“There are no scratches, no broken nails, no signs of violence or of a defensive struggle.” More to himself than to me.
“She could have been smothered in her sleep. With a pillow.” I was verbalizing thoughts as they were forming in my head. “A pillow would leave no marks. A pillow would explain the feathers in her mouth and the cuts on her lip.”
“Coarse petechiae aren’t uncommon in corpses found prone with the head at a level lower than the rest of the body.”
“The lividity on her back and shoulders suggests she died face up.”
LaManche straightened. “Detective Ryan promised scene photos this afternoon.”
For a moment our gazes locked. Then I lowered my mask and told LaManche the story of Mrs. Parent.
The sad old eyes held mine. Then, “I appreciate your bringing the victim’s involvement with you to my attention. I will take extra care in performing my internal examination.”
The statement was unnecessary. I knew LaManche would be as meticulous with Mrs. Parent as he was with every corpse he studied, prime minister or petty thief. Pierre LaManche refused to acknowledge unexplained death.
By ten-thirty I’d unwrapped the bundled remains recovered from the second depression in the pizza parlor basement.
By eleven-thirty I’d disengaged the bones from their leather shroud, removed their matrix of dirt and adipocere, and arranged them anatomically on the autopsy table.
By three-forty I’d completed my inventory and examination.
The skeleton designated LSJML-38428 was that of a white female, sixty-five to sixty-eight inches in height, who had died between the ages of eighteen and twenty-two. She had poor dental hygiene, no restorations, and a well-healed Colles’ fracture of the right radius. Her skeleton showed only minimal postmortem damage, and bore no evidence of trauma occurring at or near the time of her death.
My preliminary conclusions had been correct. Though slightly older, this third girl was disturbingly similar to the other two.
I was jotting a few last notes when I heard the door to the outer office open and close. Seconds later LaManche appeared. His expression told me he hadn’t come to report an aneurysm.
“I found excess deoxygenated hemoglobin in the venous blood, indicating cyanosis.”
“Asphyxia.”
“Yes.”
“Anything else?”
“Nothing atypical for a woman in her seventh decade of life.”
“So she may have been smothered.”
“I fear that is a possibility.”
“Any injuries?”
LaManche wagged his head. “No fractures. No hemorrhage. No scratches or claw marks. No tissue under her nails. Nothing to suggest a struggle.”
“She could have been attacked while sleeping. Or drugged.”
“I will request a full toxicology screen.”
Again, the outer door opened then clicked shut. Booted footsteps crossed the ante-office.
Ryan was doing detective casual that day. Denim shirt, jeans, tan wool blazer with elbow patches.
Ryan and LaManche exchanged
Ryan and I exchanged nods.
LaManche filled Ryan in on his findings.
“Time of death?” Ryan asked.
“Did you observe any evidence of a last meal?”
“Saucepan, spoon, and cup in the dish rack. Empty soup can in the trash. Garden vegetable.”
“The stomach contents were completely evacuated. That would have occurred within three hours of consumption of the soup.”
“Niece says the ladies usually ate supper around seven, turned in around nine or ten.”
“If the soup was her supper, and not her lunch.” LaManche raised a finger. “And keep in mind that gastric physiology is extremely variable. Nervous stress and certain diseases can delay stomach emptying.”
I remembered the shaky voice at the other end of the line. Parent’s agitation had been evident even at a distance.
“I’ll request a warrant to pull up the phone records.”
“But the state of decomposition suggests death probably occurred on Friday. And now.” LaManche clasped his hands behind his back. “What have you brought us, Detective?”
