by Неизвестный
Oh well, his instincts nagged at him that there must be something other than what appeared on the surface.
Thursday, September 20
San Diego County Medical Examiner’s Office 6 p.m.
Jim Duncan and Billy pulled into the loading area of the East County Morgue and transferred Molina’s body to a nearby gurney Che had waiting. The internal transfer paperwork was handed over to Che and Jim confirmed that the completed report would follow in a few days. Che rolled the gurney into the main lab facility where autopsies were routinely performed. Since there were no outstanding autopsies to be performed and since this was reported as a homicide, Dr. Louden had previously told Che they would commence the procedure right away and conclude their initial work, being prepared to submit anything needing lab analysis to the proper persons before the weekend.
A curious and contemplative mind had taken Dr. Rebecca Louden into the field of pathology. She had graduated in the top 5 of her class at UC San Francisco Medical School. As an intern she actually gave the impression to her fellow interns that she was more likely to head into emergency medicine than her ultimate specialty. A cool head and analytical mind combined with the ability to move quickly when circumstances required seemed to make her ideal for the ER. However, dabbling in the lab toward the end of her internship she found herself comfortable with the prospect of cadavers as “patients,” working to determine the cause of their demise. As a result she accepted an offered residency at Johns Hopkins University Hospital in Clinical Pathology.
Despite the jokes clinical pathology residents are constantly subjected to by their colleagues who work on live bodies (and hopefully intended to stay in that state), Dr. Louden enjoyed her work and was held in the highest regard by her seniors. It wasn’t exactly a CSI type of “high” she got or looked for from her work, rather it was both the fascination of what the body tissues and organs could reveal as well as the ability to answer questions as to the cause of a person’s death. Such answers often provided a form of closure to family and loved ones of the deceased. While the work itself had sort of a harsh mechanicalism attached to it, she treated her “patients” with dignity and was considered to have a tremendous rapport with family members of the deceased during post-mortem times.
About three months prior to the conclusion of her residency she was contacted by the Chief of Pathology, her primary mentor at Johns Hopkins. He advised her that a long-time friend and former colleague who was the Chief Medical Examiner for the County of San Diego had contacted him asking for a candidate to come to San Diego, join his office, and if it’s the right person, be on the fast track to succeeding him when he retired. He was hoping to transition to retirement within the next year or two. It did not take Rebecca long to weigh the opportunity and the geographical setting and accept the offer.
As they say, the rest is history and the relative fast track played out as she was now the Chief Medical Examiner for the County of San Diego at the age of 39. Her love of things other than pathology were well served by the controlled work hours of her office. Top staff pathologists, assistants and a workable budget made her work life pretty decent.
She was a woman of many interests. Her love of fishing came directly from her dad. Although her mom was no shrinking violet when it came to outdoorsy things, baiting a hook was not high on her mom’s list of fun things to do. Her mom had become an avid golfer and tried to get Rebecca to pick up the sport. As to fishing, Rebecca developed a love for that sport from her earliest family trips, which most often were to areas full of lakes and streams. San Diego was the perfect locale for practicing her non-medical passion. Although fresh water fishing was plentiful, she really leaned toward ocean fishing. While she was not able to get away for as many overnight deep sea fishing adventures as she would have liked, she really loved the peace and tranquility of taking her tackle and bait to the jetty on the Mission Bay Channel and just putting a line in the water.
Scrapping her plans to head out early to her favorite fishing spot, and even though the victim coming in was being reported as a pretty clear case of death by beating, not raising any red flags that urgency was called for, she decided to get the autopsy done before she left for the day.
From her office, Dr. Louden called out to Che, “I’ll do this one myself.
You go on with your Thursday night adventures.”
Che quickly responded, “I really don’t have any specific plans for tonight so I’ll just stay and help so you can get out of here at a decent hour.”
Che removed the body of Javier Molina from the body bag and situated it on the autopsy table, a cold, flat, steel table with drainage ducts and channels to help direct the anatomical waste. This was not the way most people envisioned their post-mortem bodies resting.
Che gathered the proper tools and although Rebecca had seen many bodies that died in many unpleasant ways, she had to admit to herself that whoever did this left no part of the job undone. The battered and bruised upper torso, the facial bruising and head trauma from whatever blunt-force instrument or fists, left quite a mess.
“Well, it’s not going to be difficult to conclude what caused this poor fellow’s death,” she said to Che as they were about to start the autopsy.
Thursday, September 20
San Diego County Medical Examiner’s Office, 6:10 p.m.
Che jumped right into performing the assistant’s role and prepared the saw for the classic Y incision in order to open the body and perform the analysis of the vital organs. Just as they were about to begin, the phone in the autopsy room rang. It was not being answered in the office by the day receptionist who had already left. The phone continued to ring.
