No Way to Die (15 page)

“Based on all of these facts,I think it’s safe to say that Thomas Rasmussen was not drugged and then shot.” She stopped and looked around, and then said, “Any questions?”

“Yeah,” I asked, eyeing her warily. “How many sneaky ways do you know to kill someone?”

She smiled. “Several.”

I looked at her. “Please remind me never to piss you off.”

She laughed. “It wouldn’t pay,” she said. “Okay. Moving on. The next way I’ve seen people murdered in what we used to call a ‘staged suicide’ was by means of mechanical restraint. I can almost immediately dismiss this for a few reasons. First, I’ve only ever seen it used twice, and never inside a car. The restraints need to be set up in advance if they’re to withstand the resistance of a man. It’s usually a two-step process. A quick-acting drug is administered to induce unconsciousness. Then, while immobilized, a person is put into restraint long enough for the drugs to metabolize and disappear from the system. Presumably, the person wakes up and finds themself restrained. Then, the person is shot—or rather, made to shoot themself. This is a pretty elaborate setup—in terms of both time and space. The time is ruled out by the fact that we know the victim drove to the scene in his own car during the short window of time between when the jogger passed through the lot and when he returned. There wouldn’t have been time to immobilize a person with drugs, wait for the drugs to metabolize, and then, with the person restrained, murder him. Besides, there’s absolutely no evidence that Thomas Rasmussen was restrained in any manner. Based on this, I’d also be willing to say that Thomas Rasmussen was not restrained before being shot.”

She looked at us. “I know I covered that one quickly, but in my experience, it’s rare, and, particularly in your case here, it just doesn’t fit.”

“That leaves us with the electroshock restraint,” I said.

“That’s right. It’s possible to immobilize a person using a high-voltage, low-current shock. This is commonly done with stun guns and with Tasers. But there are a couple of problems with this method, too. First, the effect of the electric shock varies depending on the person and on the duration of the charge. You couldn’t count on the fact that a person who’s been shocked and temporarily immobilized would remain incapacitated long enough for you to manipulate the gun into position. Remember, the gun needs to be placed in the victim’s hand, the hand with the gun then needs to be moved to the head, the gun needs to be pointed, and the trigger needs to be pulled. All of this is necessary to create the evidence typically seen at a suicide: contact wounds, burn marks, powder burns, that sort of thing. There’s a good chance the immobilized electroshock victim would become able to defend himself at some point while the perpetrator was arranging the murder.”

“Can he just be shocked again?” I asked.

“He could, but then you get into the area of markers. Typically, stun guns and Tasers leave a distinctive oval-shaped, burnlike mark that’s pretty easily discernible. The prominence of the mark becomes more pronounced the longer the application.”

I thought about this for a moment. Kenny and Doc came into the office. I introduced them, and they took their seats.

Carolyn continued. “There is a way, though, that a person could be immobilized for a lengthier period with no burn marks.”

“How’s that?” I asked.

“If a person was shocked with a stun wand. A wand is a baton-type device that has the entire surface energized—not just a tip or a point. This creates a much larger contact patch and a more diffuse marking, if any at all.”

“But after the victim is shocked, how long would he be immobilized?” I asked.

“Anywhere from a few seconds to maybe thirty seconds,” she answered.

“Then what?” Toni asked.

“What if during that initial shock period, a second perpetrator attached sticky electrodes to the victim, like you see in an EKG. If those electrodes were attached to a different shock machine, then the perpetrator could re-shock the victim every time he started to recover.”

“Wouldn’t they leave a burn mark?” Doc asked.

“Not if the pads were covered with a standard EKG electrode gel. The typical Taser burn occurs because of tiny gaps between the electrode and the skin. The EKG gel is designed to eliminate the gap. No gap—no burn.”

“So you’re saying that, theoretically, bad guy number one zaps Thomas with a wand and immobilizes him,” I said.

“Correct,” she answered. “Thomas wouldn’t even have had to get out of his car.”

“And before he can recover, bad guy number two simply reaches in and slaps two little electrodes on Thomas, and then they’ve got him?”

“Exactly. They could hold him incapacitated for a long period of time. Much longer than they would need to manipulate the evidence.”

“But how could they touch him to put the gun in his hand if they were shocking him at the same time?” Richard asked.

“The electric shock won’t travel from one person to another,” she answered. “Police officers routinely place handcuffs on a suspect while their partner is actively shocking the suspect to keep him immobile.”

“And while bad guy number two keeps him immobile,” I picked back up, “bad guy number one puts the gun in his hand, lifts his arm to his head, and pulls the trigger.”

“That’s correct. They might need to work on his arm a little, depending on whether or not his muscles were contracting at the time, but by manipulating the current, it would be possible.”

“And after the shooting, they strip the electrodes off, wipe off the gel, and they’re done?” Toni asked.

“Exactly,” she said. “No one the wiser.”

The room was quiet for a second before Richard asked, “And there’s no other sign left behind? The shocking won’t leave any evidence?”

“Very-low-current shocks like this could leave two types of evidence,” Carolyn said. “First, the burns that we talked about. But as I said, I think it’s possible to administer the shocks without risk of burns if you simply use an EKG gel. The second potential marker—and I say potential because it’s not conclusive in all people—is that the LDH enzyme is often elevated after muscular contraction. But I would also note that any sort of muscular contraction could raise the LDH level—even running.”

“Did Thomas have an elevated LDH level?” I asked.

“Above normal,” she said. “Not wildly so—nothing inconsistent with someone who’d just finished a run—but still, above what we’d expect to see.”

“Thomas didn’t just finish his run,” Toni said. “He hadn’t even started.”

