Autopsy, p.28
Autopsy, page 28
“The question is when his semen was deposited on it,” I reply. “This past Friday night when she was attacked? Or some time earlier when she was living with him in Boston?”
“What I know is the blanket was on her bed when Lucy and I did our security walk-through for Gwen,” Marino reminds us.
“But where was it before that?” I ask. “If she brought it with her when she moved to Old Town, that could be the explanation. The stain might be old.”
“Do we have any idea where Jinx Slater was the past Friday night?” Marino wants to know.
“He claims he was staying with a friend over the Thanksgiving holiday, a woman he’s started seeing in Cambridge.” Benton’s voice inside our courtesy truck. “She’s confirmed that this is true, but consider the source.”
“You should be able to check the airlines, tollbooths, the GPS in his car,” Marino says, and he can’t help himself.
He has to tell my husband how to do his job. Benton patiently assures him that the Secret Service is working closely with other law enforcement agencies. They’re trying to find out if Jinx Slater left Massachusetts last week and might have headed to Northern Virginia.
“There’s no indication of it so far,” Benton says, and I try Clark Givens next.
He confirms the news about Jinx Slater’s DNA showing up on the blanket. Clark also got an unknown profile from skin cells under Gwen’s fingernails.
“I’m surprised you got anything,” I reply. “But we’re lucky it’s wintertime.”
“Otherwise forget it,” he agrees. “Four or five days in a dumpster during the summer? And we’d be out of luck.”
He examined the clippings I collected in the autopsy suite last night, and it’s possible Gwen scratched her assailant.
“But it’s not Jinx Slater’s DNA,” Clark explains. “As I’ve mentioned, it’s an unknown profile that I’ll run through CODIS.”
He says he hopes to have more information by the time I get back to the office, and I’m not sure that’s going to happen. The way I’m feeling, I expect to arrive and find my key doesn’t work, that I’ve lost my take-home car and parking space. Elvin Reddy will have a well-laid plan, and no doubt he’s looking forward to watching it unfold.
On I-95 now, we’ve reached the campus of the Medical College of Virginia where I once was on the faculty. Next, we’re turning onto North 14th Street, and Main Street Station is in our windshield, the site of my former life all around us.
“Now’s not a good time to bring this up,” Marino says. “But I don’t suppose Maggie said anything about parking?”
“Of course she didn’t,” I reply in exasperation, and I should have thought to ask.
“Because there’s nothing around here but street parking with meters, and I’m not seeing an empty space anywhere,” he says, both of us looking for an empty spot or someone leaving.
I send Maggie a text, and she doesn’t answer as Marino circles the building several times to no avail. By the time she gets back to me, we’re in a public lot several blocks away.
“She says there’s no special parking,” I let Marino know as he tucks a five-dollar bill into the honor box.
“Let the games begin,” he says as we follow the sidewalk, hoofing it to the Monroe Building.
It’s ten o’clock on the nose when we hurry through the glass front door. Then we’re waiting with a crowd of state employees gathering by the elevators, and after being early, now I’m late. The ride up twenty-nine floors takes an eternity with all the stops along the way, and when we walk into the health commissioner’s lobby, I’m sweating.
I shouldn’t have worn these shoes, am getting a blister, and I don’t have time to touch up my makeup. Announcing myself to the young bubbly receptionist, I take off my coat as her pretty face screws into a frown.
“Oh my.” She makes a big production of looking at the faux antique grandfather clock inside a spacious area recently furnished.
It would seem Elvin didn’t waste any time fixing up his empire to his liking. I take in the new carpet, the overstuffed sofas and chairs, paintings and photographs of Virginia everywhere as I listen to the receptionist explain that I’m late.
“Your appointment was at ten.” She looks up at Marino and me.
“It’s twelve minutes after,” I reply.
“I guess he thought you weren’t coming. Also, you didn’t call to confirm this morning.”
“You’re saying he didn’t hear our helicopter. That he had no idea we were on our way,” I reply.
