Favors and Lies (3 page)

“His car is parked in the alley at the rear of the house.”

“Is that normal?”

“Every house on this block has a couple of parking spaces in the back.”

“Thanks for the info on the car. I'll have it examined. Have you tried to contact your nephew?”

“I called his dorm room from the house but there was no answer. I called his mobile number and left a message for him to call me here, at home, or on my cell. Of course, sitting out here in the driveway, I am not available on any of those lines.”

“Well, if your nephew is alive, he should be easy to locate.”

Dan looked away, almost speaking to himself. “Dead people are actually easier to find. They don't tend to run.”

The detective looked at Dan with curiosity.

“What did you say you do for a living?”

“I didn't.”

“Consider me asking.”

“Self-employed. I'm a legal advisor. I also maintain an active private investigator's license in Virginia.”

“So you carry a gun?”

“Was someone shot?”

“Are you going to answer the question?”

“I have a license to carry a gun. Whether I own a gun is irrelevant to this investigation, unless I'm missing something.”

The detective stood stoic, digesting the facts. “So, one more time from the top. You received a call at home from your sister-in-law saying that your nephew, her son, wasn't breathing in her home. You immediately drove over to the house and found your sister-in-law dead, with no sign of your nephew, dead or alive.”

“You take excellent notes, Detective Nguyen.”

“Are you busting my balls?”

Dan sighed.

The detective paused. “To you, I probably look like a young Asian kid with a badge and a notebook. But Asians age well. Hard to guess our real age. And I'll let you in on a little personal knowledge. I learned from the best detective this fine city has to offer. One of the best, period, regardless of geography. Someone who has investigated more dead bodies than you and I combined will see in our lives. Someone involved in cases you and I couldn't access with a top secret security clearance.”

“Very moving. You think the evidence will be impressed with your credentials, training, and previous partners?”

“You aren't very popular, are you Mr. Lord?”

“Look, I have been out here for an hour rehashing my side of the story. In the meantime, my nephew is missing.”

“I assure you we are on the case.”

“Talk is cheap, Detective.”

Detective Nguyen glanced back at the house as a pair of paramedics stepped onto the porch. “Let me get your info,” the detective said, flipping to a new page in his notebook. When he was done with his question and answer, he wrote down the car's license plate number and VIN. “I'll see if your story checks out,” the detective added. “Are you planning on going out of town?”

“Are you labeling me a suspect of some kind?”

“A person of interest.”

“Sounds like a suspect to me. Just a sugar-coated one.”

—

Dan was reading the
Post
and drinking a Dunkin' Donuts coffee on the park bench down the block from his sister-in-law's house. He had gone home and changed into a Polartec top and Zip n' Go hiking pants manufactured from high-tech, rip-stop material. He had stopped by American University, gave his story to the campus police, and waited at the station while two campus officers accessed his nephew's room and found it unoccupied. He had left messages with everyone he could think of and then drove back to his sister-in-law's house on auto-pilot, stopping for a dose of sugar and caffeine on the way.

The last emergency personnel had exited the house an hour before, leaving a wrap of yellow police tape stretched between two columns on the front porch. An unmarked dark police cruiser arrived shortly thereafter and Detective Nick Nguyen stepped from the driver's side. He perused the yard and sidewalk as he approached the yellow tape and then ducked under the temporary impediment before entering the house. An hour later he reappeared on the front porch and removed the yellow police tape. He walked across the front lawn and threw the spaghetti of yellow into the police cruiser's trunk.

No longer a crime scene
, Dan thought. He gulped down the dark sludge at the bottom of his coffee and threw the cup and newspaper in the trashcan near the jungle gym before heading down the block on foot.

The alley behind the houses was the main thoroughfare for garbage men, stray cats, and teenagers sneaking their dates through backdoors for parentally unapproved sexual gratification. The surface of the alley was uneven, large concrete slabs rising in a medley of angles like tectonic plates rearranged by induction. Dan had been in the alley a handful of times, usually chasing down a runaway baseball that managed to clear the fence, escaping the confines of his nephew's yard.

A neighbor dumping a plastic bag into a large green trashcan startled Dan as he approached the rear entrance to his sister-in-law's house.

“Morning.” The man with the white hair and blue pajamas looked curiously up and down the empty alley. “Can I help you?”

“Good morning,” Dan said to the retiree in blue pajamas. “My name is Dan Lord. Conner is my nephew. Vicky is my sister-in-law.”

“A lot of commotion last night.”

“Yes, sir. Not good news, I'm afraid. Vicky passed.”

The retiree shook his head and choked up. “Awful. Just awful. What about the boy?”

“I'm trying to get him word.”

“Seems like a good kid. Don't know him too well.”

