by Elaine Viets
‘The doctor checked her pupils. They were fixed and dilated.’
I knew what that meant: Jessica had been dead a while.
‘The ER doctor stopped the code and pronounced her dead. There was nothing we could do. She was probably dead when she arrived.’
‘Do you think she died of pneumonia?’ I asked.
‘I doubt it,’ Karen said. ‘She’ll have to be autopsied, but we think she might have been poisoned. And that’s not for publication.’
‘You know I don’t talk,’ I said.
‘That’s why I told you.’
‘Why do you think she was poisoned?’
‘Her symptoms: The seizures in the limo and the projectile vomiting. Those are all signs of poisoning, not pneumonia. We’ll have the tox reports back shortly.’ The hospital could test the vomit and get the results back faster than the ME’s office.
‘I have to go back to work,’ Karen said. ‘Here’s my number. Call me if you need anything else.’
Jessica was in Room One, which was reserved for severe – often fatal – trauma. I was all too familiar with that room. That’s where I found my beloved husband, Donegan. He’d had a sudden heart attack while teaching at City College. He was dead by the time I got to the ER. He’d only been forty-five. For a long time, I thought my life had ended with his. Only my work kept me going.
Since my husband died, I’d entered this room several times, but it still tore my heart to walk into Room One. Even for someone like Jessica.
I reminded myself that I was a professional. Having the hospital records made my job easier. I turned on my iPad, and filled in the information. The time of death of was 8:47 a.m. On the hospital forms, Jessica was five feet six and weighed ninety-five pounds. Her age was listed as seventy-six. She was married. Did she still consider herself married to that rock star, Johnny Grimes? She’d listed her agent as her next of kin.
That was sad, but not surprising.
Hospital records gave her time of arrival at the ER as 7:42 a.m.
I opened my DI kit, a plain black rolling suitcase that contained the tools of my trade – thermometers, Tupperware for collecting specimens, paper bags and rubber bands for protecting fragile evidence on hands and feet, and more. I also had my camera.
First, I photographed Jessica – wide shots, medium, and close ups. The police would take their own photos and videos, but these would go to the ME.
Next, I pulled on multiple pairs of latex gloves for the examination. I’d strip them off as I examined the body, so I didn’t contaminate the evidence.
I started my examination with the head.
The hospital had cleaned up Jessica just enough to work on her. I noted a patch of ‘dried green fluid’ near the right occipital bone, and checked her head for lacerations. I noted the telltale two-inch facelift scars in front of each ear. Her elongated earlobes had been hidden by her mane of honey-colored hair. The lobes were pierced, but she wore no earrings. Jessica also had a seven-inch scar along her frontal bone. No fillers and fat injections for Jessica. She’d had old-school facelifts, including a brow lift, and lied about it.
Jessica’s attempted resuscitation was a violent, last-ditch fight to save her life. She did not die peacefully. She had what we called ‘resuscitative artifacts,’ and I had to note every one. I started with a three-inch abrasion on the right side of her neck, just under her ear, and another abrasion, a thin scrape two inches long, on her left cheek.
Her hospital gown was unbuttoned on the left shoulder, and I saw a yellow two-inch contusion from an IV puncture, and bruises on her sternum from CPR. She had a four-inch cardiac burn on her upper chest. I lifted her gown to check for other signs of the hopeless fight to save her. She had another four-inch cardiac burn on her left side, just under the sternum, and a four-inch bruise on her left hip. I caught a glimpse of the patch of sparse, gray pubic hair, and pulled the gown back down. I couldn’t take her gown off. That was the ME’s job.
I saw the trauma from the blood-pressure cuff on her stick-like right arm – it formed a yellowish armlet. Her right hand had a yellow-metal ring with a large, clear stone. The rock was probably a diamond and big as an almond, but I couldn’t say that. I wasn’t trained to appraise jewelry. Her blood-red nail polish was chipped on the third and fourth fingers.
On her left hand was a bruise, three inches by four inches, covering almost the entire top of her hand. That was probably from the IV while she was a patient at the hospital. She wore no wedding ring or other jewelry, but the nail on her second finger was broken.
Her toenails were painted red and she had a bunion on her right foot.
