if it’ll help yo
u.”
“It will help me, Tony. I’m going to be interviewing an acupuncturist, the woman our victim had been sleeping with.”
“I see,” Tony said. “If we match these needles to hers we might have a case breaker.” Tony’s tone had lost its arrogant chime as if he was embarrassed about his prior remarks—and the painfully obvious deduction he had made. At least that’s what Carter heard. Carter was not the type to reprimand when he could simply educate.
“We’re a long ways from that, Tony. Has Jill checked in?”
“She’s still at the crime scene. Dr. Shirley found a bump on the back of the vic’s skull. He surmised a blunt object may have caused it, probably someone used it to knock our victim out.”
“Quite possibly, Tony. Someone may have used whatever was handy to get Mr. Collins to sit still. Maybe you’ll find some trace evidence after all.”
“Possibly. Jill is scouring the scene for whatever was used. She might be there for a while by the sound of it. The parking lot is surrounded by a thick marsh.”
“Keep me posted, Tony.”
Carter navigated his car into Wong’s parking lot. He bowed his head and folded his hands. A few minutes of meditation might keep him from feeling so antsy about finding the definitive murder weapon. Ten minutes later, Jamieson appeared. The officers entered the waiting room and requested Wong’s receptionist to interrupt her session.
“She’s wanted for questioning in a murder investigation,” Carter whispered to the brown eyed, blond woman at the desk. He showed her a picture of the victim. “Can you tell me if you’ve ever seen this man before?” He glanced at a nameplate on her desk. Her name was Valerie Hopkins. “Has this man ever been a patient here, Valerie?”
Carter already knew Dan Collins had been here. He wanted to gauge the receptionist’s reaction. Would she assist the doctor in a cover up?
“Yes, the man with the back problem. He always insisted I call him Dan, not Mr. Collins. Oh God, what happened?”