The Sholes Key (An Evans & Blackwell Mystery #1) (19 page)

“I saw the press conference this morning,” she said. “And it worries me.”

“Why? What’s worrying you?” Theo asked. He wiped the crumbs onto the floor. “We didn’t mention multiple murders or that the killer is providing us with codes. We didn’t mention you at all.”

“That’s what I’m worried about.” She rose from her chair and began to pace in the dark. “I reckon we’ll see another body soon. I think he’s angry with us because nothing was mentioned that matched his grandiose scheme. He wants attention. That’s why he goes through all this elaborate planning, for the attention. We gave him no glory, and I suspect he’s angry. He’ll go out and do something that wakes us up. Maybe he’ll give us Lorna. I hope he gives us Lorna. What worries me most is if he chooses another victim, one that’s still alive as of this morning.” She sat down again. “I should’ve bought my own box of macaroons.”

Theo held out the box and she took one. “What do you suggest we do?”

“I don’t know,” Sophia replied. “That’s sort of your expertise, not mine.”

“All right, how’s it going with the code? Close to cracking it?”

She let out something that resembled a laugh. “Maybe. I have a few ideas.”

He waited for her to elaborate but she didn’t. “Are you afraid?”

“I’ve never failed to decipher one before; I don’t think this code will be too difficult. I only have to find the key. And I believe it’s at my fingertips.”

“I meant, are you afraid of the killer? Are you worried he’ll come after you?”

“Should I be worried? I don’t know. I don’t think he’ll come after me…not yet.”

“Why not?”

“When I got the code, my first fear was that it belonged to one of my other cases, one of the assignments. But I think not. I hope not, at least. The killer is not one of my contacts.” Sophia let out a sigh, almost as if she was trying to convince herself. “Besides, if I die, what fun will that be? That would be too easy. Not worth trying for. The police…” She waved her hand in the air. “It’s like play ing with children.”

Theo raised his eyebrows. “You’re heading farther away from my forgiveness.”

“I often say what I think before I actually do…think.”

He shrugged. “You’re probably right, nonetheless.”

Sophia pulled her mobile from her bag. She pressed a few buttons and put it away. “My assistant Crystal is studying all the footage from CCTV near my old house. She thinks she’ll be able to find something, fingers crossed.” She held up her fingers. “I shouldn’t stay too long.”

“All right.” He felt sad she had to go, and that bothered him.

She pulled a card from her coat pocket. “This doctor, he’s a neurologist, a good one.” She handed him the card. “I talked with my father and, if your wife would like, she can make an appointment with him. Normally it takes months to see him but I’ve pulled some strings. Just say Dr. Evans referred you when you ring him. He’ll see her straight away.” With that, she left his office.

Theo studied the card and studied the macaroons. Why was life so complicated?

* * *

Dr. Nevega called Theo and Dorland into the autopsy later that afternoon. Though surrounded by death, the mortuary was full of life. A radio exuded gleeful chatter. Dr. Nevega’s two assistants laughed and joked while they examined cadavers. Dr. Nevega and Shields stood by Margaret Hill, pointing to various parts and didn’t notice Theo coming over to meet them.

Shields’s large body blocked Margaret Hill’s lifeless corpse, but Theo heard water dripping. A bucket collected water at the coroner’s feet.

“Be careful,” said Dr. Nevega without looking up. “The floor may be slippery. Our girl here is still thawing.”

Theo found a spot around the table and looked at the body. Margaret glowed under the lights, water dripping off her. Why did life have to end this way? A violent death, photographed naked, and four strangers closely examining her body. Would that be him someday?

“Took longer than we had hoped for her body to thaw,” said Dr. Nevega. “Difficult to determine time of death, a body can last in a freezer for quite some time. Decomposition is accelerated upon thawing. My estimate as to time of death would be just that, an estimate.”

“We know when she was taken, when she went missing. Death probably followed soon afterwards,” said Shields. “Would you say about two months sounds like a proper estimate?”

“Yes, anywhere between a week and about fifty years sound good to me,” Dr. Nevega replied. “She’d been frozen shortly after her death. Putrefaction has not had time to start.” He pointed to her abdomen. “Notice the grayish color of her skin. Although it’s not a normal fleshy color, it doesn’t have the greenish or purplish discoloration that would have appeared had decomposition had time to start on the body.”