After 5 or 6 rings, Che said to Dr. Louden, “Why don’t you get that and I will proceed to open the chest cavity.”
It was not unusual for Che to actually begin the procedure, open the body, and get it ready for Dr. Louden to perform her examination. Dr. Louden took off her latex gloves, walked over to the extension phone by the door and picked up the receiver. She heard nothing at first and thought she merely had gotten to the phone too late after too many rings. However, it did not sound like the call had disconnected.
“Hello? Hello? This is Dr. Louden. Can I help you?” Getting no response, she hung up.
She returned to the exam table and saw Che completed the opening of the chest cavity. His work was well executed.
“It must have been a wrong number,” she said to Che in passing.
Che said nothing in return. Dr. Louden pulled on a fresh pair of latex gloves and set out to complete the exam.
Despite the battered body on the exam table, the autopsy was relatively routine. The opened chest revealed the details of the multiple blows the victim obviously suffered. Dr. Louden observed minor damage to several internal organs–spleen, liver, kidneys, etc. She then examined the cranial cavity and observed nothing that altered her initial opinions as to the cause of death. Che said to Dr. Louden, “Billy told me this guy was beaten bloody by a group of kids, and the authorities already had a line on who they were and probably already have the perps in custody.”
Apparently having no mystery to solve, no “Dr. Kay Scarpetta” or “CSI” investigation to determine through forensic discoveries the cause of death, she continued her work at her usual efficient pace.
An hour or so later, Dr. Louden snapped off her gloves and asked Che to wrap up and return the body to storage. She was not advised yet whether anyone would turn up to claim the body. The paperwork itself would likely take her another hour or so to complete, and she could still be home in time for a glass of wine and to catch up on a few of her favorite shows she had saved on her DVR.
Thursday, September 20
San Diego County DA’s Office, 7 p.m.
Kyra decided that she completed all she could do for now. She would receive the autopsy report in enough time to arraign the suspect or suspects early the following week. Although there were formalities which certainly had to be followed, this wa
s looking like the proverbial “open and shut case.” Kyra anticipated the autopsy report would be unremarkable and the cause of Molina’s death was blunt force trauma to the head and body.
Kyra was considering the charges to be filed. They were both clear and unclear in certain respects. Certainly a homicide took place. All indications confirmed that death occurred during the commission of a “hate crime.” She also realized this would make the news outlets interested and she would have to begin considering issues of a “gag” order with the court to avoid having the case tried in the press.
Once the boys from Anderson’s were in and processed, she would interview them if they had not yet “lawyered up.”
It was time to take a break. Kyra began to think about her weekend. She had been ducking the social scene lately. Although she clearly enjoyed attention from men, the idea of romance right now seemed like more trouble than it was worth. A “no strings attached” situation was more to her liking. Besides, her work at the office kept her plenty busy with long and irregular hours at times.
Kyra wasn’t a ladder climber in the DA’s office. In fact, she was clearly considered among the most competent of the young deputies and had begun to get some informal inquiries from several private firms in town looking for a dynamic young trial attorney with knowledge of the criminal law system. Whether it would be for white collar criminal defense in the private sector or following up on the proclivities of securities law firms to occasionally seek a lawyer with criminal law experience, her future would likely give her numerous choices.
For right now, however, she was content–life was pretty good!
Friday, September 21
Buck Johnson’s Home, 9 a.m.
A call came into Buck’s home office. With Caller ID and based on whatever his mood was, he could decide to take the call or let it go to voice mail. Buck had decided to take the day off and was getting ready to leave on a ride on his maroon Harley Road King, a regular East County fixture with its signature license plate, KRMPONY reflecting the tasteful but obvious bling added to the bike. As he was gathering a few things, he half listened to the message. A distraught sounding voice was desperately trying to get his attention.
Although these calls often came from sobbing parents, he couldn’t help hearing the desperate emotion being expressed in this call. He heard the words “arrested for murder” and “hate crime” and “just school kids” coming from the halting and emotional voice message machine. His curiosity about a new case, as with just about every lawyer, always got the best of him. Buck put down his keys to the Harley and picked up the phone, “Hello, this is Attorney Buck Johnson, how can I help you?”
“Please calm down maam. I can’t follow what you’re trying to tell me.”
When he finally was able to calm the caller enough to ask a few questions, he learned that she was the mother of one Eddie McDermott, who had been arrested in connection with the death of “some illegal” outside a bar in Boulevard.
“Mrs. McDermott, how did you get my name?”
