Body of Evidence

by Pickart, Joan Elliott; Davis, Justine; Merritt, Jackie

  “I have these to add to the file,” she said, indicating the reports in front of her.

  “Did you run across anything unusual?”

  “Actually, no. Whoever killed Franklin Gardner left no part of himself behind. He…or she…is either very lucky or very smart about forensic procedures.”

  “Yes, well, that happens. Take a look at the file and if you want to talk afterward, I’ll be around.” Abruptly, Josh turned and left.

  Maggie watched him go, but instead of hating him as she had believed to be the case earlier that day, she felt so much yearning that tears pricked her eyes. Heaving a sigh of despair—what in heaven’s name had she done that was so terrible she deserved to fall for a guy who had the ability to look right through her?—she reached for the case file and opened it.

  The first thing she saw was the autopsy report and she quickly read that Franklin Gardner had died from a blow to the back of his skull. The ice pick wasn’t meaningless, but it had not been the cause of Gardner’s death!

  But why on earth would anyone stab a dead man? Stab him over and over again? Hadn’t Gardner appeared dead? Was it possible that Franklin Gardner had accidentally fallen and hit his head on the corner of the table? Then someone, the person who had been in the study with him, had used what he had thought was merely unconsciousness as an opportunity to stab the life out of the disabled man?

  Frowning, Maggie read on: Bruising on victim’s face appears to have been made by something the attacker was wearing, most likely a large ring. My Lord, the poor man was also beaten?

  Maggie sat back, contemplating the conflicting information. After a few minutes she checked the other reports in the file. So far Detectives Waters and Wilson had interviewed the housekeeper and the building supervisor. Miriam Hobart merely repeated in her statement what Maggie had already been told. An unknown noise woke her, she got up to check on it and found Mr. Gardner on the floor in the study. Frightened, she rushed back to her room and called 9-1-1.

  The super’s statement didn’t offer much more, except for his opinion that Gardner had been an arrogant, unfriendly man, but he also told the detectives that his wife had always despised the penthouse resident. In speaking directly to the wife, the detectives noticed her knitting bag and spotted some long, thin knitting needles in it.

  Maggie caught the implication, but her report on the ice pick would inform Waters and Wilson that Gardner was not stabbed by knitting needles.

  After inserting her own reports into the file, Maggie sat and speculated. Gardner had been beaten and stabbed. Had the beating come first, then his fall and after that the stabbing? It made a crazy sort of sense. Possibly dazed from being struck in the face, Gardner had fallen—maybe tripped over something—and hit his head on the table. The attacker, not realizing that his victim was already dead, ran to the bar, grabbed an ice pick and returned to Gardner’s immobile body to repeatedly drive the sharp point of the pick into his chest.

  Maggie’s phone rang. Absently she picked it up and said, “Detective Sutter.”

  “Hi, got a minute?”

  “Natalie, hi. Yes, I can talk. What’s going on?”

  “Just thought we might have a burger or pizza together tonight. How about it? Do you have to work late, or can we meet somewhere. I have something to tell you.”

  “Bet I can guess what it is,” Maggie said teasingly. From the lilt in her friend’s voice, her news had to be about a new man in her life.

  “But don’t guess, okay? I’m dying to tell you all about it. Can we meet around six-thirty?”

  “I don’t see why not. Where?”

  “Do you want pizza or a burger?”

  “Um…pizza. How about meeting at Tony’s?”

  “Great. See you at six-thirty.”

  After putting down the phone, Maggie checked the time. It was almost five. She had plenty of time to talk to Benton before she drove to Tony’s Pizzeria.

  Bracing herself for a face-to-face with Josh, Maggie took the case file and her cell phone—she rarely did anything without it—and went to his private cubicle. He was at his desk, on the phone, and exactly as he’d done the first time Maggie had come to his domain, he waved her in.

  She lowered herself onto a chair, then realized to whom Josh was speaking—the head of the Bureau of Detectives! Instantly alert, Maggie didn’t even pretend not to listen.

