Murder in the Mist (9 page)

Chapter Eleven

Laura was going to be sick. She tried desperately to control the reflex in her abdomen. Her stomach clenched, and her throat tightened. Bile burned up her throat, but she swallowed to force the acrid fluid down. Water rippled and surged around her ankles. She reached down and scooped a handful to cool her face.

“Shouldn’t they be here by now, Aunt Philly?”

Phyllis looked at her watch. “It’s only been ten minutes since Harmon signaled he’d heard our distress call.” She shaded her eyes as she, too, looked expectantly toward the town.

Laura swung her good leg over the side of the boat. “I need to sit down. Actually, I need to lie down.”

“You do look pale. Who can blame you? Falling on top of a pile of bones…by Godfrey!” Phyllis joined her niece in the boat.

Thirty long minutes later, Laura and her aunt heard the siren. They stepped out of the boat and waded until knee deep to wave their arms. Two loud blasts signaled the driver of the police boat had seen them.

Mitch stood on the bow. As soon as the skipper slowed the boat in the shallows, Mitch jumped in and waded ashore. “You ladies all right?”

He took a look at the zigzag welts across Laura’s cheeks, forehead, and nose, and his voice revealed his concern. “Were you attacked?”

She reached up, touched her face, and tried to sound jovial. “Yeah, by tree limbs.”

Laura and Phyllis both nodded. He met their eyes. “What’s this about a body?”

Laura focused on Harmon Taylor as he swung his small craft alongside the police vessel. He steadied the boat while Dr. Musuyo climbed down the ladder into his craft. Two large black suitcases were handed down to the doctor. The skipper tossed out the anchor, then descended down the ladder into Harmon’s skiff.

Phyllis wrung her hands as she began, “Poor Laura. One minute we were rushing back to the boat to avoid the storm—”

Harmon had joined them. He removed his signature cap, the one with a large fishhook adorning the bill, to scratch the top of his head. “Storm? What storm? Hasn’t been a cloud in the sky all day. Water’s smooth as a skatin’ rink.”

Laura gave her aunt a “let’s keep this to ourselves” look. Phyllis nodded. “Well, never mind about the weather. What I meant to say is we were trying to avoid getting too much sun. A tree fell, and when we went around it, the earth opened up and Laura disappeared.” She clasped her hands over her heart. “By Godfrey, I didn’t know what had happened to her. Ayuh, scared the pee-waddy out of me.”

Mitch touched Laura on the shoulder. He held her eyes for a moment longer. “You look a little green around the gills. Are you up to going back to the grave?”

She shrugged. “Yeah, sure. Aunt Philly knows the way. We’ll follow her.”

Ken Musuyo opened his medical bag and removed a tube, which he uncapped. “Laura, this is an antibiotic cream. Let me put some on those scratches.”

He wiped her face with a moist sterile pad and then administered the salve to the abrasions.

Mitch’s eyebrows fired to life. “Ready? I’ll scout the area for evidence while Dr. Musuyo sets up a crime scene, and while he does, Laura, I need you to photograph everything. I’ve already put a call in to the state police. They’ll no doubt want to send a forensics team. In the meantime, we’re in charge.” He glanced at Phyllis, and extended his hand. “Lead the way. We’re right behind you.”

“Wait. Hold on a sec, Mitch.” Laura’s voice fell silent for a moment. “You need to know that it’s a skeleton. Not a body. What we found inside the grave is a skeleton.”

His expression switched to a mixture of skepticism and downright irritation. “Tell me you don’t mean like ancient bones inside an Indian mound, that type of bones. The state police will have a hay day laughing themselves silly, and at my expense.”

Laura’s cheeks flamed red. “Lying in a shallow grave on an uninhibited island is the remains of a woman, who was probably scared witless at the time of her death. So excuse me if I don’t give a damn about your precious ego getting squashed. Come on, Aunt Philly, let’s get this over with.”

Mitch’s lips pressed into a thin line. His scowl deepened. “I deserved that. My apologies. To all of you.”

Without another word, Phyllis took the lead, followed by Laura, with Mitch, the doctor, and crusty old Harmon Taylor all following in single file. After ten minutes of stomping through the brush, Phyllis stopped at the freshly uprooted tree and pointed at a hole no more than four feet wide and four feet deep. “Here it is.”