I needed to examine her back, and called Karen to help me turn the body. Even though Jessica weighed less than a hundred pounds, she was dead weight in the truest sense of the term.
A harried Karen returned, her dark hair sticking out. ‘Car accident on the way,’ she said. ‘I’ve just got a minute.’
‘I need help turning the decedent,’ I said. We got Jessica on her front, and the gown exposed her flat, flabby bottom and lower back, which was starting to be covered in pinkish-purple patches. Now that Jessica’s heart had stopped pumping, the blood was pooling in her body.
‘Lividity is starting,’ Karen said.
I noted a clear, two-inch butterfly-shaped sticky tape clinging to the back of her neck.
‘Did you do some sort of procedure on her neck?’ I asked.
‘No, that’s a short-term neck lift,’ Karen said. ‘Her make-up person did that. See how her hair is shaved on the back of the neck? That’s so the adhesive will stick. Then he pulled her neck tighter and taped it in place. I’m using that in a couple of years when my neck goes – I’m not going under the knife.’
There were no other bruises on Jessica, and we turned her over.
Karen’s phone buzzed. ‘The ambulance is here. Gotta go,’ she said. She was gone before I could thank her.
I was packing up my DI kit when Greiman entered. He wrinkled his nose in disgust.
‘Good gawd,’ he said. ‘Is that old bag Jessica?’
TEN
‘Most murder victims don’t look good,’ I said to Greiman. I sounded sanctimonious, but I hated that he’d insulted a dead woman.
‘Yeah, but Jessica was supposed to be this hot babe.’
‘She looked damn good on stage,’ I said. Why was I defending her? I didn’t even like the woman. I forced myself to calm down and not get in a pissing match with the detective.
‘Did you find anything when you looked at her?’ the detective asked.
‘Just the usual signs of resuscitation – cardiac burns and the resuscitation artifacts. The hospital put up quite a battle to save her, but the nurse suspected she was DOA. The nurse also thought Jessica had been poisoned.’
‘That’s already on TV,’ he said. ‘I’m waiting on the tox results and autopsy. I don’t need to spend any more time in here, do I? It stinks.’
It did, but not as bad as some death scenes. I wondered if he was afraid he’d get vomit on his cashmere coat.
‘Did you talk to the limo driver?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘I had to impound his limo. He’s not happy. His company is picking him up.’
‘I need to talk to the people who were in the limo,’ I said. ‘They’re witnesses.’
‘Already talked to them,’ Greiman said. ‘They didn’t have much to say.’
Not to you, I thought. But they may talk to me. I didn’t want Greiman around during my interviews, glowering at four witnesses who’d been through a shattering experience.
‘Why don’t you get some coffee in the cafeteria?’ I said.
‘That swill? Are you trying to poison me?’
‘How about the coffee at the nurses’ station? It’s better.’
‘Yeah, maybe I’ll try some – and talk to that little blond.’ He acted as if his presence would make the woman’s day. He straightened his tie and marched off toward the nurses’ sta
tion, adding, ‘The wits are in the family room by the elevator.’
Wits. That was cop talk – mostly TV cops – for witnesses.
Stu, Will, Tawnee, and Mario looked like shipwreck survivors huddled on the hard orange plastic chairs in the family room, adrift on a sea of pale scuffed tile. They held foam cups of coffee, and Fox News blared overhead. I reached up and pulled the plug on the TV.
‘Thank you,’ Tawnee said. ‘I couldn’t take much more of that.’
‘I’m really sorry this happened,’ I said.
‘We are, too,’ Will said. ‘It was terrible. The police officer said we’ll have to miss our ten a.m. flight.’
‘I’m sorry about that, too,’ I said. ‘But if I can talk to you about what happened in the limo, maybe we can speed things up a little.’
All four started talking at once.
‘It would help if I interviewed you one at a time on the couch in the corner,’ I said. ‘Tawnee? Will you go first?’ The couch was in the far corner, and the family waiting room was big enough I didn’t think they would hear one another’s interviews.
Tawnee and I settled on the hard black plastic couch. She seemed to be taking Jessica’s death hard: her eyes were red from crying, and her skin was sallow. Her thin, frizzly hair gave her a witchy look.
‘What happened when you left the hospital this morning?’ I asked.