“Real good kid.” Dan shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his eyes darting suspiciously across his field of view.

“You sneaking in the back door?”

“Something like that.”

“Anything I can help with? I've got nothing pressing, as you can see,” the neighbor said, lifting his arms to show off his attire.

“I have a few questions for you, if you don't mind.”

“Don't mind a bit.”

“See anything strange around here last night? Anything strange over the last few weeks? People who shouldn't be in the neighborhood?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary. We're lucky. This is a real quiet street. One of the reasons I moved here.”

“That's why I asked. I figured anything unusual would get noticed.”

“Can't say I noticed anything last night. Was in bed by ten, sawing logs by ten fifteen. I woke up when the ambulance arrived. Didn't sleep too much after the commotion, though.”

“Me either.”

“Guess not.”

Dan glanced up the alley at his nephew's Nissan hatchback parked neatly in one of the two spots at the rear of the house. “Any idea how long my nephew's car has been parked there?”

“I think it was there Sunday. Not sure about Saturday.”

Dan's eyes shot left and right as a police siren wailed in the distance.

“Well, I'll let you get on with your business,” the neighbor said. “I assume you aren't walking up the alley for your health.”

Dan nodded and continued up the alley to the next yard, stopping to check the doors to his nephew's car and to peer through the windows of the vehicle. With a final glance around, he pushed open the wrought iron gate and entered his sister-in-law's property.

The grass in the backyard was neat and trim. The fall leaves were bagged, sitting on a bed of mulch that would be dormant until spring. A large oak loomed over the yard, a measure of the neighborhood's age, the tree's thick trunk showing that its roots were there long before the human invasion stole its land and cut down its relatives.

The step-up slate patio arched into a semi-circle from the back of the house. The patio furniture was neatly pushed under the overhang of the roof, ready to spend the upcoming winter partially shielded from the elements. The screened-in porch had been winterized—the plants moved inside, the thin carpet rolled up and dragged to the attic.

Dan stepped onto the patio and the house weighed on him. He could never live there. The home had memories, good and bad, but too numerous for Dan to find peace. Besides, he preferred Alexandria when it came to living. Better roads, better services, friendlier police, and of course little things called a congressman and a senator to represent him with their elected hot air.

Dan pulled on the sliding door leading to the screened-in porch. It didn't budge. He moved to the other side of the patio and tried the wooden door that lead directly to the laundry room at the back of the house. He twisted the knob, pushed, and then added his shoulder to the equation. The deadbolt held firm. He bent at the knees and looked at the doorframe for signs of forced entry, telltale scratches, chunks of missing wood.

Nothing.

He used his key to enter and then repeated the inspection on all doors and windows from the inside of the house. Upstairs, he took another look at the master bedroom. He picked up the phone on the bedside table and checked for a dial tone. All systems go.

Downstairs, Dan paced the layout of the first floor several times. Through the kitchen, the living room, down the hall, and around the dining room table. On a wooden plaque near the backdoor that read “Welcome Home,” a dozen key rings dangled from their respective hooks. Dan flipped through the assortment, found a set that included keys to his nephew's car, and exited the back of the house to take a look at the Nissan hatchback.

He opened the car door and the light over the center of the dash illuminated the black fabric interior. He shuffled through a pile of receipts in the storage bin under the center armrest and removed everything from the glove box, putting the owner's manual, a tire-pressure gauge, and a small box of tissues onto the passenger seat.

Dan looked in the back seat, felt around on the rear floors, and then turned back towards the front. He noticed a faded ring mark on the windshield glass, several inches in diameter. He leaned forward, took a deep breath, and exhaled onto the glass. Aided by Dan's warm breath, the circular mark appeared more distinctly.

Dan felt under the driver's seat and double-checked the storage slits on both front doors. The portable GPS he had given his nephew for Christmas two years ago, which had been attached with a suction cup to the front windshield, was missing. Dan filed away the need to locate the GPS when the phone in his pants started to vibrate. He fumbled through the multiple pockets on his hiking pants, glanced at a number he didn't recognize, and hit the talk button.

He sat for a moment staring at the phone, the voice on the other end of the line searching for a response. Dan was frozen, his phone in hand. Something in his mind kick-started. A bubble of subconscious reasoning not yet ready to surface.

“Dan speaking,” he finally answered.

“This is Detective Nguyen. We may have found your nephew's body.”

Dan cleared his throat. “Where?”

“Underpass, near L'Enfant Plaza. Under the Promenade.”

“When?”

“Someone called it in early this morning. The medical examiner got the body about two hours ago. I just found out. I'm still a little light on the details. I was on notice for any white males fitting your nephew's description, but this one initially got listed as homeless. I wasn't on the lookout for an NFA.”

