Deadfall (14 page)

“Anyway,” Chris went on, “this tug is working to get started and is in a free-float heading downriver. The tug captain finally gets his rig started, but it looks like he may have had the tug in reverse. He ends up lurching toward the barge and knocks these two hands into the water.”

Mac grimaced. “They lost both men?”

“Unfortunately neither of them was wearing life jackets or survival gear. They went under pretty fast. Weather didn't help.

With the wind and choppy water, they didn't have a chance. The Coast Guard bird went up almost immediately, but they called off the search after about an hour—it was storming too bad.”

“Do we have descriptions of the victims?”

“Yeah. One guy was Latino, short as I recall—around five-three. The other was a white male with blond hair. I'm pretty sure that's our guy.”

Nodding toward the floating corpse, Chris said, “I tore a towel into a long strip and wrapped it around one armpit and his neck, then tied him off with some rope and towed him in. The body is nude and has a bunch of weird shapes on it, like someone drew on the skin.”

“Like a tattoo or something?” Mac asked, trying to get the information down on his now-damp pad. It had finally stopped raining and looked like they might get a sun break.

“It's more of a depression. Like the lines you get on your face after waking up on top of a wrinkled blanket, but these have more of a design. I'll have to show you when the M.E. gets here; it's kind of hard to explain. The designs are on the guy's back and shoulder area. He's pretty ripe, Mac. It's going to be bad when we get him out of the water.”

Mac nodded. “At least we don't have to do the autopsy. Don't know how the medical examiners do it.”

Chris shrugged. “We do what we have to do. That's not a profession I'd choose, but then we get our share of bad stuff too.”

“Yeah.”

“Hey, Mac, you still seeing that nurse? Linda something or other?”

“Linda Morris. Yeah. We're engaged.”

Chris raised an eyebrow. “You don't sound too excited about it.”

“I've been thinking about breaking it off. She's having a hard time with my hours.”

“I have a hard time with my hours too.” Chris's face split into a grin. “Seriously though, if you don't think it'll work, it's better to bow out now.”

Mac shrugged. “I told her I'd work on it.” Mac had told Linda and Pastor Jim that he'd try to do better at keeping in touch. He'd tried, he honestly had—when he thought about it, which wasn't often enough. Chris was right. One of these days he'd have to face facts and come to a decision. It wasn't fair to Linda or to him to keep things in limbo.

Kevin emerged over the dune at the top of the sandy beach, unsnapping his raincoat as he came toward them. “Kristen is just pulling in.” Looking at the sky, he said, “We may get lucky on the weather for a bit.” As he joined Mac and Chris, he added, “Mac, you want to go up and give our good doctor a hand?”

“Sure.” Mac trudged back through the loose sand, glad to be busy, glad to have Kristen there. Glad for this new case. He'd completely dead-ended on the sawmill murder. As much as he hated to, he and Kevin had shelved it. It shouldn't have affected Mac quite so much, but it did. His first case as lead detective, and he'd failed. Of course, the case wasn't officially closed, but it might as well be. All they had was a latent print and no match.

12

D
R. KRISTEN THORPE swung her Dodge pickup behind the detectives' sedan and crunched on the emergency brake. She checked her reflection in the rearview mirror, though she wasn't sure why. Nothing had changed since she left the office thirty minutes before. Except that her heart was beating a tad faster. Detective McAllister was in on this one, and she liked the idea of seeing him again. He liked her—or at least found her interesting. So what if he was engaged? He wasn't married yet. She still had a chance.

Thorpe, you are out of your mind. The last thing you need is a relationship
with a cop.
She had a kid at home, for Pete's sake. She also had needs—needs that weren't fulfilled by the job. She liked her work, but she sometimes longed for the company of a man— someone nice, like Mac, who didn't find her work offensive. At least not too offensive. He respected her—that much she knew.

Kristen rolled her eyes and grabbed an ink pen from the sun visor, pulling off the cap with her teeth. She wrote down a few notes on a form attached to her metal clipboard and then pressed the cap back on the pen. Climbing out of the cab, she waved at the dimpled trooper. “Hey, Dana. I see you're still trying to make an impression on these guys. You must really want to make detective to stand out here in this frigid weather.”

