Tunnel Vision (4 page)

The Medical Examiner’s section was surprising bright. Someone, obviously someone with a sense of humor, had placed cheerful posters of children and wildflowers along the corridor walls in an attempt to counteract the nature of the work taking place inside the basement autopsy rooms. They stopped at the receptionist’s desk halfway down the corridor. The woman behind the desk was typing furiously and appeared to be in a trance. She was wearing headphones attached to a cassette player on her desk and didn’t seem to notice the two visitors until Brodie reached over the counter and tapped her on the shoulder. Startled, the woman ripped the headphones off and glared at the detective. She appeared to be in her mid-twenties and Brodie noticed she had been a little heavy-handed with her make-up that morning. She smiled to disarm the fuse she lit by surprising the woman.

“Hi. You must be new to be so jumpy.”

“I’m sorry, but this is kind of a spooky place. I was concentrating on the report on the recorder. One of our doctors doesn’t speak English too well. Can I help you?”

“I’m Detective Royce Brodie and this is Detective Curtis Nicholls from Cedar Springs. We’re here about a victim from a traffic accident in our jurisdiction last night.”

“Name.”

“We don’t exactly know that yet. Probably came in as a John Doe.”

“Do you know how many John Does we get in

here?”

“I’m sure it’s a bunch, sweetheart, but it should be the only one from Cedar Springs.” Turning to her partner, Brodie asked, “Who did you talk to?”

Pulling a notebook from his inside jacket pocket, he grinned at the receptionist as he looked through it.

“Dr. Harrald.”

Brodie looked hopefully at the secretary, who was rewinding the tape in her cassette player.

“I think he’s in Room Six. End of the hall.”

The detectives moved down the hall, stopping to knock on the door to Room Six. No one answered, but they could hear voices inside. Brodie pushed the door partway open and stuck her head in. Two men, dressed in green hospital scrubs, were standing over an autopsy table. Seemed like everyone in the building was pre-occupied.

“Dr. Harrald?” she asked loudly.

“Yeah, come in,” one of the men said. Both wore masks over their faces and she wasn’t sure which one had answered, but she pushed the door open farther and led Nicholls into the room.

“You here about the burn victim?” the voice said.

“Yeah. Brodie and Nicholls from Cedar Springs,”

she answered.

“Well, Brodie and Nicholls, come over here. This is a very interesting case.”

They moved to the foot of the table, and Brodie couldn’t help but notice that the victim took up surprisingly little room on the polished steel table. She had lain under glaring lights on a similar table eight years earlier. She had survived. Remembering how cold the metal had felt through her uniform sent a shiver down her spine.

“Short little fella,” Nicholls commented.

One of the men looked up at them and then back down at his work.

“Shrinkage. Like putting half a pound of

hamburger on the grill and removing a quarter pounder when it’s done cooking”

Smile lines formed around the eyes of the second man.“Let’s flip him over, Les,” the first man said. The second man nodded and moved a few

instruments out of the way. The first man looked at Brodie, pulled his mask down and said, “Frank Harrald, Deputy Medical Examiner. My assistant here is Les Phillips. I’d offer to shake hands, but...”

She looked at the gloved hand and said, “Royce Brodie. This is Curtis Nicholls. What have we got, doc?”

“One white male, well-done. The initial report said it was a traffic accident.”

“There’s some preliminary evidence it may not have been an accident.”

“Do you have an I.D. on him yet?”

“No. We’re hoping there might be dental records or some other anomaly about him to help us out.”

“He’s ready, Dr. Harrald,” Phillips said.

Harrald pulled the mask back up over his face and returned to the body which was now lying on its stomach.

“Well, at least there’s some meat left on the backside. If it wasn’t an accident someone probably hoped the whole body would be burned. Almost never works that way. There’s always something left.”

Brodie pulled her notebook out and waited.

“Okay,” Harrald began. “We’ve got a white male. From the measurements we’ve already taken, I’d place his height at about five-five or six, below average height. If I had to make a guess, and I suppose I’ll have to, I’d say he weighed anywhere from 150 to 200 pounds. There’s some hair remaining here on the back of the head.”

Harrald used tweezers to pull a small clump of singed hair from what remained of the scalp and held it out to Brodie. “What color would you guess?”

Adjusting her glasses, she looked closely at the hair. “Could be brown, but some of it looks gray.”

“Sounds right to me,” the doctor said. “So it looks like he was probably older.”

“What about the teeth?” Nicholls asked.

“There weren’t any.”

Brodie looked up quizically.