Mitch immediately enlisted Harmon’s help in setting up the crime scene perimeter with the yellow crime scene tape. He began his crime scene log—listing everyone present, those who would go past the perimeter and enter the crime scene, and the reason for their presence. He also did a rough sketch to show the scale and dimensions in a way photography couldn’t. Later on he would turn the drawing into something better, either that or work with a forensics artist to improve the details of the sketch.

Clear evidence showed the ground had given way, probably when the tree uprooted and loosened the earth, aided by the weight of Laura’s body. Inside the hole lay a fully clothed skeleton with a purse tucked neatly at its side. Mitch said, “Laura, before Dr. Musuyo examines the corpse, I’d appreciate it if you would take pictures of the crime scene.”

Her voice grim, she agreed. “Fine.”

She stepped close to the edge of the grave, lifted her camera, and clicked away, taking pictures at different angles, zooming in and out. “Dr. Musuyo, is there anything specific I need to home in on?”

“Let me take a closer look, first.” He eased into the hole, straddling the corpse. Everyone watched while he squatted. He pulled on a pair of latex gloves and then removed a small voice-activated tape recorder from his shirt pocket. He identified himself as the Cole Harbor coroner and recited the date, time, and location. “From the purse, what’s left of the victim’s clothing, shoe size, the size of the skeletal bones in the hands, and with preliminary examination, our victim is female.” He leaned closer. “The angle of her head suggests a broken neck. Closer examination required to confirm cause of death. Remaining remnants of clothing suggest the victim’s occupation was in the medical field. Perhaps a nurse.” He lifted the right hand. Then looked up, an odd expression on his face.

“What is it, Doc?” Mitch asked.

Musuyo again spoke into the recorder. “The first joint on each of the four fingers and thumb appears to have been removed. Since the body was unearthed at approximately three o’clock on the afternoon of”—again he repeated the date—“it is unlikely the removal of the
metacarpal phalangeal 
joints
was done by an animal. Further examination needed to draw a more accurate conclusion.”

He asked Harmon to hand him a measuring tape. “Approximate height, five foot four inches. Age of victim, and approximate weight, inconclusive at this time.”

Mitch tipped his hat back. “What kind of sick-o cuts off his victim’s fingertips?”

It was a rhetorical question.

The doctor placed the skeleton’s hands on the chest cavity. “Laura, zoom in and get a shot of the manus. Excuse the medical jargon…hands.”

Although the weather had cooled, sweat trickled between Laura’s breasts. She felt hot and cold at the same time. She didn’t want to puke. She honestly did not want to puke. She sucked in deep gulps of air, lifted her camera, and snapped several more shots. She also clicked pictures of the uprooted tree and the crime scene perimeter.

After securing a plastic bag around each hand to keep the bones intact, Musuyo carefully opened the purse and read off the contents. “Wallet, notepad, pen, lipstick, perfume, small hair brush.” He opened the wallet. “No driver’s license, credit cards, nothing to identify the victim. Hmm, she wasn’t a victim of robbery.” He counted, “Two hundred dollars in twenty-dollar bills.”

Mitch took a deep breath. “What about car keys or a cell phone?”

“No. Neither.”

“Okay, bag it.”

Musuyo placed the recorder back in his pocket. “This is off the record. Since she’s fully clothed, my guess is she wasn’t sexually assaulted. Of course, we’ll know more once the ME does his examination.”

As an investigative reporter, Laura knew the protocol. Once the remains arrived at the ME’s, the body would be logged in, remains of clothing and shoes and other possessions inventoried. The skeleton would be weighed, and then the body would be tagged and given an official ID number. Given time and workload constraints, it could be a week or a month before Mitch received the ME’s report.

The doctor’s voice interrupted her thinking. “Deputy Carter, if you will, open that larger case and hand me the roll of plastic bags.” He looked at Laura and Phyllis. “All that’s left is to bag the bones so they can be transferred to the laboratory. There’s nothing else for you to do here. I suggest you and your aunt return to town and get some rest. Deputy Carter and I will finish up.”

Harmon’s voice sounded a bit craggier than usual. “Now, Phyllis, before you go all women’s lib on me, just hear me out. You and the young missy have had a shock. The tide’s running high and swift. I’ll tie your skiff behind my boat and tow ’er in. Let me take the two of you in my boat. ’Sides, it’ll be dark in ’bout an hour.”

He appeared as surprised as Laura when Phyllis said, “That’s mighty kind of you, Harmon. You’ll get no argument from me.”

