The Theory of Death (2 page)

The department had amped up its professionalism. This time there was actually crime tape that looped around the tree trunks encircling the body. There were three uniforms guarding the scene who handed out shoe covers, gloves, and evidence bags. He and McAdams slipped on the foot and hand protection and Decker ducked under the tape. The ground was covered with a layer of fresh snow and the group had the good sense not to disturb the shoe print that led to and from the corpse. Lots of other tracks zigzagged across the area—deer, hare, wild turkey, and fox.

It was a nude male, prone and slightly twisted to the left. He appeared to be around five ten, between a hundred and forty and a hundred and fifty pounds. No obvious marks on his torso, legs, and arms—except for the rips and tears in the flesh that were probably due to animal activity. His abdomen had been torn open as well. Squatting down, Decker noticed lividity, the blood pooling to the bottom of the corpse. When he felt the skin, it was cold, but the body was far from frozen.

He took several pictures of the body with his cell phone. Then he gently brushed away the surface powder that covered the corpse’s head. Once this was done, Decker was studying a roundish face, blue eyes, auburn, straight hair, full lips, a weak chin, and an open mouth with all of his front teeth intact. There was a single shot to the right temple with semifrozen blood splatter on his face and shoulders.

Decker stood up. A revolver lay inches from his right hand, fingers curled as if he’d been grasping the gun. A neat pile of clothes sat around two feet from the body. Shoes had been placed next to the clothing. Decker tried his phone but there was no reception. He turned to McAdams. The last time the kid had seen a body, he had turned queasy. “Are you okay?”

“Not too bad. Probably because we’re out in the open and it doesn’t stink too badly.”

“Fresh air is good.”

“The body is gruesome.” McAdams looked at Decker. “Animal activity, right?”

“Probably.” Decker turned to Lauren Hellman, the uniform that was closest to him. She was in her thirties with blond curly hair and brown eyes. “Who found him?”

“Anonymous call to the police station. No reception here, so whoever called had to get out of the woods first.”

“The police system must have pulled up the cell number.”

She smiled. “Of course. When we called it back, we got voice mail—someone named Carson. Captain said it sounded like a teenage boy. He left a message that it was the police and to call back immediately. Even if the kid doesn’t call back, we’ll figure out who it is.”

“I’ll need to interview him. The victim doesn’t look too far out of his teens himself.”

“College kid?” McAdams suggested.

“The colleges haven’t reported anyone missing to us.”

“Do they do that?”

“If it’s been more than a day or two, they do. But this may be less because the body isn’t frozen.” To Lauren. “Anyone touch anything?”

“No, sir.”

“Clothes were like that when you came down?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay. Has the coroner been notified?”

“I believe Captain Radar called up the New York Coroner’s Office. I don’t know if he’s called any criminal investigative division.”

“No need. We can handle this,” Decker said. “It’s not like last year’s murder.”

Lauren raised her eyebrows. “Thank goodness for that; right, Detective McAdams?”

“Right.”

“I didn’t know you were back.”

“Just for a couple of weeks,” Tyler said.

“Looks like you came just in time.”

Decker said, “He’s not here in an official capacity.”

“I’m not?”

“I thought you had studying to do.”

“Study, schmudy …” He grinned and rubbed his gloved hands together. “What can I do for you, Old Man?”

“If you’re serious, take out your phone and take some pictures of the clothing and shoes. I’d also like more pictures of the body before I go through the pockets. I also want to do a little measuring.”

“Right-o.”

Decker measured the distance between the body and the clothing, and the distance from his right hand to the gun. Once everything was recorded, he squatted down and began to search through the pockets, disturbing the pile as little as possible. Empty as in not even a scrap of paper. He stood up and brushed off his pants. “We have a John Doe.” He turned to McAdams. “What’s your take?”

“Because I have so much experience.”

“Answer the question.”

The kid thought for a few moments. “Suicide or a murder made to look like suicide.”

“Why suicide?”

“Uh … gun’s near his right hand and the wound is on the right side.” McAdams squatted and looked at the wound. “Stippling on his temple. If we checked his right hand, we’d probably find gunpowder residue. No apparent bruising or strangulation to indicate a struggle.”