“They were knocked out, but the roots were all in place. Probably a hammer or some other blunt object. He may have had a partial plate on top. There was a space, about an inch on each side, with no roots.”

“Well, now that we know he didn’t just keel over from a heart attack, I guess we can assume that he was dead before the fire,” she said.

“Absolutely. I didn’t detect any evidence of smoke in what was left of the lungs. And there are a couple of other things, too. Roll him back over, Les.”

The lab assistant rolled the remains over and repositioned the man on his back. Harrald leaned down closer to the corpse and looked at Brodie. “Look at this,” he said pointing to the victim’s head with the tip of his scalpel. “See this discoloration here on the bone just above the forehead?”

“Yeah. What is that?”

“It’s not from the fire. May have happened earlier, but it’s recent. See how the bone of the skull is pitted?

Looks like damage from some type of acid. But, of course, I’ll have to run more tests to determine that for sure. We had a body in here a few weeks ago. Chemical accident of some kind and he had similar pitting and discoloration on his skull, ulna and radius. Just a guess, but I’ll check on it. The body also has a peculiar odor about it, don’t you think?”

“How the hell can you tell?” Nicholls wrinkled his nose. “Burnt skin’s not exactly Chanel Number Five.”

“It’s not the skin. More like kerosene. Again I’ll test for it, but it looks like this poor fellow was the victim of two kinds of burns, chemical and combustible.”

“Overkill, isn’t it?” she asked.

Harrald shrugged. “Dead’s dead. He wasn’t alive when either kind of burn occurred.”

“Want to hazard a cause of death?” she inquired.

“Nope. Not ready to jump out on that limb yet. I haven’t found any evidence he was shot or stabbed, but I feel confident that this death was not the result of natural causes.”

After an hour with the Medical Examiner, the two detectives headed back to Cedar Springs.

“How about some lunch?” Nicholls asked as they entered the Cedar Springs city limits.

“You can eat after seeing that mess in Austin?”

“Sure,” he grinned, “as long as it’s not too well done.”

She groaned as he slowed down to turn into a fast food joint. When their food arrived, they ate in silence for a few minutes.

“Got big plans for the weekend, RB?” Nicholls asked.

She wiped her mouth and shook her head.

“Nothing special. You still after that jail bait I saw you with a couple of weeks ago?”

“She’s legal,” Nicholls said with a grin. “I did a record search.”

“Lucky you.”

“Damn straight and you’re just jealous,” Nicholls chuckled.

“I do okay.”

Although she had been dating Dr. Camille Jacobs off-and-on for nearly six years, a lifetime in the lesbian scene around Austin, Brodie hadn’t spoken to her in several days. The last time they had been together Camille made no secret of the fact she wasn’t completely happy with the way their relationship was progressing. Or not progressing, as Camille had put it, none too subtly. Brodie enjoyed spending time with Camille, and God knew the sex was above average, but she wasn’t willing to risk full time with anyone no matter how good they were in the sack. She’d been burned the only time she’d had a permanent relationship. To set herself up for a repeat performance would be nothing short of plain old stupid. Better to go home alone at the end of an evening, leaving them smiling and satisfied. If they expected more than that, they would have to hunt elsewhere.

“When will the report on John Doe’s vehicle be ready?” she asked, dragging her thoughts back to the business at hand.

“Probably Monday after lunch, but Calvin said it was definitely a torch job. He was all worked up on the phone. Said he finally got a challenge to work on.”“How’s that?”

“No plates and no VIN. Said he would try to track down the part numbers on the computer.”

“When we get back to the office, check the stolen car list and missing person reports.”

“Probably won’t be anything from missing

persons unless the guy’s been missing for a couple of days. Hell, maybe his old lady whacked him and will never report it.”

“At least we can say we’ve covered all the bases. Wouldn’t want Donaldson to think we’re doing halfass work.”

“You gonna get your new trainee involved on this one?”

“
Our
trainee, partner. Why not? Anyone can do paperwork and unless we suddenly get lucky that may be all we ever have. We’re not even sure the vic is from Cedar Springs. Could’ve been driven here from Louisiana for all we know. That reminds me, let’s check the missing persons list for the surrounding states too.”

Nicholls nodded as he pushed the remainder of his burger into his mouth.