Dana nodded. “I do. But at the moment, I'm thinking I ought to have my head examined.”

“Yeah, me too.” Kristen liked Dana. Liked her attitude. She'd make a good detective, if and when she could get past the good old boys.

Mac jogged toward them. “Hey, Kristen, need a hand with your gear?” He stopped at the back of the truck. As usual, his gaze went to Kristen's spiked hair and triple earrings.

“Why thank you, Mac. Chivalry isn't dead after all.” She sidled up to him, placing a hand on his sleeve. “You come here often?” she asked in a sultry voice, batting her long eyelashes at him. A femme fatale she was not, but she enjoyed teasing Mac. Enjoyed seeing his handsome face flush as she teased out his gorgeous smile. Her hand slid off his sleeve, and she wiped her wet palm on her jeans.

“Um, occasionally.”

“Oh, Mac, relax. I'm really not as fearsome as I look.” Kristen always managed to fluster him and wasn't sure if that was the right modus operandi. Maybe she should change her tactics. She grabbed the handle of the large plastic box, containing her camera, film, rubber gloves, and various other tools of the trade.

“Got a floater, huh?”

“Afraid so. It looks like he's been in the water for a while.”

“Skin slippage?” Kristen squinted her eyes and plugged her nose.

“Yeah.”

“That's just great. I hate floaters; I can never get the smell off me.

My cat wouldn't even go near me after the last one I handled. No wonder I'm single.” Kristen slipped on her rain jacket, momentarily exposing a pierced navel and a small tattoo on her hip as her shirt climbed up her midriff.

I don't think that's the only reason.
Mac kept the remark to himself. He liked Kristen, but she seemed a little too much on the wild side. Besides that, the woman was as intimidating as a Bengal tiger.

Kristen grabbed the handle on the large box that held her evidence equipment and then walked to the rear of the truck and opened the canopy. She pulled the steel cadaver gurney from the back of the truck with a grunt, extending the collapsible legs. She then locked the legs open and unfolded the black plastic body bag, then threw the box on the stretcher's surface.

“Like my new sticker, Mac?” Kristen pointed to the lid on her plastic box, which she'd covered with unusual bumper stickers.

He craned his neck to see the lid and spotted the sticker in question. The round yellow sticker had the familiar smiley face with black eyes and big grin. Only this smiley face had a red bullet hole in the center of its forehead.

Mac shook his head and rolled his eyes.

Kristen laughed. “A homicide detective with the Portland Police Bureau gave me that one. Isn't it just too tacky?”

“That's an understatement,” Mac muttered.

Kristen's grin faded as she turned serious and looked over her gear. “Let's see—gloves, body bag, envelopes . . .” She went on to list the needed equipment. “You guys got the photos?”

“Yep, we'll handle that end. Kevin has the thirty-five, so why don't you let me shoot your digital?”

“Why, Mac.” She grinned up at him and winked. “You can shoot my digital anytime.”

Not waiting for his response, Kristen handed Mac her digital camera out of the toolbox. “Okay, lover boy, let's roll.”

MAC AND KRISTEN carried the metal gurney to the shoreline, its heavy black wheels rendered useless in the sand. “Hey, Kev, how have you been?” Kristen asked, extending her hand.

“Can't complain.”

“Do you know Chris?” Mac asked Kristen.

“I don't believe I've had the pleasure.” Kristen shook the trooper's hand.

“Chris Ferroli, this is Dr. Kristen Thorpe. Kristen's the medical examiner.” Mac gestured to the back of the boat. “She'll be taking your friend off your hands.”

“What happened to ‘finder's keepers'?” Kristen slipped on a pair of white cotton gloves and then topped them with purple latex gloves.

“What's with the double gloves?” Mac asked. “Do they make handling the victim easier?”

“It's a brand-new technique, Mac.” She held up her hands and examined them. “It's called keeping your hands warm while you handle wet dead things.”

“Check.” Mac cleared his throat, feeling embarrassed.

“What about your feet? You're going to get soaked.” Mac gestured toward her brown leather hiking boots.