  “It might be just a little too soon, sir,” Josh said. He had swung his chair around so that he was sitting sideways to his desk and looking out a window. It was dark outside, Maggie saw. Early nightfall was another aspect of winter she didn’t enjoy. “Doesn’t the woman understand her son was murdered?” Josh asked into the phone.

  And then, “Yes, I realize the importance of closure to a mother, and that Mrs. Gardner would like to hold the funeral right away, but is the M.E. a hundred percent certain the body has no more secrets to tell?”

  After a silent minute, Josh said, “All right, fine. But I’m going over to the morgue and have one more look at the deceased before the body is released. When am I going? Right now. Talk to you later.”

  He put down the phone, swung his chair around and looked at Maggie. She set the case file on his desk. “Could we discuss…?” she began.

  Josh interrupted her by getting to his feet. “Right now I’m going to the morgue for a last look at Gardner’s body. Maybe you should come along.” He paused a moment, then added, “Yeah, no maybe about it. I want you with me. You might see something I don’t. And we can talk on the way. Go get your coat.”

  “But…but…”

  Josh stopped moving and frowned at her. “But what?”

  “Nothing. I’ll get my coat.” She left in a rush and on the way back to her desk she used her cell phone and dialed Natalie’s number. “Sorry, but I have to cancel,” she said. “Something came up, boss’s orders. Maybe tomorrow night, okay?”

  “Oh, darn. All right, we’ll do it tomorrow night.”

  “Bye, Nat.”

  Bundled up again, she joined Josh in the corridor leading to the parking area. They walked out together without talking. When they were in his car and underway, he said gruffly, as though greatly perturbed, “Mrs. Gardner is pestering the police commissioner for release of her son’s body for burial. I think it’s too soon, but I was just warned that it’s probably going to happen, whatever I think about it.”

  “Are you thinking the M.E. missed something? Is that why we’re going to take another look at the body?”

  “Sometimes there’s room for differing interpretations of bodily wounds. I don’t doubt the M.E.’s findings. Hell, I don’t know if I doubt anything, but I need to satisfy whatever it is that keeps gnawing at my gut.”

  “Oh, you have one of those gut feelings that’s so prolific in detective novels.”

  Josh slanted a startled look at her. “You don’t get ’em?”

  “Only when I eat chili laced with loads of hot peppers.”

  “You’re really pissed off at me, aren’t you?”

  “Whatever gave you that idea?”

  “Well, your frozen face could be a clue.”

  He was using sarcasm on her, the jerk? “A frozen face is small potatoes compared to a frozen heart.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean, that my heart is frozen? And just how the hell would you know if it was?”

  “Clue upon clue upon clue, perhaps?”

  “Because I didn’t follow through with that pass this morning? I had my reasons,” Josh said grimly.

  “I’m sure you did.”

  Josh let her have the last word and drove the rest of the way in silence. Maggie acted unconcerned, as though she couldn’t possibly care less about anything he did or said, when, in actuality, the ache in her chest felt like a mortal wound. This whole thing might mean nothing to him, but it was destroying her professionalism as well as breaking her heart. She had to do something about it.

  The question, of course, was what? What on earth could she do to jar Josh Bento
n as he had jarred her? Was still jarring her!

  At the morgue Josh requested a viewing of Franklin Gardner’s body. Ten minutes later he and Maggie were standing on opposite sides of the gurney on which Gardner’s remains had been delivered from a refrigeration unit to a viewing room. Both Josh and Maggie wore latex gloves.

  “He put up a fight,” Josh murmured, concentrating on the blotchy discolored spots on the victim’s arms and hands. “And the facial bruises have an odd pattern.”

  “The report mentioned the probability of a large ring worn by the attacker.”

  “I would think a diamond, for instance, would have broken the skin…leave cuts instead of impact bruises. Any large gemstone might cut the skin, for that matter.”

  Maggie frowned a bit, thinking. “Unless it didn’t protrude above the overall design of the ring.”

  “There is a design, isn’t there? Do you see it in the facial bruises?”