“Exactly,” Carolyn said.

Everyone sat there, thinking for a moment. Then Richard said, “So you’ve walked us through a method that could enable a couple of guys to incapacitate and then murder someone in what you call a ‘staged suicide,’ all the while leaving virtually no tracks.”

Carolyn nodded. “Yes.”

“But it is possible that the elevation in the LDH enzyme could have been caused by electric shock?” I added.

“Correct,” she said. “It’s not much, but it’s there.”

“So am I to assume that you wouldn’t rule out electroshock restraint as a method?” I asked.

She thought for a few moments and said, “Knowing what I know now about the victim’s background, I’d say no, I wouldn’t make a ruling one way or another. I’d have probably left the case open pending the answers to background questions. Any way you look at it, it’s a tough case.”

* * * *

Richard and I walked Carolyn to the door after the meeting broke up. After we thanked her, I walked back to my office, across the hall from the conference room. Doc was still in the conference room, peeking outside through the window.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I’m watching those two guys in that car outside.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re watching us.”

“Who’s watching us?” Toni asked, walking into the room.

“Those two
pipuchos
in the white Chevy,” he said, nodding toward a car in the parking lot below us.

I peeked around the edge of the window so I could see the car. “Why do you think they’re watching us?” I asked.

“They’ve been there for thirty minutes,” he said. “I saw them drive up when the lady doctor was in here. They’ve got binoculars and a camera. They’ve been scoping us out clear as day, taking pictures of the building, the cars, everything—ever since they got here.”

We watched them for a minute.

“It might not have anything to do with us, Doc,” Toni said.

“Might not,” he agreed. “Except when you guys walked out front a minute ago with the lady doc, those guys went nuts taking pictures and making phone calls.”

“Is that right?” I asked, looking at the car. I could barely make out the two men inside, but I trusted Doc’s vision more than my own. The question, though, was why would someone suddenly feel the need to start spying on us? I don’t particularly like it when people start sneaking around and spying on me.

“Kenny!” I called out. “Come here!”

A few seconds later, Kenny walked into the conference room. “What’s up?”

“There’s a couple of guys in the parking lot scoping us out,” Toni said.

“Really,” he said, moving toward the window. “Where?”

“Stay back,” I said, holding my arms out, although I wasn’t quite sure why I felt the need to stay out of sight in my own office. “Can you run their plates?”

“Sure,” he said. He grabbed a notepad from the conference table and said, “Give me the number.”

I strained to see it, “I think it’s 8-3-2—I can’t quite make out the rest.”

“It’s 8-3-2-victor-gulf-lima,” Doc said, rattling the number off as if he were holding the plate in his hand.

I looked at him. “Really?” I said.

He just smiled back.

“I’m on it,” Kenny said. “Give me a minute.”

I watched the guys in the car while staying hidden from their view. Two minutes later, Kenny returned. “It’s registered to none other than Madoc Secured Technologies LLC in Bellevue,” he said.

“No shit,” I said. “That’s interesting. Other than the people in this room, there are only a handful of folks who know we have any interest in this thing—my dad, Katherine Rasmussen, John Ogden, and Holly Kenworth.”

“Plus the police,” Toni added.

“Plus the police,” I agreed. “Only a few people, anyway. Yet somebody already told these guys that we’re involved.”

“And they felt the need to come and check us out. It had to have been Holly,” Toni said.

“I’m inclined to agree.” I watched the car for a few more minutes. I don’t like to hide from bad guys. It makes me feel like I’m playing defense. I like offense better. The more I watched these guys and thought about it, the more agitated I became, until I reached a point where I decided enough was enough.

“Well, to hell with this shit,” I said, stepping directly in front of the window and staring pointedly at the car. “I’ll be damned if I’m going to sneak around in my own fuckin’ office.” I paused for a second, and then added, “As a matter of fact, I’m going to go down there and ask them what the hell they want.”

“I’m coming with you,” Doc said quickly, grinning.

“I'd better go, too,” Toni said, concern in her voice.

We marched through the office, out the door, and downstairs. We were a formidable trio, although we might not have looked that way to a casual observer. Each of us was highly trained in hand-to-hand combat. Each had had reason to put that training to good use. In addition, we were all armed.

I swung around the corner into the parking lot and quickly located the white Chevy Impala. I began marching in that direction. We’d covered about half the distance when the men in the car apparently noticed us. They started the engine and began to pull forward.

“There they go,” Doc said. “They saw us.”

I ran into the middle of the driveway to block their path, causing the driver to have to slam on his brakes to avoid hitting me.

I slapped my open hand down hard on the hood, making a loud
bang!
Immediately, the passenger door flew open, and a man jumped out. He was probably a little under six feet and stocky—stocky as in muscular, not fat. His head was completely clean-shaven. He began walking around the front of the car toward me, staring me down the whole way.

“See here, mate,” he said in a thick British accent as he walked up to me. “You got some sort of problem or something?”

“Yeah,” I said, leaning toward him, “actually I do—mate. Is there some reason why you’ve got such an interest in my office? Why you’re sitting out here in the parking lot in the middle of the day taking pictures?”

He smiled at me. “It’s none of your fuckin’ business. What are you, some kind of tough guy?” he asked.

“Tough enough to take care of a bald-headed pissant like you,” I said.

He glared at me, and then his gaze shifted to Doc. I don’t know if I intimidated him, or if Doc did, or if he just thought there might be a better time for this, but he decided to back off. He stepped back. “Maybe one day, we’ll just have to see about that, eh, Yank?” he said. He turned and started to walk back to his side of the car. When he reached the door, he said, “You’ll kindly get the fuck out of the way or else we’re gonna run you over,” he said.