“NFA?”

“No Fixed Address.”

“I'm not following you.”

“NFAs usually don't get a lot of forensic work, meaning the body is moved fairly quickly. Unofficial policy. Homeless people die all the time in this city. Can't have bodies lying on the sidewalk.”

“Do you have a positive ID?”

“Not yet. We may need you for that.”

Dan exhaled loudly. “Where are you now?”

“On my way to the Medical Examiner.”

“Which hospital?”

“Washington Hospital Center.”

“I'll be there in a half-hour.”

“There may be nothing to tell you in a half-hour.”

“Then I'll be there waiting when they do have something.”

—

The automatic double doors slid open as Dan approached the entrance. An empty gurney was pushed against the pale blue tile walls under a sign indicating the direction of the medical examiner's office. Dan bypassed the elevators and followed a sign down a flight of gray stairs and stopped in front of a waiting area. Six black plastic chairs failed to entice him to sit.

He spotted Detective Nguyen sitting at a lone desk in an alcove across from the waiting area. The detective hadn't changed since the night before, his clothes more wrinkled, bags now under his eyes. Nguyen flipped through his ever-present detective's notebook and looked up as Dan walked towards him.

“You're here.”

“Thanks for calling.”

“I think the ME is ready. You ever identified a body before?”

“This won't be a first.”

“Then I'll forego the speech.”

Dan nodded. His eyes were focused. He forced his feet to move towards a set of swinging doors.

The examination room was devoid of life, save one. Inside the windowless, colorless room, three large stainless-steel tables filled the floor. The table nearest the door was empty. The unmoving occupant of the far table was covered, a toe protruding from beneath a sheet the only hint to its owner's identity. The medical examiner was standing at the head of a body on the middle table.

“Come in, Detective Nguyen,” the doctor said. Dark-framed eyeglasses dominated the space between the doctor's cap and his medical mask. His light green scrubs and his white apron were fresh from the laundry pile, yet to be stained by the hazards of the job.

“Dr. Lewis, I have a possible family member with me,” Detective Nguyen announced, offering a professional courtesy that gently reminded the ME the incoming audience may not be as callous to certain specifics of the ME's occupation.

Dan followed the detective into the room. The medical examiner met them halfway across the floor. Dan offered a handshake and the doctor—behind the glasses, mask, scrubs, and rubber gloves—raised his hands and waved them in the air, indicating a handshake wasn't a hygienic alternative.

“Sorry we have to meet in
my
office. It makes a visit to the dentist seem enviable by comparison.”

“Yes it does,” Dan responded.

The ME turned and Dan followed behind him. He held his breath through the last few seconds of hope that the body on the table wasn't his nephew's. Through the last few seconds of hope for a reasonable explanation for everything. As he approached the table, the large circular light above illuminated the pasty body below.

Dan looked at the legs first, his eyes slowly moving up the naked frame until he reached the face. He squinted out a tear, looked away for a moment, and then ran his fingers through his nephew's hair. He nodded and whispered over his shoulder in the direction of the detective, “It's him.”

The doctor simply nodded. It was occupational stoicism. Emotions were for the living.

“I'm sorry,” Detective Nguyen's said, putting a hand on Dan's shoulder.

“Relationship to the deceased?” the doctor asked.

“Uncle.”

“Shall I proceed with what I know?”

“Please,” Dan answered, clearing his throat. His eyes were wet. His temples pulsing.

“I'll tell you what I think, and you tell me when I'm right. Fair enough?”

“Sure.” Dan slipped into a surreal mode. Half his mind was in the room, listening to the doctor expound upon the evidence before him. The other half of Dan's mind was already asking questions—working what he knew and didn't know beyond the confines of the room.

Dan tuned back into the medical examiner's commentary.

“A male, age nineteen. According to the body temperature, dead eight to ten hours, give or take. Death appears to have been a drug overdose, most likely heroin though I won't know until I get the toxicology report.”

Dan interrupted. “Heroin? No way.”

“You certainly have the right to that opinion. It would not be the first time my opinion has been sabotaged by medical evidence.”

“How long does a toxicology report take?”

“A week. Sometimes longer. I may be able to push it through a little faster—a favor I extend to the friendlier detectives I have to deal with.” The medical examiner glanced over at Nguyen and nodded slightly.

“What else can you tell me?” Dan asked.

“There's a recent injection mark on the left arm, the most likely entry point for the drug. It's a small mark in the crook of the elbow. Was your nephew right-handed?”

“Yes.”

“That increases the likelihood he injected himself. It's difficult, though certainly not impossible, to inject yourself in the arm on the dominant side.”

“Understandable,” Dan replied.