In sort of a Southern drawl, “Sal Mangioni, the general manager of the Chintaw Casino just outside of Boulevard said you’re the one to call to help my boy. My husband George is a pit supervisor at Chintaw.”
Apparently warned of the old adage that lawyers don’t work for free, Mrs. McDermott said, “We don’t want nothin’ for free. We want to pay for whatever it takes to get our baby out of this mess.”
Despite the seriousness of the matter, Buck intended to get at least an hour or so on his bike early that afternoon so he scheduled a meeting with Eddie’s parents at his office at 2:00 PM. He knew that with the weekend coming up and the nature of the likely charges, Eddie was not going to make bail and would be in for the weekend and, unfortunately, for a much longer time. Bail was virtually impossible in a murder case.
Before he left on his ride, Buck called the jail and was told that Lieutenant Bill Gallagher was the watch commander on duty. Buck knew Bill well after many years of volunteer work with the department and supporting many police-sponsored charitable endeavors. Buck’s reputation with the police was that of a straight shooter and a “helluva” good attorney. These gave him an advantage in getting the reasonable cooperation of the police in a situation like this.
Buck got Bill Gallagher on the line. After some pleasantries, Buck said, “How’s your new guest, Eddie Mc Dermott? I may have caught the case.”
“Lots of luck.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Bill, please consider me initially retained at this time and I’ve got to ask that no police questioning of McDermott be allowed outside my presence.”
Buck further inquired, “Has anyone from the DA’s office been nosing around trying to get an interview with my potential new client?”
“All quiet so far,” Gallagher replied.
“Bill, any idea who at the DA’s office drew the case?”
“Nothing formal yet, but Kyra O’Neill was the duty deputy and went out to the crime scene with the Sheriff deputies and was actually in on the arrest.”
Buck knew Kyra O’Neill fairly well both by reputation and through some direct professional encounters. Kyra’s father had been a highly regarded civil attorney in town (now retired), and Buck always felt good genes and good upbringing resulted in quality offspring, no matter what profession they pursued. As a result, Buck believed that the arrest was likely by the book. If Kyra kept the case, that would be fine with Buck.
She might have been considered by some to be a bit young to lead a
prosecution with such “capital” implications. In fact, she was more than competent and, even though Buck did not like the thought, it was not going to be that much of a challenge for the prosecutor’s office to establish what had happened outside Dante’s Tavern. This seemed likely to be a case of “damage control” for his client. The thought of Eddie walking out scott-free was not even on his radar at this point.
Friday, September 21
Buck Johnson’s Office, 2 p.m.
At 2:00 PM, Eddie McDermott’s parents arrived in a fairly new Chevy Suburban, nicely appointed and cared for. This was a good sign. To Buck the perceived ability of the parents to bear the cost of the defense in a case like this was important. Buck walked them through the weekend’s empty offices to his office in the back corner of the building.
Buck’s office was an eclectic conglomeration of Daniel Boone meets Sonny Barger: “western” and “mountain art” combined with Harley Davidson memorabilia. In some ways it was a mini-museum which chronicled the loves of his life other than Jean, his wife and the one and only woman he ever loved. Jean was a successful CPA with a busy practice sometimes causing the “lovers” to mostly meet in the still of the night.
All joking aside, life was pretty good for Buck and his wife.
In looking at Buck’s office, it was hard to figure which theme started first. No one could believe Buck was a transplanted Midwesterner unless you made sure you put the emphasis on “westerner.” Buck was fascinated by mountain man life and his friends knew he would probably be happy to spend the rest of his life with Jean at his side in a nice cabin in Colorado somewhere.
For the biker side of Buck’s personality there were numerous photo memories of the great trips he had taken over the years on the KRMPONY and its predecessors. These allowed Buck to constantly experience the memories of being on the road.
If the Colorado cabin was not the ultimate scenario, crossing the Black Hills on his way to Sturgis on his beloved KRMPONY with Jean on the back was a close second.
Above his credenza, mounted on the wall, was the inimitable “Boo.” Boo was a beautifully mounted caribou with one of the finest racks the species displayed. Boo had been a 50th birthday gift from a group of his friends. Boo commanded the room and all knew never to touch the exalted animal. However, someone, to Buck’s chagrin, would secure a ladder at the holiday season, stick a red puff ball on Boo’s nose and he would be dubbed Rudolph for the season. Buck
reluctantly allowed this one intrusion into Boo’s majesty.
The McDermotts took the next 30 minutes or so telling Buck all about the events of the prior day to the extent they knew them.
Constantly interjecting was Eddie’s mother, “Eddie was such a good kid, you know, just your typical teenager.”
“Those two other boys been arrested too,” interjected George McDermott.