“John,” she said. “You startled me. What’s up?”
“Here,” he said and took the top box from her.
“Thanks.” Katie’s instincts kicked in—there was something that was bothering John and he was there to talk to her about it.
Katie put the box on her desk and John followed suit. She shut the office door and, turning to John, she said, “Spill it. There’s something that you want to say to me.”
“You’ve put me in an uncomfortable position,” he said.
Katie knew instantly it must be something about her visit to her uncle’s house. Pressure built up in her chest and she felt a lump in her throat.
“Ever since you’ve been here at the sheriff’s office, I’ve watched you take hold of these cases with such intelligence and tenacity.”
Katie waited. Maybe this wasn’t going to be as bad as she had thought.
John continued, “I can’t imagine how horrific it must’ve been for you to find your aunt’s body and I don’t claim to know how it feels. But, you were given instructions, make that orders, by our highest boss to not meddle in this investigation.” He clenched his jaw and seemed to hesitate.
Katie nodded. She didn’t know where exactly he was going so she kept her mouth shut.
“I knew you were up to something when I ran into you at the house on Monday. I’ve been swamped with work so I didn’t look at the video until this morning.”
Katie frowned, looking away from him.
“I saw you and Cisco searching for clues—and finding something. It wasn’t clear in the video what it was but you did find something and you kept it to yourself. There were several blank sections due to the re-recordings.”
She had never seen John angry—it was a calm controlled anger, but he was mad, nonetheless. “I was just—”
“You were going to step in anywhere, whenever you wanted, with no regard to anyone else doing their job, so you could find evidence that would prove your uncle’s innocence, right?”
“Well of course. Do you know what’s at stake here?” She shoved the boxes farther on the desk and leaned against it.
“What kind of question is that?” He moved closer to her.
“An important one.”
“I’m the only one who has seen the footage.”
“And?” she said, waiting for his answer.
“You’re lucky that the video didn’t reveal anything of importance. Otherwise…”
“Otherwise what?” she challenged.
He shook his head obviously frustrated with her. “I’ve never met anyone quite as stubborn as you. Don’t push this maverick cop routine too far. You’re still too new to investigations. I see right through you, and at the rate you’re going right now you could really damage this case. Is that what you want?”
His words hit Katie like an arrow in the heart. Her pain and grief weighed against her as her worst enemy. “I can’t just sit back and do nothing,” she managed to say.
John stepped back contemplating his next words. “Why didn’t you come clean to me that day at the house?”
“I… I just didn’t want to involve anyone—if I’m going to get suspended for doing something stupid, I’m not taking anyone else down with me.”
“Noble, but very stupid. You act like you’re the only one who cares about the sheriff.”
Katie couldn’t meet his hard glare as she realized that she had been so focused on the case from her own perspective that she had been selfish.
“Look.” He stopped himself. “Where are the two pieces of evidence you collected?”
“I have them in my briefcase.”
“What are you going to do with them?” he asked.
“I… I… was going—” The truth was she didn’t know what she was going to do with the evidence, but she wanted it analyzed by a private forensic lab.
“Give them to me. I’ll take care of it.”
“No, I don’t want to cause—”
“Too late, I’m already involved.”
“But…”
“Do I need to repeat myself?”
Katie picked up her briefcase and slid out two small evidence bags which held the piece of blue fabric and the small pieces of thread. “Here,” she said. “Thank you.”
“I’ll let you know if they are anything relating to the case.”
Katie felt like a student who had been reprimanded by the school principle.
“Didn’t the military teach you anything about teamwork?” he said and then appeared to lessen his anger. “I’m sorry, but I don’t want to see you make a huge mistake and jeopardize your career. We need more detectives like you.”
Katie nodded. She couldn’t say anything for fear of breaking down and sobbing. Realizing how close she came to risking her aunt’s investigation, it made her sick and disgusted with herself.
John gave her one last look before he left.
Moments later McGaven entered. “Hey, what’s up with John? He looks like Rambo on the rampage.”
Katie laughed softly. “Well, he’s pretty pissed at me about my aunt’s case…”
“What? Why?” he said.
“Not important. Let’s get another case going before someone else gets on my case.”
McGaven looked like he wanted to say something, but remained quiet.
“Okay,” she said, “I’ve pulled the top two boxes of cases the sheriff recommended.” She flipped the lids off and began pulling out file folders and a couple of binders. “I’ve already looked briefly through the first one, but I haven’t looked at the second one. So here you go,” she said and slid the pile closer to McGaven.
It was quiet in the office for almost an hour before Katie said anything. She knew that McGaven was giving her space and time, but the quiet was beginning to get to her.
“Okay,” she half blurted out.
“You okay?” he said.
“I’m just frustrated. We take on a missing person’s case and then we don’t have the opportunity to find the killer.”
“Well, maybe let’s not pick a missing person’s case this time.”