  Maggie bent over to peer more closely at the facial bruises. “There’s something,” she said slowly. “A pattern of some sort. But I can’t make it out, can you?”

  “No. Do you have your camera with you?”

  “In my backpack. I’ll get it.” Maggie removed her gloves and tossed them in the appropriate waste receptacle, then went into her backpack, which she had left on the counter near the door. Returning to the gurney with her camera, she asked, “Haven’t we received the photos Jack took at the scene yet?”

  “They’re in my office.”

  Maggie stiffened. “Why aren’t they in the case file?”

  “Because I’ve been studying them, trying to figure out which ones should be in the case file,” Josh snapped. “You can examine them anytime you want. There are far too many to keep them all in the file, and…and didn’t you see my note in the file when you went through it?”

  “No, I did not.”

  “Well, it’s there. Take some close-ups of those facial bruises.”

  Maggie’s camera was hi-tech digital with automatic, immediate development. For more exacting detail, the photos could also be transferred to a computer, and from there the sky was the limit. Enlargements and an array of shadings that brought out various characteristics were often used on data.

  Wondering how she could have missed seeing Josh’s note about Jack’s photos, she decided that she had missed nothing in that file. The great Benton might have intended to insert a note, but he hadn’t done it. God, what an ego, she thought. Bring him down a peg? Her? Hardly.

  She focused entirely on the facial bruises and the camera clicked, whirred and coughed out instant photos that Josh grabbed and studied. He finally said, “That’s enough. Thanks.”

  “You’re very welcome,” she said icily and walked over to her backpack and put away the camera. Returning to the gurney, however, she couldn’t resist saying, “I doubt that Jack overlooked the facial bruises in his numerous shots of the scene. But I must be wrong in that assumption, since you’ve been studying his photos. Jack would have to be at fault, not you.”

  Josh scowled at her for at least a full minute, then snarled, “Come on, let’s get the hell out of here.”

  “Of course, anything you say.” Maggie’s mind whispered the word master, but she couldn’t let herself say it out loud. That would be going too far.

  It did tickle her, though, that she’d grated on Josh’s nerves, and she rode back to district headquarters with a little half smile on her face.

  Josh thought he saw her smiling when they passed under a bright streetlight, but he squelched the impulse to ask her what was funny and said instead, “It could be a signet ring.”

  “What? Sorry, I wasn’t listening. What did you say?”

  “I was referring to the attacker’s ring. It could be a signet ring, one of those huge sports rings or a fraternity ring, or maybe just a college class ring. Some are really big, especially if it’s in a large size because the killer has large hands.”

  “Sounds as though you’re ruling out women in this homicide.”

  “Some women have large hands,” Josh said as they reached his car.

  “Few women wear college class rings. Fewer still own a sport ring, and I really have never personally known a woman who possessed a fraternity ring.”

  “Oh, really? How about the ones that are given frat rings from their boyfriends?”

  “You mean our killer is a coed today? Now that theory surprises me.”

  Josh fell silent as he started the car’s engine, then said quietly, “You know what surprises me, Maggie? You do. What do you want from me?”

  Maggie couldn’t believe her ears. Her pulse ran wild and she wished she could backtrack and steer this conversation in another direction. But it was too late. All she could do now was stand up for herself and show Josh Benton that he didn’t scare her.

  “I could ask you the same question,” she said brazenly. “But I fear I’d hear a different answer at any given time of the day. Take this morning. I think we both know what you wanted from me this morning, although I do admit to not having a clue at the moment. Guess I’m not a mind reader after all. Maybe I was wrong about this morning, too.”

  “You weren’t wrong.”

  “Pardon? What did you say?”

  “You heard me. I said you weren’t wrong.”

  “Prove it,” Maggie said before she could stop herself.

  Josh had had enough. He wove through traffic and made a sharp right turn into a dark alley. Slamming on the brakes, he put the shifting gear in park, unhooked his seat belt and then slid as close to her as he could get, considering the elaborate console on the seat between them.

  Maggie was staring at him wide-eyed, trying to make out his eyes in the dim dash lights. “Wha-what’re you doing?” she stammered.

