To the left, the shoreline turned wilder, dense with marshland. There, the Caribinieri were milling about.
They took the narrower, less traveled path, stepping on roots and rocks to keep out of the thick mud and puddles.
Rossi was bending over to the left of the trail ten yards away when they approached. He saw them and walked over.
“Ciao.”
“Ciao.”
Wolf looked behind Rossi, “Hi. What’s the situation?”
“We have found our elusive Dr. Rosenwald. A few hours ago an anonymous tip was called in.”
A handful of Caribinieri officers stood about smoking cigarettes. Wolf and Lia stepped under the perimeter tape toward an officer in heavy-duty rubber overalls who bent over taking pictures of something on the ground.
The body was well hidden. Whoever found it couldn’t have been on the narrow trail into the marsh they just came in on. They had to have come all the way in to the underbrush to see. Maybe chasing a dog. Or looking for a secluded spot to make out. Or maybe a million other reasons.
The first piece of the body Wolf saw was a Converse
Wolf let his eyes move upward from the shoe. Jeans, button up white shirt strewn with dried mud and blood. He looked back at the jeans.
Wolf steeled his nerves and allowed his eyes to keep traveling towards the face. He’d seen many dead bodies in his time, and it never got any easier for him. Depending on the time of death, cause, and climate, he’d seen some disgusting, mind-branding scenes.
The left side of Dr. Rosenwald’s head was caved in. It was a blow much at the same angle as his brother’s bruise, but obviously given with a force that didn’t result in mere unconsciousness. He figured Rosenwald had received at least two blows. He narrowed his eyes. Three or more blows was more likely. The first hit had probably opened a wound that gushed with blood. The second, third and other blows had occurred in the same spot with the blood on the blunt object, leaving some spattering on the clothing.
The channel in the skull was deep. There was serious aggression behind the blows, pounding the same spot over and over again. Gray brain folds were visible.
Wolf moved his gaze to the scene. “How many people have been walking in here?”
“Ricardo and I have been taking care of forensics for the last hour. The anonymous caller must have been in here, and who knows how many people he was with. We’ve had no officers come in here, on my order. But there are footprints everywhere.”
Wolf agreed with that, surveying the immediate vicinity. Little yellow A-framed plastic evidence indicators were strewn about in an illogical display — a bent twig here, a foot print there, a cigarette-butt obviously too old to be relevant.
But no matter what Wolf thought, he had to admit this was a difficult, if not impossible scene to read. The rain storm that drenched the area while they ate pizza yesterday obviously hit this area as well. It was sopping wet. The deluge of rain could have washed away any number of pieces of evidence. But nonetheless there were a few things that caught Wolf’s eye.
The most definitive being two cattail reeds at Rosenwald’s hip. They were bent twice, which was completely unnatural — physically impossible without the help of human intention — bent once when the body fell on them, and another time when the killer bent them back up, undoubtedly to ensure better concealment of the body.
Which indicated he was probably dumped here after he was killed. Which indicated that he probably wasn’t killed in this very spot. Which told him a crime scene was still out there to be looked at.
“Estimated time of death?”
Rossi looked to Wolf. “Looks like at least three to four days. Nothing definite. But Ricardo says it looks like this weekend. Looks like it could be Friday night.”
“Underneath? What’s it look like?” Wolf pointed and bent down.
Rossi barked to the forensics officer to come over. They rolled the body to the side and looked underneath. Lia put her hand on Wolf’s shoulder and got down to look with them. Rossi put on gloves, and pulled the body to the side with the forensic specialist. A mat of leaves, grass and branches stuck to the back of the head. A fresh waft of death and decay filled his nostrils with the movement. Dark brown dried blood stains covered the back of the neck, shirt, and the underlying vegetation.
“Blood on the vegetation underneath. The blood coagulated around the grass, sticks, and leaves behind his head. Looks like he was dumped pretty quickly after death. The blood was still flowing down his neck, not yet coagulated.”
“Yes,” Rossi said. “That’s what I was thinking as well. So we swept the scene, couldn’t find a weapon…”
Wolf was looking in the distance through the thick brush to the left of the group officers now smoking and pantomiming soccer plays. The silver reflection off the observatory dome winked at them through the trees. No more than a few hundred yards away.
“There,” he said pointing. “Is there a path from here to the observatory?”
“Wolf,” Rossi said pulling off a glove and touching his shoulder. “Let me finish, my friend. We have been here for over three hours surveying the scene. I have found out much. We couldn’t find a murder weapon here, but, yes. We followed the trail to the observatory.” He walked back towards the narrow trail. “Come.”
They followed Rossi to a trail that joined from the right. An officer stood guard of the narrower-still pathway, shoving his cell phone in his pocket with a red face as Rossi passed with a grunted order.
Pieces of orange ribbon were tied in small bows in various spots on the limbs. Rossi stopped at one and pointed to it, moving to the next and pointing wordlessly. Blood stains, blocked from the rains by the dense foliage.
They hiked up a small rise, slapping mosquitoes and pushing aside branches, and broke through to a farm road that led towards the observatory in the distance. Tall corn stalks with fat cobs lined both sides of the road.
Another couple officers with two German Shepherds were fifty yards ahead, talking on the top of the rise.
“The dogs found a weapon here,” Rossi gestured towards the side of the dirt road. Both dogs growled, one of them barked with teeth bared, slobber flinging from its lips. The dog yelped as the officer ripped it back, following with a sharp smack on the top of its head.
Rossi yelled at the two officers, who pulled the now crouching dogs away to the observatory. He bent down and pointed closely at a tubular groove in the mud.
“The dogs found a copper pipe here on the ground. It had large amounts of blood on it still on the underside, and fingerprints. I’ve had it taken for identification. We should know shortly whose they were,” he said.
“Well, that will be good. About time we come up with a cut and dry piece of evidence. So, otherwise, the dogs didn’t pick up any other scent here?”
“No, but they picked up a scent on the grounds of the observatory. There is still evidence left, even after the rains.” Rossi raised his eyebrows and exhaled. “It looks to be where he was killed. Then it looks like he was dragged down here, the weapon ditched in the corn here, then the body dropped down where we found him.” He pointed back to the lake.
The lawn of the observatory was as unruly as ever, with foot and a half long grasses, weeds and wildflowers making it difficult to walk. It was damp, holding moisture from yesterday’s downpour, or over-zealous lawn watering, or both. Rossi led them to a familiar spot.
It was a beautifully manicured yard space, other than the lawn. Vines clung to the rear of the entire building and the exterior of the rounded dome, as if keeping it earthbound. Wolf saw two wide skid marks in the lawn.
He looked at Lia and looked to the marks in the lawn. She was following his eyes as they walked by.
“Here is the spot,” Rossi pointed, reaching another perimeter of crime scene tape. “The dogs located a lot of blood in the lawn there. It seems to be where he was killed with the pipe.” There were little yellow evidence A- frames clustered on the lawn.