Chapter Two

BRODIE PULLED THE day’s mail from her

mailbox, unlocked the front door to her house and kicked it shut behind her. Her house was small, but more than roomy enough for a single woman who didn’t own much and craved solitude. She wouldn’t have considered buying the old fixer-upper if it hadn’t been for the ten acres surrounding it. The way Austin was growing it would have been only a matter of time before she found herself in the middle of yet another yuppie subdivision if she hadn’t purchased the whole package. It had taken her nearly three years to complete the upgrades to the house, and everything was where she wanted it at last. She tossed a handful of file folders onto the coffee table and draped her jacket over the back of her recliner as she stripped off the shoulder harness holding her service revolver. Max nuzzled against her leg and she absently petted the Lab’s head as she began unbuttoning her shirt while glancing through the mail. Most of it was junk. If she won all the millions they promised she sure as hell wouldn’t be standing in Cedar fuckin’ Springs, Texas at that moment. She dropped the mail on the coffee table next to her work folders before starting toward the kitchen and a cold beer. The sharp ring of her phone stopped her.

“Brodie,” she snapped as she quickly stopped the ringing.

“Hey, RB,” a familiar honey-warm voice drawled.

“How are you?”

A smile came to Brodie’s lips as she pictured the blonde psychologist’s face in her mind. “Better now,”

she said.

“Have you had the nightmare again?”

“Couple of nights ago,” she admitted.

“You should have called me, sweetie. We could have talked about it.”

“We’ve already talked the fuckin’ thing to death, Camille, and, as good as you are, it hasn’t helped.”

Camille paused a moment before continuing. “I thought I might pick up a couple of thick juicy steaks and toss them on the grill at your place this evening. Unless, of course, you’ve already made other plans.”

“You know I don’t make plans.”

“I’m leaving work now, so give me an hour or so. I’ll see you soon.”

“I’ll be ready and waiting.”

Camille laughed lightly. “Is that a promise?”

“Well, you never know.”

Replacing the receiver, she went into the kitchen and opened the back door for Max. She grabbed a beer from the refrigerator before she returned to the living room and flopped onto the couch, propping her feet on the coffee table. The truth was each time she had the damn nightmare it took her longer to shove it away, leaving her moderately depressed for two or three days afterward. Maybe the feel of Camille’s warm body against hers would improve her mood. She shuffled through the stack of file folders on the coffee table and opened the top one. She had been backing out of her parking slot at work when Nicholls came running out of the building waving the folder. Donaldson wanted her to look over the personnel file on the new trainee before Monday. She had been in a hurry to get home and tossed it on the car seat beside her. With an hour to kill and the need to unwind before Camille arrived, she decided to bite the bullet and get it over with.

A deep frown creased her forehead as she read the first line.
Name: Weston, Margaret A.
She hoped she was wrong, but what she read halfway down the page had the same effect as a slap in the face.
Emergency
Notification: Timothy Weston.

“Fuck!” She threw the file across the living room. Lighting a cigarette and inhaling as much smoke as her lungs could handle and holding it as long as possible before finally expelling a gauzy, blue-gray cloud, she watched the smoke curl through the late afternoon sunlight filtering into her living room through half-opened Venetian blinds. Her mind refused to allow her to push the painful memories away and she absently rubbed the scar on her thigh, a visible reminder of the night Stan Wheeler died. His accusing eyes floated past her, gradually fading into the soft, inviting eyes of her former lover, bringing more painful memories. The metallic smell of blood and death was obliterated by the memory of the musky scent of arousal and passion as she lost herself in Maggie Weston’s willing body.

She stood and went into her bedroom, trying to shake the memories from her head loose. But they refused to loosen their grip on her mind. She quickly stripped off her clothes and stepped under a hot shower in an effort to burn the memories from her body, but nothing worked. She felt her body react as it remembered the way Maggie touched her. The sound of her laughter, the way she gave herself, seemingly submissive while still in control. She remembered it all in a rush that forced her to her knees as tears streamed down her face. She was responsible for her partner’s death and hadn’t had the guts to fight for the woman she loved. She
was
the coward Tim Weston had accused her of being. DRESSED IN BAGGY faded jeans, flip-flops, and a white t-shirt, and following her physically and emotionally draining trip down memory lane, Brodie sipped another beer while she ran a wire brush over the grill on her deck. She heard the French doors to the patio open and couldn’t suppress a smile when she saw Camille. The light inside the kitchen shone through her hair giving it a soft, yellow glow against a dark-chocolate linen blouse. The top two buttons were open, revealing an alluring cleavage. She wanted Camille’s body the moment she saw her. She needed to lose herself in it to drive away her demons. As soon as she was close enough to touch her, she slid a hand around Camille’s waist and pulled the fivefive woman closer, kissing her deeply.