“These feet aren't going in the water, that's how. One of you is going to bring the body to me.” She gave Mac a sly smile.

“It's not going to be me,” Kevin said.

Mac frowned. “These are my new boots.”

“Looks like I'm elected.” Chris said, slapping the rubber-coated legs of his water survival suit.

“What kind of shape is he in, Chris? Can you get him to shore by yourself?” Kristen asked.

“Yeah, I've got some cloth around his shoulder and armpit. He seems to float pretty well.” Chris moved into the murky water, holding onto the rail of the heavy boat. The water was thigh-high when he reached the stern and reached over to untie the tether that held the victim. The trooper began pulling the bloated corpse to shore.

“Try to get some speed while he's still in the water so he slides up on the beach,” Kristen told him.

“Right.” Chris high-stepped out of the river, pulling the body up on the beach, about halfway out of the water. “He's bogging down. Want me to keep coming?”

“You're doing fine. Hoist that sucker all the way out if you can.”

Chris turned and faced the body, walking backward onto the beach while tugging on the makeshift tow rope until the body was totally out of the water. The body undulated after reaching the shore, the water-saturated skin tearing in some places in its weakened state. The sight and smell proved too much for Chris. He made it less than three steps back into the river before succumbing to dry heaves.

“Such a pleasant job we have, don't you think, boys?” Kristen walked toward the body. “Help me roll him over, will you?”

Mac and Kevin both slipped on purple rubber gloves from Kristen's supply. Chris walked back toward the bank with watery eyes, carefully skirting the body. “Sorry about that. That's never happened to me before.”

Kristen smiled, “Happens to the best of us. You okay?”

“Yeah. I guess the smell along with the sloughing skin got to me.” Chris wiped his mouth on his shirt sleeve.

“There's some menthol cream in my box over there. Rub some under your nose, and you'll be fine.” Kristen motioned with her head. “There are some mints in there too; you might want to grab some.”

Chris made a beeline for the bag, and so did Mac. He didn't want to admit it, but Mac had almost lost his cookies as well. He rubbed some of the strong-smelling salve under his nose.

“I think I'll stick to fish and deer carcasses.” Chris's eyes were still watering. “This is too much.”

Mac joined Kristen and Kevin. Mac snapped a few photos with Kristen's digital camera, while Kevin used the small 35 mm camera.

“I'd better take some backup shots. I don't trust these digital things.” Kevin snapped several more shots before slipping the camera into his pocket.

Kristen stepped back from the body, scratching an itch on her chin with her upper arm—careful not to let her gloved hands get anywhere near her face. “I'll get some more at the autopsy,” Kristen said. “This will do for now.” Mac nodded and stowed the digital back in Kristen's field kit.

Kristen pulled a large thermometer from her toolbox and slid the sharp end of the instrument inside the skin on the upper right thigh of the bloated corpse. The purple skin tore as she slid the metal point in several inches. “Got to get it close to the bone for an accurate reading,” she told them.

“What do you make of those lines on his stomach and shoulder?” Chris asked, still standing back away from the body.

“These striations?” Kristen pointed to the chest.

Chris nodded.

“These are all postmortem; it doesn't look like a man-made ligature shadow. My bet is some type of fishing net or even a sturdy piece of river grass wrapped around our victim. When the body begins to rot from the inside, it's like you start to ferment.

The cavities expand and cause this bloating. Plant life or other things that restrict the body from bloating in certain areas cause indentations like this. Kind of like when you've had on a tight pair of socks and they leave temporary lines behind when you take them off.”

“See any signs of blunt force trauma, Doc?” Mac asked, trying to get a better look at the bruised, swollen face.

“Nothing overt.” Kristen moved the head from side to side.

“My money is on that barge accident victim we've been waiting to float up. We'll know more when we get him back to my office for a post, but I don't see any obvious signs of trauma.”

“When are you scheduling him in?” Kevin asked.

“This afternoon is fine with me, if you two can make it.” She pulled the thermometer from the body's thigh and placed it back in the case. “He's enviro-temp, no surprises. I'll have to check my rigor charts with this water temp and get you an estimated time of death. With the greenies on the skin, I'm betting at least two weeks, though with this weather it could be more.”