“Okay, what else?”

“I just got here. Cut me slack for jet lag.”

“You came from a city in the same time zone.”

“Minor details.”

Decker smiled. “If we assume it was a suicide, Mr. Doe had to walk to this spot on his own two feet because I don’t even see any tracks from a bike.”

“There are lots of shoe prints, however.”

“So let’s look at the tracks. These …” Decker pointed to a set of shoe prints. “This comes out of the copses and stops right here. There’s not a lot of detail in the print, most of the tread has been obscured by snowfall and its subsequent melting. There are a few good ones under a tree canopy. Meaning he walked here before it snowed last night.”

McAdams said, “These tracks, on the other hand … these come from the opposite direction. There are lots of them and the tread detail is much sharper. They’re more recent, like in this morning.”

“Exactly. Our anonymous caller and probably a friend because there are two sets of tracks. They stop at about four feet from the body. Then they U-turn. And you notice that in the turnaround, we get bigger strides.”

“They’re running away from the body.”

“Exactly.” Decker thought a moment. “If this was a murder, I’d expect to see some evidence in the snow … like drag marks next to the tracks.”

“Maybe the murderer smoothed out the drag marks and let the snowfall cover up the rest.” A pause. “Do you think it’s a murder?”

“It’s an odd place to commit suicide. Usually suicide victims want their last stand to be very visible.”

McAdams nodded. “What do you think about the nudity?”

“Good question. Going out of this world like he came into the world.” Decker shook his head. “The first thing we need is an identity. Get lots of face pictures because if we don’t find ID, we’re going to have to do this door to door.”

“Or college to college.”

“Or college to college,” Decker said. “After that, get some close up photographs of all the prints in the snow—human and otherwise. Then when you’re done with that, take molds of each different shoe print you find.”

“Do you have a kit?”

“In the back of my car.” Decker paused. “Do you know how to take a mold?”

“Never done it before, but I’m sure I can figure it out.”

“It’s a little tricky to do in the snow. You need a deft touch. Even so, it won’t be perfect since ice melts. I’ll show you how to do it. It’s not hard, but you need to make sure the mixture is completely smooth and bubble-free. And you have to work fast before it starts to set up. I’ll tell you what, McAdams. I’ll do the detailed ones under the tree that were probably made by our victim and you do the ones that were probably made by the anonymous caller and friend.”

“Sure.” While McAdams was snapping pictures, Decker walked back to Lauren. “Has anyone found a car, motorcycle, or even a bike? This spot is deep in the woods. Unless he lived in a cabin somewhere, I’m assuming he took some kind of transportation to get him in this vicinity.”

“No one found any vehicle, but we haven’t checked beyond the immediate area.”

Decker started looking for vehicle tracks. He didn’t find anything. McAdams walked over. “I took about twenty pictures of his face. Before I go on to the shoe prints, do you want to look-see?”

Decker scrolled through the snapshots. “These are good. When we get reception, we can send them to my computer at the station house and make some leaflets from them for ID purposes.” He fished out keys to his car. “After you’re done taking snapshots of the prints, go fetch the kit.”

“Yes, boss.”

“You don’t have to do this, you know.”

McAdams smiled. “I’m fine, Decker. When I’m not fine, I’ll let you know.”

“Fair enough.” Decker regarded the high-tops on McAdams’s feet. That was good. But he wasn’t wearing a scarf or a hat or gloves other than the latex gloves provided to him to prevent evidence contamination. “Go put on some warmer clothing, Tyler. You’re gonna need it.”

“We’ll be here for a while.”

“Yes. Hypothermia is the enemy.”

“I’ll fetch some warm stuff from my duffel.”

“Since when did you become so agreeable?”

“Don’t worry. I can turn very quickly.”

“And you’re sure you want to do this? Mike Radar will be down soon. You can take the car and he’ll drive me back.”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“Not at all. I could use another set of eyes.”

“Ones without cataracts?”

“Your funeral is destined to be a very small affair.”

McAdams shrugged. “I’ll be right back with the kit.”

“How good are your Boy Scout skills?”

“They’re horrible, but I can get GPS on my phone.”