“Good idea,” she said. “I have a list of cases that my uncle worked and I’m cross-referencing them with these cold cases. I’m going to call them off—let me know which ones you have.”
“Go,” he said.
“Barren, Christopher Leland—homicide.”
“No.”
“Nicholls, Sarah—homicide.”
“No.”
“Curtis, Amy—homicide.”
“Nope. Why are you reading off homicides that your uncle worked?”
She ignored his question and said, “Andrews, Cynthia Jane—homicide.”
He paused, looking through notes. “Cynthia Jane Andrews. Body found tied and staked to a tree Upper Pine Valley.”
Katie got up from her chair and leaned over McGaven’s shoulder. “How long ago?”
“It was twelve years ago. Investigating detective, actually detectives, were your uncle and Detective Kenneth Teagen.”
“Looks from the notes like Teagen had been assigned to the case and my uncle was assigned later.”
“Here’s a binder from the crime scene,” he said as he pulled it out and opened it. He began flipping through pages.
Katie gasped.
“What?”
“It’s just…” she managed to say. She turned the pages slowly, showing the details of the damage inflicted on the body of the victim. “It looks similar to…”
“To what?”
“I don’t know for sure, but these wounds look similar to the wounds…” She couldn’t finish the sentence, remembering.
McGaven studied the photos from the gruesome and violent crime scene closer, as well as those of the body in the morgue after the blood had been cleaned up. The gaping, slashed wounds were nothing less than disturbing.
“Those wounds and the vertical direction look just like my aunt’s wounds,” she managed to finally say.
Twenty-Two
Wednesday 1130 hours
Katie walked through the main entrance of the morgue to the office of the Medical Examiner, Dr. Jeffrey Dean. It was the last place that anyone wanted to be during a homicide investigation, and she knew that McGaven struggled with viewing and examining dead bodies more than most.
The closer Katie studied the photographs taken of Cynthia Andrews’ body, slashed and bound to a tree, the more she realized that there might, no matter how small, be a connection between hers and Claire’s wounds. There was only a copy of a preliminary autopsy report in Cynthia’s file, but Dr. Dean would know for sure.
For the first time in days she felt hopeful and McGaven, though skeptical, had agreed to go along with it. She knew she was walking a thin line, but the Andrews case was indeed a cold case—so within her remit to investigate.
A fair-haired middle-aged man wearing a splashy-colored Hawaiian shirt and dark khakis under a white lab coat appeared out of one of the examination rooms. He smiled at once when he saw Katie, his glasses swinging back and forth on the end of a chain around his neck.
“Detective Scott and Deputy McGaven, hello,” he said with almost a whimsical note to his voice.
“Dr. Dean, thank you for seeing us on such short notice,” she said.
“Of course. I was curious about the case you referred to because it was one of my first cases here. I was a little bit of a newbie. Please,” he said, “come this way.” He moved quickly through the rooms and bypassed a few other areas by way of the long corridor which led to his personal office.
Katie tried not to look at the bodies being worked on as she passed. Technicians were hard at work weighing each organ with care and recording the results and it was difficult not to stare at the blood spatters on their plastic face masks. McGaven’s eyes were glued firmly to the floor.
Dr. Dean reached an office at the end of the hallway and Katie followed him in, surprised at how big the office was. It was tidy and organized like any other—except it was located in a morgue.
“Detectives, have a seat,” he said.
“I wasn’t completely honest when I talked to you on the phone about the cold case,” Katie began.
Dr. Dean gave her a quizzical expression.
“You see…” she began. “I think looking into the Cynthia Andrews homicide might also be able to assist in the recent Claire Scott homicide.”
The doctor’s face changed. “Oh my, Detective. Please forgive me for my lack of sensitivity. Working here does that to you, I’m afraid. My sincere condolences about your aunt and the terrible predicament of your uncle.”
“Thank you. But I need you to understand that I’m here because I think there’s some similarity between the wounds inflicted on my aunt and Cynthia Andrews. If I’m right, my uncle is the link between them.” She knew that the cases would be considered conflict of interest for her, but she wanted to appeal to the doctor’s sense of compassion.
“I can tell you about the Andrews case,” he said and opened a file he had waiting on the corner of his desk. “Cause of death: exsanguination, or acute loss of blood. Andrews had lost more than two-thirds of the blood in her system. An unusual long knife, about six inches long, with a slight hook on the end, was the murder weapon. The victim was sliced down each side of her torso and across the sternum. There was also a wound that pierced her upper torso and lungs. From my examination, the stabbing wounds were from the back and came out the front of the body.”
“The file said that the murder weapon was never found,” she said, still recalling her aunt’s wounds.
Dr. Dean said, “We tried to figure out what type of knife, but nothing current fit the dimensions and depth. It was decided that it was most likely an antique weapon.”
“Doctor, I have a very important question,” she said.
“You know I cannot comment on your aunt’s case. It’s an active investigation and you’re too closely involved.”
