Lie in Wait (19 page)

 

Chapter 43

T
HE BRIGHT, STERILE
odors of stainless steel, formaldehyde, and ethyl alcohol did not mask the morgue's underlying stench of death.

North and Lloyd Jorgenson, the coroner, were already standing at the autopsy table when Test arrived.

Lloyd, a widowed grandfather, was a humongous man whose gut slung over a tightly cinched belt. He was chronically short of breath, his brow speckled and the underarms of his scrub top stained with sweat.

North nodded to acknowledge Test, but he did not speak. The mood was intense and, somehow, scared. For Test at least, if not for Lloyd.

Test stood beside North at the table.

Jessica's cadaver was illuminated. The lights radiated an uncomfortable and unnatural heat. The room was preternaturally still. The permanence of death lived in this room. It was bodily. Even the glare of the lights seemed cold and clinical, violating in how savagely it lit Jessica's corpse, allowing Lloyd to work with scalpel and scissors, saw, cutter and spreader. Acid boiled in Test's stomach.

Lloyd wandered away, stripped surgical gloves from his hands as he sat on a stool at the back of the room. The light there was poor and shadowed compared to the table's lights. He sat at a stainless-­steel counter that might have been chic in a New York nightclub.

He nodded at Test as he ate a double-­decker liverwurst sandwich and washed it down with a liter of orange Crush.

He set the bottle down. Its plastic popped back into shape with a crackle. He put a fist to his mouth, muffled a burp. He set his sandwich down on a piece of waxed paper and wiped mustard from his knuckles onto his cords.

“Junior Detective Test,” he wheezed. “I haven't finished her yet. But I do have some revealing results thus far.” He picked up a manila folder beside the waxed paper on which his sandwich sat.

He handed it to Test.

“Sorry to be late,” Test said.

Neither man indicated they'd heard her nor cared.

Lloyd pinched his brow. “First. She wasn't molested sexually. Forced, that is. That's clear. Thank God for small mercies. Not so much as a superficial bruising or tearing. One tiny nick I determined was from a razor where she'd shaved what little pubic hair she appears to have had. The girls do that these days. At least the ones I've had the misfortune to see on my table. She was killed by massive blunt force trauma to the frontal bone of the cranium. This bone was crushed and the frontal lobe of the brain suffered catastrophic injury. What appears to be a hammer drove through the skull into the brain, which also drove sharp shards of bone deeper into the frontal lobe.”

“Detective Test and I were initially under the impression that it was luck more than practice,” North said. “But, with the suspect we have, perhaps it was more an athletic precision.”

“She did not die instantly,” Lloyd said. “But very soon after being struck. However there was no struggle. No scratches on her face or arms, which makes me assume, and this is unofficial, that she was either taken by surprise or knew him. She definitely saw it coming at the last. She was facing whoever it was.”

“Brad,” North said. “The two were having sex since she was fourteen.”

Test held her tongue. Her confidence in Brad as the killer had waned with the dogs being killed. He was still a high probability, but it changed things for her. It would change things for North, too.

Lloyd sniffed. “You never know,” he said. “By the sweet picture of her in the paper, you'd peg her for a good girl.”

Test wanted to know just what that was supposed to mean.

Lloyd coughed. “That leads into my last, but certainly not least, tidbit. She was approximately three to five weeks pregnant.”

“Got him,” North said.

For Test, Brad jumped squarely back into the prime-­suspect spot.

“You're sure?” she said.

“You insult me,” Lloyd teased.

“That locks motive,” North said. “What's one thing that makes a kid with a bright future risk messing up that future?”

“Trying to get rid of an even bigger risk of that future being messed up?” Lloyd said.

“You should be a cop,” North said.

“I hear he's a hotshot and a hothead,” Lloyd said. “Struts around like king cock of the barnyard. Though I had a swagger too when I was starting quarterback in the seventies.”

Test felt her jaw drop. She snapped it shut. Her eyes roamed over Lloyd's massive and soft body, as though she were a sculptor trying to see her David in shapeless stone.

“I know,” Lloyd said. “You'd never imagine it.”

“No, I—­” Test said.

“I get it all the time from ­people I went to high school with, from ‘concerned family.' Truth is, I have the same appetite now as I did then. But not the workout routine, never mind the metabolism. I loved football but hated the workouts. Add three pounds a year for thirty years . . .” He took hold of his gut, jiggled it and laughed, “See as much death as I do, you better enjoy life a little. We'll need a DNA cheek swab from the boy,” Lloyd said, switching gears, “to confirm a paternal link.”

“We'll charge him to make it mandatory,” North said.

“Can we? We don't have hard physical evidence,” Test said. “His prints are in the house, but their e-­mail exchanges confirm he'd been in the house plenty of times.”

Lloyd closed the folder.

North grabbed it. “If we let Brad read this, he may cop without a swab.”

“Still need a swab,” Test said. “Physical evidence to lock it.”

“I'm aware,” North said.

“OK kiddies,” Lloyd said. “Go harass the lad, then give me a jingle.”

 

Chapter 44

B
RAD SAT AT
the table, his face slack and bloodless as Test and North entered.

