I had always wondered why someone would decapitate a victim and then bother to set the body on fire. In light of today's events, I can now make the assumption that it was done so that we would have reason to doubt that the body was Dorsey at all.
That might not have been accomplished by the decapitation alone, since there may well have been marks on the body capable of identifying Dorsey. Perhaps scars, perhaps a distinctive tattoo--
I jump out of bed, rush down to the office, and then rummage through the case files until I get to the Stynes file. I find what I'm looking for--the autopsy records. And, more important, the autopsy photographs.
The coroner had made reference to a tattoo on Stynes's body, and I look to see if I can find it on the photographs. Sure enough, there it is, on the upper right forearm, where the coroner said it was. Even with my magnifying glass, though, it's too small for me to make out details.
At a key moment in the Willie Miller case, I called upon Vince Sanders to utilize the sophisticated machinery at his newspaper to blow up a photograph so that I could read a license plate. He was a pain in the ass about it, and that was at six o'clock in the evening. This is two in the morning. I'm going to call him, but if he has the technology to murder me over the phone, he'll do it.
I call Vince at home, and he answers on the third ring. 'What the hell do you want?' are the first words out of his mouth.
'How did you know it was me?' I say, though I realize he must have caller ID.
'Next question,' he says dismissively.
'Would you meet me at the paper? I know it's late, but I need your help.'
'Not as much help as you'd need if I met you at the paper,' he snarls.
I play my only trump card. 'Vince, it could be crucial to Laurie's defense.'
'Twenty minutes,' he says. 'Take Market Street.'
'Why?'
'When you get to the corner of Market and Madison, you'll know,' he says, and then hangs up.
I quickly get dressed, leave a note for Laurie in case she should get up, and head for Vince's office. Since my life is important to me, I stop at the Dunkin' Donuts at the corner of Market and Madison. And since it should only be a twenty-minute meeting, I pick up six jelly and six glazed.
The fact that Vince is meeting me at this hour reflects his feelings about Laurie. Vince Sanders, Pete Stanton, Kevin Randall, Marcus Clark, Andy Carpenter … we know who Laurie is and what she's about. And if we have any power at all, she's not about to spend a goddamn day in prison.
Vince stuffs a donut in his mouth, takes the picture, and brings it into a room filled with large machines and people to run them. Within a few minutes the job is apparently accomplished, and he brings the enlarged photograph over to me, laying it out on a table.
The tattoo on Stynes's arm is now at least three times the size of the entire original photograph. I'm not sure what I was hoping for, probably a name or something that could become a clue to his identity. It's still hard to make out, but it doesn't seem as if my hopes are realized.
'What the hell is that?' I ask.
Vince shakes his head in disgust. 'What are you, one of those hippie, draft-dodging, limousine liberal, pinko, defeatist, chickenshit, pacifist bastards?'
I nod. 'Pretty much …'
'Those are crossed arrows. Your boy was Special Forces. Green Beret time.'
This, if true, could be helpful. 'Are you sure?'
Vince snorts and points to his right knee. 'Of course, I'm sure. If I didn't have this trick knee, I would have been fighting commies right alongside him.'
I point to his other knee. 'I thought your left knee was the trick one.'
He nods without embarrassment. 'That's part of the trick.'
I thank Vince, and in an uncharacteristically gracious gesture, he offers me a jelly donut on my way out. The bigger they are, the nicer they are.
I go home, grab three hours' sleep, and get up at six to call Kevin. I tell him that we need to find a way to track Stynes, or whatever his real name was, back through his army record.
'No problem,' he says. 'I'll call my brother-in-law.'
It turns out that Kevin's brother-in-law is Lieutenant Colonel Franklin Prentice, stationed at Fort Jackson, South Carolina. Not only does Kevin get along great with him, but he has done him some legal favors in the past, which Lieutenant Colonel Prentice would love to reciprocate. It is a stroke of luck, the first that we have had on this case.
We agree that Kevin will spend the day following this lead and leaving the courtroom action in my so-far- incapable hands. And if there is a trial day to miss, this is as good as they come.
Dylan is emboldened by last night's news and loaded for bear. Before the jury comes in, he informs Hatchet of the developments and requests permission to revise both the witness list and the order in which they are called. He wants to make sure that the jury is immediately informed of the defense's disaster. I object, but I don't have a prayer of success, and Hatchet blows me away.
Dylan calls the first officer to arrive at my house last night, who describes what took place. The jury doesn't look terribly surprised, which is evidence that they have been ignoring Hatchet's repeated admonitions to avoid media coverage of the case. The discovery of Dorsey's head on my property was the lead story this morning.
Next up on Dylan's list is a neighbor of mine, Ron Shelby, who semireluctantly testifies that he had seen Laurie digging in the garden. I start off on cross by getting him to admit that he's only seen Laurie planting seeds, not heads.
Moving on, I ask, 'Do you remember when you saw the defendant digging in the garden?'
He thinks for a moment. 'I can't be sure. Maybe a couple of months ago. It's hard to remember. I mean, at the time it didn't seem unusual.'
'Was it daytime?' I ask.
'Yes, absolutely. And I work during the week, so it had to be on a weekend.' He's trying to be helpful.
'Was Ms. Collins acting secretive? Like she was hiding something?'
He shakes his head. 'No, she waved to me, and then we talked a little.'
'Was she behaving at all strangely? Did you sense anything was wrong?'
Shelby is picking up on where we're going. 'No, sir. She was as nice as can be. She's a really nice person.'
Dylan objects and Hatchet overrules. I conclude with a hypothetical. 'Mr. Shelby, if you were trying to hide something very important, do you think you would do it in broad daylight on a weekend when everyone in the neighborhood could see you?'
Shelby allows as how that is not how he would behave at all, and I let him go. I made a little progress, which Dylan doesn't seem too concerned about, mainly because his next witness is the coroner, Dr. Tyler Lansing.
Dr. Lansing is approaching retirement age, which will conclude what can only be described as a thoroughly distinguished career. He has no doubt spent more time in courtrooms than I have, and if there is such a thing as a truly unflappable witness, he's the one.
Dylan takes him through his findings concerning the time of death and the likelihood that the severed head and the burned body are a match. He also brings out the fact that the murderer struck from behind, making it more credible to the jury that Laurie could have done it without having to overpower Dorsey in the first place.
Anybody in the courtroom with a brain knows that what he is testifying to is accurate and correct, and the jury would no doubt frown on anyone trying to get them to believe otherwise. Which is okay, because I'm not dumb enough to attempt it.
'Dr. Lansing,' I begin, 'you've testified that the head that was dug up last night was severed from its body almost three months ago.'
He nods. 'That is correct.'
'Was the face recognizable as Alex Dorsey?'
'Yes, it was.'
'Why had there been so little decomposition?'
'It was buried in an airtight plastic wrapping,' he says.
'A plastic bag?'