“Oh, that was you?” She’s a terrible actress. “I might be able to fit you in tomorrow at the same time. Is it possible you could come back?”
“What’s your name?” I ask her.
“Tina.”
“Is he here, Tina? Because I’m not going anywhere.”
“All I know is he stepped out a few minutes ago.”
“I’ll wait.” I find a sofa next to a silk orchid. “Let Doctor Reddy know I’m here.”
I’m not going to bother Maggie about what’s happened. She’s clearly part of the problem, and I angrily envision us race-walking here from a public parking lot.
“But he has a booked schedule, ma’am,” Tina reminds me, and she’s getting unnerved.
“I’m not going anywhere.” I say it again as Marino plops down next to me like a gargoyle.
“And it’s doctor, not ma’am,” he lets her know. “You tell the health commissioner we’ll be sitting right here until we turn into skeletons if we have to.”
The wait isn’t that long but close enough. Two hours and twenty minutes later, Elvin Reddy looks chagrined when he walks in.
“I apologize but you weren’t here at ten, and then the governor wanted to have coffee. One thing after another, you know how it goes.” In his sharp double-breasted gray suit, Elvin brings to mind a wealthy businessman, a small bald one with a prominent nose and small dark eyes.
“I offered her an appointment for tomorrow,” Tina, his receptionist, is quick to say.
“I’m not coming back tomorrow or any other time, Elvin.” I get up from the sofa. “Say what you have to say. Or don’t bother.”
“I’ve got a few minutes.” He lets Tina know that she’s to hold all calls until he tells her otherwise. “Just you.” He makes it clear that Marino isn’t invited.
I follow Elvin through double wooden doors into his corner space overlooking his kingdom. Walls are arranged with I love me photographs, awards, degrees, and to look at all his trophies, you’d think he deserves the high offices he manages to reach.
You’d think he’s the next celebrity health official in the making, and I imagine him hobnobbing at the White House, angling for some big appointment.
“I guess that was you flying by, making all that noise.” He shuts the doors. “Please, make yourself comfortable, Kay.”
He shows me to a blue satin couch that reminds me of the Oval Office while he sits behind his big desk, potentate that he is.
“As you know, my niece is a helicopter pilot,” I reply. “And driving here wasn’t going to be possible unless I left in the middle of the night. Traffic being what it is on I-95, especially in Northern Virginia. You’ve set me up for failure at every turn, and my being twelve minutes late isn’t why you decided to make me wait forever. It’s all about power. With you, everything is.”
“How is Lucy, by the way?” He folds his hands together on top of his desk, tilting his head as if he cares. “I know she’s had her struggles. Maggie’s filled me in about her partner and their adopted child. I lost a few people to COVID.”
He disingenuously goes on to inquire about the welfare of everyone I care about, leaning back in his big leather chair. But he’s not as smug as he was when he first came up with his little drama, of that I’m quite certain, and I tell him to throw his best punch.
“Go ahead,” I invite him. “Get it over with, Elvin. I don’t care but I won’t take it quietly. It’s too late. I know too much.”
“I’m wondering if you have any concept of the fear you’re inspiring in Virginians,” he says, lightly touching his fingertips together. “Have you seen the piece that’s all over the news? The one about the so-called Railway Slayer?”
“Yes, by the same TV journalist who may have faked her own home invasion.”
“I wouldn’t know, but that doesn’t change what the public thinks about some serial killer terrorizing our nation’s capital and its historic surrounds,” he says. “It’s most unfortunate you’ve let things get out of hand like this.”
“I realize that murder is bad for local business, and serial murder is worse,” I reply. “Most assuredly it could interfere with tourism, and God forbid if bodies start turning up in a popular D.C.-area national park.”
“This is what I mean about you being a drama queen, Kay. That’s always been your fatal flaw, turning something mundane into the next headline.”
“I have many flaws but that happens not to be one of them.” I look him in the eye. “Let’s get this over with. What do you want?”