Theo and Dorland stood quietly while the post-mortem took place. Theo made mental notes of everything, only asking questions that could help his investigation of Lorna’s death.

“She’s been hit on the head, as we suspected. It seems to be with an instrument in the shape of a five-inch diameter round ball,” Dr. Nevega said.

Theo held up his hands in that shape. “What is it? Maybe a softball or shot-put? Wouldn’t that cause massive hemorrhaging and blood loss?”

“No. Notice here, he cracked the skull but not the skin.” Dr. Nevega pointed to the dissected skull laid out before him. “Look here also, intracranial bleeding on the other side of her head, almost 180 degrees on the other side. In my opinion, the killer hit her with some sort of hard ball which caused her to fall forward and hit her head on the other side.”

“We had suspicions that she at one point got into the vehicle with the killer, but one thing confuses me—” Shields started.

“Just one thing? Wow, impressive.” Dorland said, opening his eyes wide and giving him a face.

“Funny,” Shields said. “What I wonder is how he got the power to do it? I mean, let me demonstrate here on Dorland. Have a ball I can use?” He gave him a cunning grin. “See, if I’m driving, and I have to hit someone in the head, it’s difficult. I don’t have much power to hit someone in the head at that angle.”

“It’s probably why it slightly cracked the skull but not the skin,” Theo said. “The combination of forced trauma in both locations knocked her out or stunned her. I don’t think he meant to kill her by doing this, just knock her out. He may have asked her to look at something outside the window or straight ahead. At this angle it’s apparent the victim didn’t know she would be hit in the head. She would then make no effort to stop the blow or cushion the impact by raising her hand to stop her head hitting the window or whatever.”

“The killer’s a sick bastard,” said Dorland. “He only knocked her unconscious so she would still be alive to strangle later.”

“Speaking of strangulation,” Dr. Nevega said, “he strangled her not with his hands but with a cloth, perhaps a scarf. I’ve sent all fibers found on her body to forensics. You’ll have to check with them for details. Also, I sent along all blood and urine and whatever else I could collect from her. I don’t think she was in bad health since she was young, probably in her thirties or early forties.”

“She was thirty-nine,” Shields said.

“What about the marks on her back? How did he make them, and were they done pre- or post-mortem?” Theo asked.

“Ah, the marks are interesting.” Dr. Nevega paused. He nodded at Dorland across the table from him. “You look strong. Help me turn her body over.”

“I—uh…” said Dorland. He looked down at his hands and his dress shirt and then at the body.

“Oh, please,” said Theo, reaching toward the body.

“No, I’ll do it,” Dorland said, taking in a deep breath. Within three seconds, they had Margaret turned on her side. He saw his shirt now stained with water from the body and groaned.

“I found the marks unusual,” Dr. Nevega said. “Notice how clear they are. We have no doubts as to what the numbers and symbols are. You will be happy to know, she was dead when the killer made these marks.”

“What were they made with?” Shields asked.

“At first I thought a scalpel because of the fine incisions but after a closer inspection,” Dr. Nevega paused, turned to all of them, and motioned them closer to a wide number inscribed halfway down. “Do you see where the two curves at the top?”

Everyone nodded.

“Notice how clean and perfectly round the curve is. I opened the incision carefully and measured all the way around the curve, and found it to be of equal depth.”

“What does that mean?” Shields said.

“It means,” said Dr. Nevega, “the killer made the mark all at once, pressed down from above, not sliced. So I ask you, what tool do you think our killer used?”

“Pastry cutter?” suggested Theo.

“My thoughts exactly,” said Dr. Nevega. “I mean pastry cutters come in a variety of shapes—round, square, SpongeBob SquarePants. Most likely he took a cutter and made himself the shape he needed to fit the numbers, lines, and curves. When he pressed down the numbers nine, six, and zero, some of the flesh came up with it, as you can see.”

“That’s disgusting,” said Shields. “I’m not sure I will be able to keep down any dinner tonight.”

“However,” Dr. Nevega continued, “I do have good news. I examined her for signs of rape and there were none. She may have been found naked, but I don’t think he did any sort of sexual act on her. I sent off the kit to be tested; you’ll know soon enough.”