Mitch said, “I’ll walk with you,” but he turned back to ask, “Doc, will you be okay if I leave you alone for a few minutes?”

Ken Musuyo simply waved and continued about his business of labeling and bagging.

“Doc, I’ll email the photos to you.”

“Thanks, Laura. If you can’t sleep, call me and I’ll bring something by to help you relax. You, too, Phyllis.”

At the water’s edge, Harmon tied Phyllis’s skiff to his boat while Mitch helped Laura and her aunt get aboard. “It may be too late to come by tonight. Tomorrow okay?”

“Sure.” Laura lowered her voice. “I found an article in one of the old morgue books that might tell us who our girl is.”

A strong gust of wind swept across the bay, causing waves to rock the boat. Harmon called, “Hold on, ladies. Looks like we’re in for a rough ride.”

Laura glanced over her shoulder, but Mitch no longer stood on the shore. Her mind was so consumed with this chance discovery that it was hours before she realized how deeply this ordeal had shaken her.

Chapter Twelve

Sunday morning, Laura helped her aunt fill the dishwasher. It was routine to partake of a large home-cooked breakfast, skip lunch, then have an early dinner at one of the local restaurants.

“Judging from the dark circles under your eyes, you didn’t sleep well.”

Laura swept crumbs into her hand and emptied them into the sink. “I kept thinking about that poor woman. To tell you the truth, I half expected our spirit to make another appearance to let me know if we’d found her…Lynnette.”

“I thought she might, too.”

Laura propped against the counter. “I used the time to write an article for the paper, which I won’t publish until we hear from Mitch.”

Her cell phone vibrated. She pulled it from her pocket. Her sigh was audible when she spoke. “Deputy Carter?”

“I’m at the back door. Are you up to talking?”

“Sure. Give me a sec.”

Phyllis said, “Why don’t you make a fresh pot of coffee. I’ll go down and let him in.”

“I’m not an invalid, Aunt Philly.”

“I know you’re not, dear. Although you mask the pain well, I can see how yesterday’s activities have taken a toll on your leg.”

A smile touched Laura’s lips as she relented. “Okay, just know I’m making the coffee under protest.”

After doing so, she went to her room and carried two morgue books out to the sun porch. She stood for a moment taking in the serenity. As soon as the news broke about finding the skeleton, Cole Harbor would become a hive of gossip and speculation—and in a perverse way would draw vulturous curiosity seekers.

“Good morning, Friday.”

Deep in thought, his voice startled her. Her skin jumped, and she chided herself. “Coffee’s fresh.”

He nodded.

Phyllis intervened. “You two go ahead with business.” She turned to the kitchen.

“The scratches on your face look better this morning. At least you no longer look like you tangled with a wild cat.”

He was making small talk, and Laura knew it. What was he waiting for—coffee?

“You don’t look so good yourself. Long night?”

“Yep. I phoned state police to let them know Dr. Musuyo and I were bringing in a skeleton rather than a fresh cadaver. We wanted to make sure our girl didn’t get lost in the shuffle just because it’s a cold case. By the time we arrived at the ME’s office in Augusta, filed some reports, and talked to the ME, it was around midnight when we got home.”

Her heart swelled. She wondered if yesterday’s chastisement had changed his mind about the case. “What is the estimated time, or time period, of death?”

Mitch accepted a mug of coffee from Phyllis. He waved away the cream and sugar.

“We won’t know for certain until the official report comes in.” He drank deep from the cup and offered his compliments on the coffee. “It’s a good thing you found her when you did. All that was left were the bones. No trace tissues remained, and due to the peaty soil’s acidity, the bones were beginning to dissolve. Ken put the time of death at approximately ten years, if not longer.
He recorded the official cause of death as a broken hyoid bone, which is a horseshoe-shaped bone situated in the 
neck
.”

Laura shuddered as she unconsciously reached up and touched her throat. “Any speculation about why the finger joints were removed?”

Mitch set his cup aside and leaned forward. He clasped his hands between his knees. “The victim may have put up a fight, scratched or clawed the murderer. He probably feared if her body was discovered that his skin would be under her fingernails. Somehow, he may have known DNA is conclusive and would get him life in prison.”

Phyllis had been sitting quietly, listening. Now her voice was indignant. “It’s too bad Maine doesn’t recognize the death penalty.”