Dark green moons rimmed his blank eyes. He had not showered since he'd been held, and Test got a whiff of body odor. His shoulders were slumped. He seemed smaller, his athleticism diminished.

Good
, Test thought.
We'll see what he's made of now.
The pregnancy had lit a fire in her and left her theory of King sidelined for the present.

“We ran tests on your dead girlfriend.” North slapped the folder on the table. “Any guesses?”

Brad seemed not to hear him. He rubbed his eyes and blinked.

“Wake up.” North snapped his fingers in front of Brad's face.

Brad looked with eyes unfocused.

“We know why you did it,” North said.

“I didn't do it. Why don't you believe me?”

Test thought of what Fran Jenkins had said when asked how she knew Brad didn't do it: ‘Because he said he didn't.' Was it denial? Or did a mother just know? Would Test
know
if George ever did such a terrible thing but told Test he was innocent? Would she feel it? Or could she be fooled by her own son? Could her son look her in the eye and pull off such a soulless lie?

The truth was, she just didn't know.

“You have no alibi,” North said. “You were sleeping with her. And it wasn't just that she might tell someone.”

Brad rubbed his face.

North slid the folder to him.

“Read it,” North said.

Brad slid it back to Richard.

“You don't need to read it?” Test said.

“I don't want to.”

“Let me give you the gist,” North said. “It's a postmortem test for pregnancy and your dead girlfriend passed.”

Brad stared at North. A thought seemed to pass through Brad's eyes. He snatched the folder and opened it. If it was an act, it was a damned good one.

“I didn't know,” he said. “I swear to
God
.”

“How quickly they come around to God,” North said.

“You'd be better off telling us what happened,” Test said. “If it was an accident, perhaps, or if she instigated it.” The words felt foul and bitter in her mouth, but this approach could make the perp feel understood, make him believe one empathized with his own irrational motives.

Brad blinked rapidly, as if he'd just climbed out from a dark hole into violent sunshine.

“If it was an accident, an argument that went too far,” Test pressed again.

“I don't understand how this happened,” Brad said. “Where's my dad? He was supposed to get me a lawyer.”

Test glanced at North, who grimaced. If Brad came right out and asked for a lawyer, the interview would end now. Technically he had not asked, but they were walking a fine line.

“Just tell us what happened,” Test said.

“I can't,” he said. His nose was running.

“Yes you can,” Test said.

“I don't
know
what happened. I wasn't
there
. I swear.”

North stood. “Swear all you want. You have the right to remain silent.”

“What?” Brad said.

“Anything you say can and will be—­.”

“Do something,” Brad pleaded with Test.

North finished the Miranda warning. “Get up,” he said.

Brad remained fixed in his seat.

North walked around the table, seized Brad's shoulders and pulled. “Get your ass up.”

 

PART III

 

Chapter 45

T
EST CLOSED HER
office door then stood by the window looking out at the town green as North sat in the chair before her desk.

“I'd swear you believed that kid,” North said. “Kids like him turn it on and off like a faucet. The act.”

“I know.” Test breathed on the window and a circle of fog grew where her breath touched the cold glass. She ran a finger through it twice, to make an X. “The kid seems genuinely scared, though,” Test said.

“He's
caught
.”

“He seemed shocked to see the pregnancy report.”

“He's shocked to find out we can tell a dead girl was pregnant. Don't fall for it. He knows we have him and he's going to go to jail and there is nothing his old man, his golden arm, or any lawyer can do about it.”

“I see all that. I'm not naïve.” Test rubbed the fogged window clean with the cuff of her shirt.

“So, what's the problem?”

“No problem. Just keeping an open mind.”

“Don't. Not at this juncture. Now, we focus. We concentrate to build the case.” He pulled what looked like the remains of a melted candy bar from his jacket pocket and ate it with a bite, licked his fingers. “You said on the phone you had new information that had to do with Brad.”

North crumpled the candy bar wrapper and stuffed it in his pocket. Then leaned back in the chair, cupping his hands behind his head. “So. Let's hear it.”

“Two dogs died last night,” Test said.

“And?” North raised an eyebrow to prompt her to continue.

She didn't appreciate his tone or his manner that suggested she get to the point so he could get on with his investigation. What was she even thinking? The two cases were not linked. The pregnancy provided an even stronger motive than the statutory rape.
If
Brad knew Jessica was pregnant. If it was his baby. That was yet to be determined. Every other thought in her mind contradicted the one before and after it. Which meant what? She wasn't sure about anything.

“The dogs were poisoned,” she said.

North perked up and unclasped his hands from behind his head. “You sure?”

“Yes. But I plan to have tests done.”

“You have the resources?”

“I want them done.”

“It's your budget.”

He was losing interest.

“I don't see any connection with Brad,” he said. “If this happened last night.”

“I'm getting to that. One of the dogs was Gregory Sergeant's.”

“OK.”

“The other dog was mine.”

North frowned and leaned forward. “I'm sorry to hear that. But what's your thinking? I still don't see how it has anything to do with Brad.”

“These dogs were targeted.”

“Sure. Of course.”