“Maggie says you were prowling around Daingerfield Island last night.” He’s not putting on the diplomatic act anymore. “And lo and behold, clothing, body parts, why, all sorts of things start turning up,” he says as if accusing me of being the cause. “What is this I hear about a penny found on the railroad tracks?”
As in only one, and I think of August Ryan. He found that single penny near Gwen’s body, and he doesn’t know about the others. I didn’t tell him what Marino and I discovered by the tracks last night, and it would seem that Fruge hasn’t said a word to him or anyone else.
“Daingerfield Island is a place you’re familiar with,” I say to Elvin. “I have it on good authority that you responded to Cammie Ramada’s scene last April tenth. You and your wife, Maggie says. Even if it’s not in any paperwork I’ve reviewed.”
Holding my stare, he doesn’t say a word.
“You’re not a first responder,” I go on. “You’re really not a responder at all, and I’d be very interested to hear why you decided to roll up on that particular scene. With your wife,” I repeat. “Especially when you’d been out to dinner. You and Helen had.” Pausing again. “And it would seem you’d been drinking enough that it was noticeable at the scene.”
He doesn’t answer, and I know the reason. Park Police Investigator Ryan gave Maggie a heads-up after the body was found because he knew trouble when he saw it.
“A woman jogger chased off the Mount Vernon Trail, beaten, then drowned in the Potomac River wasn’t the story you or others wanted,” I keep going. “Who did you make promises to, Elvin? A politician or two? Local businesses? If you lowered the homicide rate in the greater D.C. area, what a coup that would be. Why, even I’ve been impressed by the crime stats, thinking how safe things have gotten around here.”
“Cammie Ramada had temporal lobe epilepsy,” he starts to say, but I don’t let him finish his lame excuse for a manner of death he deliberately falsified.
“I’ve been through her records and talked to people familiar with the case, including Officer Fruge,” I let him know, and he gives me one of his condescending smiles.
“I wouldn’t consider her a reliable source.”
“She’s not the only one who smelled alcohol on your breath.” I begin filling him in on the rest of it, detailing what I believe went on the night of April 10.
August Ryan contacted Maggie, letting her know about the body in the park, wanting her to inform Elvin. What August did was bypass the medical examiner on call, and that was the main objective. Better if the chief himself showed up, and that’s what he did, shutting down any potential controversy.
Likely August figured that if he didn’t do this, he’d have hell to pay, and I think of what Marino said about the park police investigator. He probably means to do what’s right but gets leaned on. I can imagine Elvin bullying police like August, making it difficult if they don’t do his bidding.
“Supposedly you and Helen were on your way home from dinner at your favorite restaurant,” I then say to him. “Only Maggie can’t seem to recall the name . . .”
Chapter 37
“That’s enough, Kay.” He holds up his hand as if stopping traffic.
“I’m not here to cause domestic problems,” I reply quietly, after another pause. “Whatever the two of you have really isn’t my concern unless it impacts the criminal justice system. Why was Maggie with you that night?”
“I don’t owe you an explanation.” His voice has turned cold, and he’s tapping his fingers together again.
“Well, you’re going to owe one to somebody, Elvin,” I reply. “You swept a homicide under the rug, and now another woman has been murdered, possibly by the same killer, her body left in the same park. Aren’t you even slightly worried?”
“This recent case is an obvious homicide,” he replies. “Cammie Ramada wasn’t. And Maggie and I were out that night, you know me, not much of a shopper.It was about finding a birthday present for my wife. She had her heart set on diamond earrings, and Maggie was kind enough to help. Afterward, we stopped for a bite to eat.”
“Where?”
“The FYVE Restaurant in the Ritz-Carlton,” he says, and it’s an intimate place.
He and Maggie were leaving the restaurant when she got the call. August Ryan had been notified about a suspicious death on Daingerfield Island, and he didn’t want to contact the medical examiner’s office directly. He preferred talking to the chief first. What he says is exactly what I suspected, and it’s only now that I’m realizing the full extent of Elvin’s influence over those I’m supposed to work with.