“I would check to see if the subject has given blood recently. If he is a college student, a blood drive on campus could explain the injection mark. That is another possibility.”

The detective's notebook flipped open and he wrote for a moment.

“In addition to the recent injection mark, the subject also has a burn on the underside of his right arm. The forearm. It was healing well until . . .” The medical examiner's voice trailed off.

“Until he died,” Dan finished.

“Correct.”

“How old is the wound?”

“I estimate the wound at a week to ten days.”

“Then probably unrelated to his death,” the detective added.

“A good assumption. The body shows no additional signs of outward wounds. No habitual track marks. No substantial cuts, no abrasions, no bruising. No wounds on the knuckles. There is no evidence, on the outside of the body, that indicates the subject was involved in a premortem struggle of any sort, which, if you connect the dots, would indicate the possibility the subject had been forced to ingest a drug. But without defensive wounds, it makes a forced injection less likely.”

Dan absorbed every word.

“There is residual vomit in the throat, which is not surprising. Most heroin overdoses, if that is indeed what we are dealing with, are caused not by heroin itself, but usually a combination of heroin with alcohol or some other drug. Asphyxiation on one's vomit is the most common outcome and thus the cause of death in many heroin overdose cases. This may run contrary to what you have seen in the movies where the victim takes the drug and then falls into immediate unconsciousness. The subject also shows discoloration of the tongue, another telltale indication of heroin overdose.”

“What are the other causes of death with heroin?” Dan asked.

“The lethal dose of heroin is quite high: 500 milligrams for a non user, up to 1800 for a regular user. Once again, the toxicology report will solve that mystery. A lethal dose will affect the central nervous system. This will manifest itself first in labored, shallow breathing followed by complete respiratory arrest. The heart will follow a similar path of deterioration.”

“Death always boils down to the same two factors. Breathing and heartbeats. Everything else just leads to those,” Detective Nguyen added expertly.

Dan glanced at the detective and then back at the medical examiner. “Please continue.”

“Internally is where things get interesting. The body shows signs of physical—shall we say—wear and tear.”

Detective Nguyen interrupted. “What do you mean?”

The doctor paused and looked at Dan, his long nose pressing against the inside of his mask. The medical examiner pulled a handful of X-rays off a mobile table and adjusted the overhead light.

“A fracture of most bones results in a very slight overall increase of bone mass in that particular location.”

“Which is why it is hard to break the same bone in the same place twice, once the original break has healed,” Dan stated.

“Exactly, unusual circumstances notwithstanding. As you can see here in the X-rays, your nephew shows signs of multiple breaks.” The doctor flipped through several X-rays with pauses in between.

“There is evidence of at least nine fractures. And those are the ones I can be sure of. Left arm twice. Right arm three times. Both ankles. A tibia. A fibula. A femur.”

The doctor paused again. “The femur is particularly intriguing. It's the largest and strongest bone in the body. As substantial as concrete. Obviously, it's not easily broken. Large-scale, high-impact collisions are the usual culprit. Often a collision hard enough to break a femur is also fatal.”

Dan could feel the weight of the detective's stare to his right. The doctor's eyes were penetrating Dan from the front.

“Conner studied hard and played hard. All kinds of sports. He had a few breaks over the years that I know of. Jumped out of a tree house once in the backyard and broke one of his ankles and the other leg. Broke his arm once playing tackle football in the schoolyard with his friends. I'm sure his medical records would have more specifics.”

The detective's notebook and pen magically reappeared.

There was another moment of silence.

“Was your nephew ever in a severe accident? Car, boat? Skiing perhaps?”

“No,” Dan answered.

“Well, then, there is one additional possibility. I have seen several cases of severe physical abuse resulting in multiple fractures. Usually this occurs before adolescence.”

Dan felt the stares again. This time they were hotter, more penetrating, more accusatory.

“He wasn't abused at home. I can guarantee you that. His father wouldn't have touched him. His mother was a saint. And my nephew, well, he wasn't the victim type.”

“Were you around when he was younger?”

“Around enough to know he wasn't being abused. And you can bet your ass I wouldn't have allowed it to continue if I did suspect it.”

The conversation reached a stalemate and the detective interjected. “What about personal effects?”

The doctor moved to a square stainless-steel box at the foot of the table. “We have jeans, a sweatshirt, and a pair of leather shoes from a company named Born. There is some dirt on the shoes and clothes, but nothing that registers as unusual given my understanding of the location of the body when it was discovered. There was no wallet. No cell phone. I did find twenty-six dollars in his pocket.”

“No wallet?”

“No.”

“So someone stole his wallet but left him with cash?” Dan asked.

Detective Nguyen looked at Dan. “Any ideas?”

“I need to see where the body was found.”