  “Proving it,” he growled, and unhooked her seat belt. He took her by the shoulders and pulled her toward him, close enough that he easily found her lips with his. His kiss was hot and hard, and she felt herself breaking apart, piece by piece.

  When she could no longer breathe through her nose, she jerked her face to the side and whispered hoarsely, “No more. You proved your point.”

  “Not entirely.” He took her hand and brought it to his lap.

  She wanted to leave it there. She wanted to unzip his pants and feel the heat of his arousal on the palm of her hand. Instead, she drew it back slowly and waited to see what he would do next.

  He finally did it. “Is that what you want?” he asked harshly. “I didn’t want to hurt Tim by messing with you, but I’m losing ground on that noble concept. If you want sex with me, I think I’m ready to crumble. But you have to remember something. The reason I’m not married is because I don’t like the statistics. Everyone I know…practically everyone…has been married and divorced at least once. I won’t live my life like that. There are usually kids, and they’re the ones who really suffer, but so does at least one person in every destroyed marriage.

  “Maggie, if you and I sleep together that’s all it will ever be. Can you live with that? If you can, we’ll go to my place right now and make love all night.” He stopped talking and waited. “Don’t you have an answer?”

  “Not tonight I don’t,” she whispered, shaken to her very soul. “Please, let’s go.”

  “Are you going to have an answer tomorrow?”

  “I…don’t know.”

  “I already know your answer, you don’t have to say a word. You want marriage and kids, the same as everybody else does.”

  “Everybody but you.”

  Josh slid back behind the wheel. “Could be. I won’t argue about it. I’m who and what I am, and it’s take me as I am or not at all.”

  “I have the picture, loud and clear. You don’t have to belabor the point.” She fought tears all the way back to the Bureau and her car, but she also did a lot of deep thinking. And just before getting out of Josh’s vehicle, she let him have it with both barrels. “I will never believe you haven’t married and plan to remain a bachelor for
life because of divorce statistics. You’re conning yourself and I think you know it. Just don’t insult me again by using that line of drivel with me!”

  Chapter 4

  Maggie’s current workweeks ran Mondays through Fridays. In a few more weeks that would change, as everyone in the Detective Bureau, even forensic specialists, had to rotate their days off so that no one had a lock on the traditional weekend. It was an equitable arrangement, Maggie felt, fair to everyone. She willingly worked her weekends when necessary, but as she began work on Friday she actually prayed that no one heading up a case would request her services on Saturday or Sunday. She needed some time off, and two days away from Josh Benton should help her down-in-the-mouth mood immensely.

  She couldn’t stop thinking about the things he’d said to her.

  What she’d said to him had been richly deserved, she told herself, and maybe she should have said more. Any woman stupid enough to get mixed up with a man of Josh’s sentiments and outlook on the only things that really mattered in this grueling life—love, marriage, children—deserved all the pain she would suffer. That life wasn’t for her, Maggie thought again and again, and if it were possible to rip every shred of feeling from her body until she truly got over the arrogant jerk, she would do it in a New York minute.

  But that was where she was stymied. Her feelings were their own master, apparently, and uncontrollable. Her heart thumped much too frenetically whenever she caught sight of Benton, and when he talked to her about the Gardner case and she had to look him in the eye, she got weak in the knees and felt like a pot of molten lava was boiling her insides. It made her almost ill to acknowledge such a weak-willed thing about herself, but how could she deny something so obvious? She could tell herself a million times that she hated Josh, but it wasn’t true. She had always considered herself so sane and sensible, but where was her sensibility now? It’s probably hiding behind your incredibly stupid heart that’s just begging to be smashed to smithereens!

  Trying almost desperately to not drown in self-pity and not completely succeeding, Maggie studied photos for most of the day, those that Jack had snapped at the scene, those she had taken at the morgue. Especially provocative were the shots—both Jack’s and hers—of the victim’s facial bruises. A major step in the process for Maggie was booting up her computer, pulling up the photographic analysis program and then inserting the tiny digital disk from her camera.