“I understand you were at the White House yesterday.” He gets up from his desk and begins pacing in front of the windows. “If you’ve not figured it out by now, Kay? All of us answer to others.”
“Yes, we do.” I couldn’t agree more. “And we’re supposed to do so truthfully. I can’t work in a place where I’m supposed to lie even if only on occasion.” I get up, putting on my coat.
“Not even a month on the job.” He stops pacing, making a point to glance at his expensive watch.
“Yes, a new record.”
“I can’t get over the irony.” He walks me to the double doors. “Back when I was your least appreciated forensic path in training, I never thought this day would come. That I’d be dismissing you, making you feel what I did. That you just can’t measure up no matter what.”
“You made yourself feel that way, and it’s not because you’re incapable. It’s that you’re unwilling,” I reply, and he’s heard enough of my lectures.
“You’re to return to the office to clear out your belongings. I realize it might take a day or two,” he says, and at least he has that much decency.
He makes sure I know that he could demand my ID badge, my credentials, my keys. But we’re professionals with a long history.
“I’d rather keep this civilized,” he says, and what he’s really worried about is appearances. “Will you and Benton move back to Massachusetts?”
My answer is to walk out of his top-floor throne room, and soon enough Marino and I are headed back to the parking lot where we left our courtesy car.
“I can’t believe this,” he keeps saying, and I wish he’d stop.
“Don’t make me feel any worse,” I reply. “And not a word about all this during the flight home. I don’t want it discussed in front of Clare and the TSA, please.”
I’d prefer not advertising that I was just fired. But in typical Elvin Reddy fashion, he’s made sure I don’t have to worry about that. Lucy sends me a link, and already it’s hit the news. Only I’ve not been fired. It would seem I’ve resigned, and how clever making it appear the job wasn’t what I thought.
I’ve made mistakes, found the work overwhelming while managing to alienate my staff and violating protocols hand over fist, in the process creating sensational publicity. I’m guilty of nepotism, of working hand in glove with a former homicide detective who’s married to my sister. The list of my failures and complaints is long, and when we reach the helicopter, I can tell everybody knows.
Clare has nothing to say, and our escort Bob is quiet during the flight back to Reagan National. Marino bites his tongue until we’re alone inside his Raptor truck, driving away from the Marine Air Terminal as more bad weather rolls in. It’s close to four o’clock, the sun going down as we follow I-395 South, the day ending as it began.
Benton and I talked briefly before he boarded his flight, and he won’t be back tonight. Things aren’t looking great for Jinx Slater, who’s not entirely truthful, what a shock. He wasn’t in Massachusetts last Friday night, Benton told me. And he wasn’t with a new girlfriend.
On Thanksgiving Day, Jinx drove from Boston to Bethesda, Maryland. The next day, he drove back. No one knows what he was up to, possibly it’s unrelated to Gwen’s murder. But he was close enough to Old Town that he could have found some other means to get to her.
“He wouldn’t want to use his own car if he planned to whack her,” Marino says. “Maybe he rented something, paid cash, no paperwork, I don’t know. Or stole something, then ditched it after he was done.”
“That’s assuming he killed her,” I reply. “And if he did, how does that explain Cammie?”
“It wouldn’t unless she was killed by someone else.”
“I suppose that’s possible.” I’m depressed by it all, and as full of misgivings as I’ve ever been. “I might be wrong, Marino. I may have gotten carried away by a penny left on a rail.”
“Hey, we had to look, Doc.”
He calls Dorothy, leaving me to stew over what to do, and I don’t know when I’ve been so discouraged. It’s possible that I might have accused Elvin falsely. What if Cammie wasn’t murdered after all, and Gwen was taken out by a spurned lover or the Russians?
“. . . About to drop her off now,” Marino is saying to my sister, and judging by his tone, she’s none too happy with him. “Yeah, I know I promised. But we’ll find time in the next day or two.”