“Oh,” she said and looked down. She had to know, but didn’t know of any other way to get her answer unless she bribed a technician.
“I can’t comment on it, but you can,” he said and nodded his head.
Katie understood. She could theorize and he would not verbally agree or deny in response. She said, “Theoretically, the slicing on both Andrews’ and Scott’s bodies seemed to be consistent.”
“Theoretically, both wounds on both bodies might be considered consistent,” he said.
“And theoretically, the weapon that made those slicing wounds seems similar,” she said waiting for his answer.
“Theoretically, both wounds, on both bodies, might be considered consistent and caused by the same type of weapon—by same I mean, consistent in length, angle, and depth. But of course that would only be theoretically speaking.” He smiled and nodded.
Katie stood up. It was all that she needed to hear, and she had her first solid lead.
“Was there anything else, Detective Scott?” he said.
“No, that was all. Thank you so much for your time.”
“Anytime.”
Katie rushed out of the morgue and hurried through the parking lot to get back to the forensic unit.
McGaven caught up with her and stopped her in her path. “Wait a minute.”
“What?” she said.
“Katie, what’s going on? You really think that the killer from twelve years ago is the same person who killed your aunt? I followed your lead because you’ve always been smart and methodical. Don’t you see how far-fetched this sounds?”
“Don’t you think I know that?”
“This isn’t the right way to go about it.”
“The medical examiner said that the wounds and type of weapon were similar,” she said. “I’ll take that.”
“Similar, Katie. Not a slam dunk.”
“I can’t go backwards now. Let’s go ahead and see what shakes out,” she said. It was clear that she was losing McGaven and he didn’t see eye to eye with her. “It’s our job to investigate the Andrews cold case, right?”
McGaven sighed and nodded in agreement. “Of course.”
“We need to talk with friends and family. Also, the retired detective Teagen, and my uncle. Right?”
“Yes.”
“We’ll work the case from the beginning, just like we always do—and if it happens to give us a lead in my aunt’s murder, then that’s two birds with one stone.”
“Fine.”
Katie could see that McGaven was still hesitant, but she could work with that.
Twenty-Three
Wednesday 1515 hours
Katie was edgy and filled with nervous energy, which made it difficult to concentrate on the investigation. She knew that McGaven was right and they didn’t need to jump to conclusions, but she was impatient—and deeply concerned about her uncle. He was unable to express his feelings and it seemed that he was sinking deeper into a depression.
Taking a step back, she assessed everything and began at the beginning. She reread the file overview for Cynthia Andrews to get a better understanding of the case:
Bio: Cynthia Jane Andrews, twenty-nine years old, single, working on a Ph.D. in Environmental Biology at UC Sacramento, and as an assistant to a botanist at the local college. The interdisciplinary field of environmental biology focuses on the relationships among plants, animals and their surroundings, including their responses to environmental stimuli. She wrote papers, articles, and blog postings about how important the wildlife was to the environment and a sustainable future—and how everything interacted with their surroundings. Her goal was to educate people on certain flowers, shrubs, and native wildlife. She was especially concerned with California shrubs and flora.
In the weeks leading up to her murder, she was researching for a paper about the elusive, some believe extinct, yellow flowered plant—King’s Gold. She packed up food and water along with her camera, cell phone, and notebook to hike to the location where the plant grew, and she planned to camp there for several d
ays—alone.
Background: Friends and colleagues of Andrews became worried when she didn’t answer her cell phone and didn’t come home after a week. With growing concern, family called the state parks and requested a ranger look for her. A park ranger, Rob Stein, found her camp in a state of disarray, and he found her body tied to a nearby tree.
Why would someone murder a budding young scientist? She flipped through the photos again and studied where the body had been located, the extent of the wounds, and the victim’s background. It didn’t add up. Katie knew that many killers wanted to display their victims in a shocking way just to taunt the police; but in this case, with the victim almost hidden, it wasn’t clear why. And the report described how the tent had been intentionally torn—possibly with a knife. The same type of knife?
Katie skimmed through a number of reports from friends, family, and colleagues until they all started to sound the same. No one had a clue why someone would want to murder this sweet, intelligent nature-lover. She had no known rivals, didn’t consort with unsavory types, didn’t drink or do drugs; she was a shy workaholic by all accounts. She didn’t even have time for romance; she was focused on finishing her Ph.D.
Leaning back, Katie glanced at their now stripped-back crime scene board and knew they were going to have to start all over again.
“Okay,” said McGaven sounding tired, “we have an appointment with Dr. Brandon Wills tomorrow at UC Sacramento. Wills was her friend and lab partner—they had known each other since they were in high school. He might be able to shed some light on things.”
“Yeah, I read his statement. I don’t think he’ll be able to give us much, especially now that more than ten years have passed,” she said.
“Well?” he said.
Katie could still detect some frustration from her partner. “Well, what?”
“I thought you’d have a profile by now, or at least a victimology.”
Flowers on Her Grave Page 13