‘Jessica was unhappy when we had to stop for a car accident. She was anxious to go to the airport. She wanted Will and Mario to fix her up. Will was freshening her lipstick when she had a coughing fit. She needed her throat spray – it’s the only thing that stops that terrible cough. I started looking frantically for the spray bottle in my purse, and couldn’t find it. I was dumping stuff all over the seat. That big purse turned into a bottomless pit. Jessica was getting impatient, and I accused Stu of making the spray disappear. He denied it. Will saw that I was half-crazed. He put down his lip brush and dug around, but he couldn’t find it, either. Then Stu took my purse and produced the bottle. He found it too fast. I still think he was pulling his stupid magic tricks.’ She didn’t hide the bitterness in her voice.
‘Do you have it?’
‘No, it seems to have disappeared in the confusion. But I can describe it. It’s an over-the-counter spray in a refillable blue plastic pump bottle. That’s the back-up bottle. I also carry a red bottle. Both are three ounces,’ she said. ‘So we can take them on the plane. She uses that spray all the time.’
‘I’ll need the bottle to show the ME,’ I said. ‘Do you have any of Jessica’s other medications?’
‘They’re in the limo, too, but I can list everything she takes. She had a bottle of Levaquin capsules. They’re antibiotics. She’s taken them before.’
‘Any cough medicines?’
‘She didn’t like the stuff the hospital doctor prescribed and threw it out in her room. She said she didn’t trust any hick …’ Tawnee stopped quickly, then said, ‘uh, any local doctors. She wanted to see her own doctor in Los Angeles. She also had cough drops. In a yellow bag. Ricola brand, lemon-mint flavor.’
‘Any other medications for blood pressure, cholesterol?’ I asked.
‘Yes, she took Lipitor for cholesterol. Ten milligrams. That’s in her suitcase.’
The police would handle that. I noted the medication name and dose.
‘That’s all?’ I asked. Tawnee nodded.
‘She was remarkably healthy,’ I said.
‘That’s what allowed her to keep that grueling tour schedule.’
‘Was Jessica really seventy-six?’ I asked.
‘Yes. She was two years older than me, but Will kept her looking much younger.’ She pushed her blond hair out of her eyes, and I saw the age spots on her hand.
‘Jessica didn’t even have any age spots,’ I said.
Tawnee’s face reddened. She knew I’d noticed her hand. ‘She went to a dermatologist once a year and had the spots burned off. I have too many.’
‘What happened after you found the spray?’ I asked.
‘Jessica used it, and I thought her cough would stop. Instead she went rigid, then started throwing out her arms and legs. She kicked out the TV screen with her boots and broke it. I screamed, I think. Then Stu shouted for the driver to go to the hospital. Mario, Will and Stu helped me hold her arms and legs so she wouldn’t flail around and hurt herself. She was throwing up all over the place. As soon as we got here, the medical team took her inside and told us to wait in here. I cleaned up a little. The next thing we knew, the doctor said she was dead.’ I saw where she’d tried to scrub green stains off her beige pants and dark coat.
She followed my eyes. ‘I’m going to have to shop for new clothes,’ Tawnee said. ‘I can’t wear these anymore.’
I brought her back to the case. ‘Do you think Jessica was poisoned?’
‘Poisoned?’ Tawnee looked surprised. ‘No. Of course not. I think she had a stroke. Poor Jessica. This traveling was just too hard on her at her age.’ Tawnee started sniffling again.
‘Thank you, Tawnee.’ She looked broken. I guided her back to the rest of the group. Mario patted her shoulders and gave her a tissue.
Will was next. He told pretty much the same story, except he added, ‘It was really hard to cover up the signs of pneumonia, and her eyes kept watering. I use waterproof make-up, but it still smeared.
‘When the limo was held up by the accident, I was working on her lipstick. She started coughing – horrible wracking coughs. Tawnee couldn’t find the spray bottle, and Jessica was getting upset. Have you seen Tawnee’s purse? It’s the size of a small city. No wonder she couldn’t find anything. I took it away from her, but I didn’t get a chance to find the spray bottle. Stu grabbed it. He says it was tucked in a fold. That spray works like magic, better than anything the hospital gave Jessica. Except this time, everything went weird, and Jessica started kicking and throwing herself around. Tawnee, Stu, Mario and I had to fight to keep her from knocking her head on something. She was puking all over the place. Totally ruined my coat. I tossed it. I’ll have to buy a new one.’