With that, Dr. Nevega dismissed them.

Theo was relieved to be out of the mortuary and on the way to the solitude of his office. Halfway there, he received a text from Deveau.

“What is it?” Theo asked when he poked his head in Deveau’s office.

“We have another body.”

Chapter 20

At the Sainsbury near her flat, Sophia examined the spaghetti marrow in her hand. “What do I do with it?”

“You eat it.” Marc laughed then dodged away as she attempted to pinch his side.

“That I gathered. How does one cook it?”

“I know a delicious recipe with these ingredients: butter, cinnamon, and the key ingredient—the Granny Smith apple.” Marc took the marrow from her and pressed down on various parts of the yellow skin.

“Sounds scrumptious. Are you going to make it or shall I, then you can miss that dinner as well?” The moment the words left her lips, she regretted it.

“How many times do you want me to apologize for that?”

“Forget I said anything.” She waved her words off. Her mobile indicated a text message. The caller was Theo, otherwise known as Client Blackwell.

“Who is it?”

“A fussy buyer.” She put the mobile back in her bag. “I shouldn’t have said what I did about the meal.” She took the marrow from him and put it in the trolley. “Let’s hurry. I’m ravenous and a bit testy.”

They finished their shopping without deep conversation. Sophia knew his silence meant that something bothered him, but she was afraid to ask.

When they arrived at the checkout, Marc turned to her, took her hands, and asked, “Why are you with me?”

She had asked herself that hundreds of times. Even though she thought she had the answer, the question still took her by surprise. Because the government is convinced a bomb will detonate in three days and believes you’re behind it. Because I don’t believe it. Because I love you. Because, for once in my damn life, I want normality. Because. Because. Because.

She dropped her hands from his and asked, “You’re not dumping me in the Sainsbury, are you?”

“What? What are you on about?” He held her cheeks in his hands and kissed her nose.

The cashier glared at his display of public affection. Sophia took her Nectar card back. “Why did you ask that?” she asked Marc.

“I can’t imagine why a woman as beautiful and smart as you, who has everything, would want someone like me.”

“Who should I be with? If you can find me someone better, let me know.” She laughed his questions away. “What time is it?” She grabbed at his watch.

He pulled his arm away. “The stupid thing stopped working last week; I haven’t had the opportunity to replace the battery.” Instead, he reached for his mobile and informed her it was close on six.

“Why do you wear a watch that doesn’t work?”

He shrugged. “Habit, I guess. Reminds me that I need to get the battery replaced.”

Sophia took her re-usable carrier bags and headed toward her Mercedes. Though she’d felt relief that the questions had stopped, she had to know what was eating him. “You’re not married, are you?” she asked as she put the bags in the boot.

“Married? No,” he said and sat down on the bumper.

Sophia stepped back from the car. She’d never seen him this distant and sullen before. She placed her right hand on his cheek and rubbed her thumb against the soft stubble.

He took her fingers softly and held them in front of his mouth, warming them with his breath. “There’s something I have to discuss with you.”

“What?” Sophia kissed his hand.

Marc paced in front of her. “I’ve been trying to tell you for weeks, but I’m not sure how you’re going to take it.”

Sophia’s heart sank. She slammed the boot closed. “You have to tell me now. Get in the car.”

She got behind the wheel and stared out the windscreen. As much as she wanted to be angry with Marc, she hated herself more. Liam held out hope that Marc would someday tell her about his activities, invite her to join his animal activist group, explain the code key; but until now, he hadn’t.

“I should’ve told you straight away,” he said when he sat down beside her. “I feel so bad.”

She turned to him. “I’m not sure I understand.”

His reply just confirmed her suspicions. “I never meant to hurt you.” He looked out the window and didn’t elaborate. “Let me gather my thoughts.”

The bastard. The bloody bastard.

The fifteen-minute trip to Marc’s home felt like torture. She didn’t want to see him again. For her, it ended there—he didn’t get another chance. She wanted to get out of the car, leave it there, keys and all, and just leave everything. Just walk away. Damn you, too, Liam. Everyone can go to hell.

When they arrived at his flat, she pulled into a large space in front. He reached for her hands that tightly gripped the wheel.