“I don’t think we can get good reception. If not, I have a compass.”

“Wow, that’s really old-school.”

“I am old-school. Go suit up and I’ll show you how to take a shoe-print mold. And don’t attempt to take all of them … pick out the best one you can find per shoe. I don’t want us running out of material. We’ll meet up when we’re both done.” Decker pointed to a set of single footprints that trailed into the forest. “See that?”

“It looks like footprints.”

“The person was walking not running and they only lead one way. Once Mike gets here to direct the forensics, you and I are going to take a little hike.”

K
ID WAS WAY
too young to end it all.” Radar shook his head while staring at the body. “I’m assuming suicide, but I suppose we’ll have to wait for the autopsy.”

The coroner was John Potts—a sixty-five-year-old retired doctor who began a new career servicing the small towns of upstate New York. His lab was fifteen miles away in the bigger burg of Hamilton, where the bus station was located. He said, “What I can tell you is that there doesn’t seem to be any kind of blunt-force trauma, strangulation, suffocation. There are no other bullet wounds other than the one shot to his right temple, and no stab wounds. Of course, with all this animal activity, something might have been eaten away. Then there’s the tox screen, of course.”

The captain nodded. Radar was in his late fifties, a tad less than six feet tall, a strong build except for a slight paunch. His face was saggy with light eyes, thin upper lip covered by a gray mustache, and a cleft chin. He raked whatever white hair he had left with his fingers. To Decker, he said, “What do you think?”

Decker said, “Single gunshot with no other bruises or wounds. Probably suicide. And it probably happened in the late night or early morning. I’ll split the difference and say around midnight.”

Potts looked up. “What drew you to that conclusion?”

“Flurries fell around two
A.M.
He was dead before that happened because he had been covered by a light sprinkling of snow. The exposed skin is cold and hard but there is still warmth underneath with nothing frozen solid except for the toes and fingers. Also, in my experience, this isn’t something people do during the daytime. They think about it, they get drunk and start brooding, and then they crawl away to end it all. When you do a tox screen, I bet you’ll find alcohol or drugs. How close am I to your time estimate?”

Potts had already put a thermometer into the liver. “From eleven last night to three this morning using an average outside temperature of twenty-five degrees.”

“If it’s suicide, it’s an odd duck,” Radar said. “Alone and naked in the deep part of the forest. This isn’t going out in style. It’s more like ‘don’t anyone take notice of me.’” To Potts: “What do you make of it?”

“My department is the how, Mike.” Potts stood up and snapped off his gloves. “Your department is the why.” He nodded to his assistants to load the body onto the gurney. It was a five- to seven-minute walk to the clearing where the van had parked. The coroner said, “I’ll have to thaw the body thoroughly before I can do the autopsy. It shouldn’t take too long to get him on the slab. Even so, it’ll take at least a couple of days if nothing else comes up.” A pause. “Poor kid. And you have no idea who he is?”

“Not yet.”

“I’ll keep you updated when I know something.” Potts rubbed his arms and hurried to keep up with his assistants.

Radar turned to Decker. “What’s next?”

“Do you mind finishing off the forensics?”

“Not a problem. What’s your plan?”

“McAdams and I are going to follow the pathway and see if we can figure out how he got here. It’s a long way to come by foot.”

“There isn’t any vehicle nearby. If he walked, it was an all-day affair. Maybe he camped out.”

“That could be. It’s cold but easily survivable with the right clothes and provisions. Anyone check Missing Persons around the area?”

“Ben Roiters is on it. He’s working from a desk in a warm place, the lucky stiff.”

“Luckier stiff than this one,” McAdams added.

Radar’s face turned sour. “Are you officially working, McAdams? If so, I’m going to figure out how to pay you.”

Decker said, “He just happened to be in the car with me when you made the call. He’s giving me the day and then he’s back to civilian life. He has finals to study for.”

“Ah, law school,” Radar said. “How’s that going?”

“It’s going.”

“So you’re not working for the department.”

Decker answered first. “No, he’s just here for the ride.”

McAdams said, “Uh, last I heard, I’m of my majority and capable of making my own decisions.”