He stopped as if he wanted sympathy. I mumbled something and he continued.
‘The driver took us straight to the hospital, the medical team met us, and here we are.’ He was talking way too fast. I looked at his pupils, to see if they were dilated. I suspected drugs, but didn’t see any signs. His manner was oddly casual, but people react to death in different ways.
‘Do you think Jessica was poisoned?’ I asked.
‘Nope,’ he said. ‘She had a stroke. That’s how my Aunt Edna acted when she died from a stroke. Are you done?’ Will was scratching his arm as if he had poison ivy. I was almost sure he was on something. He sat down next to Mario and they began talking. Mario seemed dazzled by Will’s clean-cut good looks and that swoosh of bright red-gold hair.
Stu was next. He looked tired and his blond hair was oily. It had escaped its usual ponytail and fell limply to his shoulders. His blue-checked shirt was rumpled and had a large brown stain that I hoped was coffee. His suit jacket was on a chair in the corner. I saw green vomit on the sleeve. He was distant, without a trace of emotion. I wondered if he was in shock.
‘I saw what everyone else did,’ he said. ‘Jessica was in a hurry to go to the airport. She wanted out of this place really bad. Then we were stalled because of that accident and she decided to use the time to freshen up. Will was working on her make-up when she had a bad coughing fit. Tawnee couldn’t find the spray, and got hysterical. She lost it and accused me of making it disappear.’
I didn’t like the look on Stu’s face: slitty-eyed and mean.
‘Did you?’ He could have slipped it into her purse during the confusion.
Stu sounded offended. ‘Of course not. That spray is the only thing that stops Jessica from coughing. Tawnee gets like that when she’s upset – she starts accusing everyone.’
‘But you do make things disappear,’ I said.
‘Just for fun,’ he sa
id. He gave me a cold smile. ‘Work can get tense. I try to break the tension with little magic tricks. But not this time. This was serious.’
A shadow slid across the room, and I saw Greiman leaning in the doorway, listening. The ‘little blond’ nurse must have sent the detective on his way.
‘Can we go home now?’ Stu asked. ‘Back to California? I’m cold. I had to toss my coat because of the mess.’ He looked disgusted.
The ‘mess’ made by Jessica’s death throes. He had no sympathy for her at all.
‘That’s up to Detective Greiman,’ I said.
‘Well?’ Stu looked at Greiman. ‘We’ve answered your questions. We want to go home to LA.’
‘And I want to solve a murder,’ Greiman said. ‘You four are suspects.’
‘Suspects!’ Tawnee looked like she was going to cry. Will seemed stunned.
‘I’m a suspect, too?’ Stu was suddenly alert. His eyes were hooded, calculating. ‘I want a lawyer,’ he said.
‘Be my guest,’ Greiman said.
Now Stu’s voice was cold with anger. ‘You have no right to keep us. You can’t prove Jessica was murdered. I want to go home and take my wife with me.’
‘Your wife?’ I said.
‘What wife?’ Greiman looked confused.
‘Jessica,’ Stu said, with a flourish, as if he’d pulled a rabbit out of a hat. Then he carefully enunciated every word. ‘Jessica. Gray. Is. My. Wife.’
ELEVEN
‘What the fuck? You’re married to Jessica?’
Greiman said it, but it could have been any of us. Mario looked stunned. I couldn’t believe it, either.
Tawnee’s mouth dropped open. ‘But you never said anything, Stu.’ Jessica’s stand-in sounded hurt and her voice wavered, like she was going to cry again. ‘We didn’t get to celebrate your wedding.’
‘We wanted to keep it secret, because of the age difference,’ Stu said.
‘Which is what? Forty years?’ Will said. His face was lobster-red with anger.
‘Thirty-eight,’ Stu said. I’d never really thought about it, but now I realized that despite his shifty manner, Stu was good-looking, with a square jaw and thick hair. Muscles bulged under his checked shirt. ‘But age didn’t apply to Jessica.’