private?”
Milo said, “Anything I know, Dr. Delaware’s going to know.”
“There’s nothing psychological about what I have to say, Lieutenant.”
“Sorry, Doc. It ain’t done that way.”
Dr. Clarice Jernigan slid her bag to the sidewalk. “Sure, what the hey. I opened Mr. Backer’s head and retrieved bullet frags. Definitely.22s, lab’s trying to reassemble so if you get a weapon, they can run a match.”
“Thanks-”
“I also decided to do an autopsy on your Jane Doe, after all. As I’d assumed, no big surprise in terms of COD. Manual strangulation, the finger marks are obvious, but no prints or DNA, so maybe your bad guy gloved up. This was a healthy young woman who met a rather unpleasant demise literally at the hands of another.”
“We’ve got a name for her, now, Doc. Doreen Fredd. Two
Jernigan whipped out a BlackBerry, entered the information. “My report will be forthcoming. Meaning whenever I can get to it.”
Milo said, “That’s what you needed to tell me face-to-face?”
Jernigan threw back her shoulders. “What I need to tell you is I made an error and preferred not to address that fact over the phone.” Looking at me. I settled my gaze on the parking lot and pretended to be elsewhere.
Milo waited.
“I don’t see it as a major faux pas, but you might as well know, in case it impacts how you direct your investigation. As I told you, the rape kit was negative and my initial evaluation was no sexual assault. But after opening her up, I did find an abrasion in the vaginal lining, just under five inches in.”
She tossed the snake scarf over her shoulder. “So why didn’t I spot it initially? Because it was on the roof of the vaginal vault, kind of tucked away. A smallish but rather nasty snag wound consistent with insertion of a hard object-no jokes, please. Something with a pointed extension on the upper surface. My guess, confirmed by my tool-mark analyst, is the barrel of a handgun with a sharp sight. Initially, I assumed a.22 because of Backer. But after checking barrel lengths, I can’t see any.22 entering that deeply without inflicting serious external damage to the labia. So we’re leaning toward a larger-caliber revolver with a longer barrel and a prominent sight, such as a Charter Arms Bulldog. In fact, we tried out a Bulldog and it fit quite nicely with the abrasion.”
“Two guns,” said Milo. “Little one for shooting, big one for raping.”
“To me, Lieutenant, that smells of intimidation, rage, or maybe just plain sadism. And, of course, now you need to consider two offenders. Do you concur, Dr. Delaware?”
“Makes sense.”
“Then we’re all on the same page.” Jernigan checked her watch. “Needless to say, my initial hypothesis will not appear in the report and I’d appreciate if the same goes for yours.”
“Absolutely, Doctor.”
“Just to reassure you, I took another look at Mr. Backer as well. Examined his anus and his mouth for any sign of assault by firearm or anything else. Pristine on all counts, so whatever additional psychopathology was at play seems to have been reserved for Ms. Fredd with two
“How’s it going on Bobby Escobar?”
“So far, Lieutenant, it’s going nowhere.” Angry smile. “Are you volunteering your services? That deal still stands.”
“I don’t think the Sheriff’s would appreciate my meddling, Doc.”
“No doubt,” said Jernigan. “Then again, things get bad enough, everyone wants a bailout.”
When she was gone, he said, “When she admitted goofing, I was expecting something about the vanished sperm stain.”
I said, “Maybe there’s just so much she can own up to.”
“Gun rape,” he said. “Two offenders or a single dominant blitz artist who managed to cow Backer and Doreen all by himself.”
“Someone with big bucks could afford to hire a team.”
“Teddy and/or the sultan dispatched a hit squad.” He pressed his palms together, looked up at the sky. “What did I do to offend you, Herr Kafka?”
Sean Binchy showed up at Milo’s office brandishing a list of felons culled from Beaudry Construction’s subcontractor list.
Nine names, no Montes or close. Binchy had run down seven of the miscreants, ruled them out, was headed to Lancaster to check out the last two-a pair of cement-worker brothers arrested for stealing tools from a previous job.
Milo said, “How’s Ricki Flatt doing?”
“Got her set up in the Star Inn, paid for full cable, all the movie channels.”
“That should do it, Sean.”
“One question, Loot: My dad used to be a contractor before he got into Amway, I worked summers for him. Nothing fancy, just remodels, room additions. But whenever the residents weren’t living on the premises, Dad fenced the job tight, it was my job to check at the end of each day. But that place? Anyone could walk right in, it was like asking for trouble. Not that there’s anything left to steal, but still.”
“I agree, kid. Any theories about why?”
“It’s almost like whoever owned it had lost interest in the place,” said Binchy. “But then, why not just sell it, make some money? Maybe they’re rich enough not to care about a few million, but I just don’t see the point of letting it sit there. Anyway, I’m sure I’m not telling you anything new, let me go check out those two thieves.”
When he was gone, Milo said, “Like we never thought of it. Still, obvious doesn’t mean irrelevant.”
I said, “Maybe there’s a body buried there and it has something to do with Sranil’s culture.”
“As in?”
“Letting nature take its course, something akin to Zen.”
“They’re Muslims, Alex.”
“There could be something like that in Islam.”
“Letting a body rot to the point where it can’t be I.D.’d? The lot’s worth eight figures. Even for a billionaire, that ain’t Lehman stock.”
“The sultan’s a religious man,” I said. “Articles of faith can go a long way.”
He faced his computer, pounded keys.
Five hits later, we were both reading an essay by a Yale scholar of “emergent and divergent cultural forces” named Keir MacElway, citing the sultanate as an example of a postmodern society where relatively enlightened Islamic mores and laws, including a liberal and flexible interpretation of
The origins of
Ribbenthal (1969) attempts to link