“As a threat, or a warning. My kids are crushed their dog is dead. If they knew why, they'd be scared shitless.”

“Obviously.” North stood, as if preparing to leave. “I understand. And whoever did it should be charged. It's serious. But it certainly wasn't Brad.” His hand was on the doorknob.

“That's
exactly
what I'm saying,” Test said, her voice rising.

North turned back to her. “
What
are you saying, Detective?”

“It
could
be some asshole getting off from scaring us. But it could be someone else, with a different motive.”

“Like?”

“I don't know.” She resisted telling him she'd been to see King because she did not want to get into the conversation about her drawing her weapon.

North turned the doorknob.

“I don't know
yet
,” Test said. “We don't
know
who did it, but we can't deny it's linked to this case.”

“Yes, we can. Brad killed her because she was pregnant and that was going to fuck up his life. The victim happened to be babysitting at Merryfield's house. A teenage boy killed a teenage girl for selfish reasons. Whoever killed the dogs may
think
Jessica's murder is connected to The Case, so poisoned dogs owned by two ­people associated with it, to pile on. But we know Brad killed Jessica. We know he did it alone. We know he couldn't have poisoned the dogs. End of story. They're not connected in a material way.”

“Here me out. Please.”

North looked at his watch. “Two minutes.”

“There are three possibilities. One: Brad killed Jessica, and the dogs were killed by some hothead who took advantage of The Case to be part of the limelight by stirring the pot. Two: Brad killed Jessica, but had help, or did it for someone for other reasons. And that someone killed the dogs.”

“One minute left if you still care to argue point three.”

“Three: Brad never killed Jessica. And whoever killed the dogs,
my
dog, killed Jessica.”

North gripped the doorknob tighter. “I'm sorry someone killed your dog and it's traumatized you.”

“
I'm
not traumatized. My kids, yes. But not me.”

North held up his palms in the demeaning “I surrender” gesture males used whenever they believed a woman was becoming “unreasonable.”

“You're wrong here, Detective,” North said. “If Brad had done it for someone else, he'd would have copped by now. He's soft.”

“Why hasn't he copped his own plea by now, if he's so soft?”

“He will. It's different trying to save your own ass than saving someone else's at the expense of yours. Brad did this. You see that, I hope. Since it's been your legwork that got us here. Everything points to him.”

“But there's no real physical evidence.”

“The DNA will show he impregnated that girl. We'll get a warrant for his parents' house. Search it. We'll find something. Bloody clothes, other notes. Something he did or searched for online. The damned hammer itself.”

“Maybe.”

“No.
Not
maybe. He's our doer. And he's going to be transferred to the St. Johnsbury prison now soon as he's formally charged.”

“I—­”

“Enough. Relax. We're both so tired it's a miracle we haven't gone blind. And you're dealing with this dog thing, too. Neither of us can think straight.”

“I'm thinking straight.”

“Well I'm sure not. And while I'm here. What you did out at King's place—­.”

“Not now.”

“You need to hear it,” North said.

She didn't need to hear a damn thing. But she braced herself because it was coming anyway, whether she liked it or not.

“You did the right thing,” North said. “You did everything right.”

Test blinked, feeling a rush of embarrassment and . . . what? Pride?

She folded her arms at her waist, as if she had stomach cramps.

“You hear me?” North said.

“I'm waiting for the
but
.”

“No but, Detective. You stood your ground. You walked a precarious line between exerting authority and not instigating that asshole or escalating the tension. When you drew your weapon, you were entirely justified. He wielded an axe in a threatening manner. You showed enough restraint
not
to fire.”

It hadn't been restraint. She was not sure what it had been, but wasn't restraint. If she was honest, it was the paralysis of indecision, or perhaps fear.

“Restraint is a trait even a seasoned cop has a hard time putting to practice in such instances. King could have swung that axe and struck you. You had every right to fire.
I
probably would have. And now I'd be on leave awaiting investigation.”

“But you didn't even draw your sidearm,” Test said.

North smiled. It wasn't the most handsome or charming smile, with his smudge of chocolate from his candy bar stuck to his top front teeth. But it seemed genuine enough. “
I
didn't have time. You had your weapon up before I could blink. And that may have saved your life and King's.”

She felt tension she'd been holding inside over this melt away. “I thought—­”

“I
know
what you thought. That's why I wanted to tell you earlier, but you deflected and avoided at every turn. But you needed to know. Like you need to know now.”

“Know what?”

The tension was returning. A tightness. She was so damned fatigued. All she wanted was sleep. Her body felt like it had molasses running through its veins instead of blood.

“I let you in on this case because you show promise,” North said. “But you are off the mark about the dogs. Brad killed Jessica. Trying to draw a connection from the dogs to Brad or, worse, another killer, is a waste of your time. More importantly, it's a waste of my time.”

“But something doesn't add up and—­”

“A lot
does
add up. You want to get who killed your dog. Do it. I have a murder case to build for the prosecutor. We do. If you'd like.”

Her evidence was thin. With no proof. No real suspect, other than King. She wanted to bring up that King had no alibi for the night of Jessica Cumber's murder or for last night with the dogs, but North was already out the door. Her two minutes were up.