Freezing Page 9

  ‘Absolutely,’ Steelie replied quickly. ‘All communications between our agency and coroners are confidential.’

  ‘Fine. So the odont gave us the dental chart on the Doe and we submitted it to the police misper unit for them to put it on NCIC. Like most coroners, I don’t have direct access to NCIC. Been trying to get a terminal in my office for, what, seven years? Ten? Anyway, I gave the dental to Missings. Didn’t go anywhere, I’ve now discovered.’

  ‘Well, you definitely can’t blame the odont for that.’

  ‘No but I’m still tryin’. Seems that, on request, my autopsy tech sawed out John Doe’s max and mandible and couriered it to the odont for the dental report before starting the craniotomy. When I got round to doing the autopsy, I got the bullet no problem but I didn’t have the mouth and I assumed the bullet was fresh. Figured the palate would show perimortem trauma, as the rest of the body didn’t show signs of cause of death and the tissue was too decomposed for toxicology. So the main result of the post was that bullet. Case closed.’

  ‘You’ve obviously got the mouth back now, though?’

  ‘Oh, we’ve had the mouth back this whole time. It’s been sitting in the fridge. Just no one looked at it when it came back from the odontologist to see if the trauma to the palate was peri or antemortem, or healed or what. And it is healed. That is definitely old trauma, old gunshot. So, we’re all having to tighten our belts. My tech was hasty, I wasn’t thorough, the odont only reported on the dentition itself and didn’t bother to describe the palate, and our police unit didn’t do the other half of its job.’

  ‘Well,’ Steelie said, wanting to ameliorate the impact of this sorry but not unusual laundry list. ‘Even without you ageing the bullet correctly, NCIC would have made this ID if only your postmortem dental info had been uploaded into the system. So I don’t think you have too much to beat yourself up about.’

  ‘You think getting cause of death wrong is nothing to beat myself up about? Huh.’

  ‘I meant, this was situational; it’s not like you need to go back to med school. But speaking of COD, do you have anything there?’

  ‘Now that the bullet’s ruled out? No. I mean, there wasn’t much left of this guy for me to work with. No marks on the bones. It’ll probably go down as undetermined, for both cause and manner.’

  ‘And contact with the Cullen family?’

  ‘I’m going to be calling them myself. I’ve got someone at a funeral home up here that can handle shipping the body back across state lines.’

  Steelie looked down at the notes she’d been making. ‘Well, Chuck, I guess I don’t have any more questions.’

  He cleared his throat. ‘I’ve been asked to reassure you that we are making some procedural changes up here so we’d prefer if you didn’t go public with how this ID came about.’

  Steelie’s cheeks burned. ‘We don’t do that. We’re just trying to facilitate identifications, and quietly.’

  ‘Sure. But you never know what you might set off.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Steelie asked warily.

  ‘Ever picture what it would look like if every parent of a missing person found out that thirteen-thousand-odd coroners and MEs, between them, have tens of thousands of Jane and John Does sittin’ on ice in this country? Just do the math. You’ve got a hundred thousand missing persons, at least. They’ve got one parent each, maybe two, and a couple of siblings. That makes for a heck of a march on Washington.’

  Steelie had indeed pictured this but she wasn’t prepared to admit it in this context. ‘And that’s a heck of an imagination you’ve got there, Chuck. But we’re not a lobby group. We’re not allowed—’

  ‘But,’ the coroner cut her off. ‘What I’m also saying, Ms Lander, is that I’m not sure that would be a bad thing.’

  He signed off and Steelie was left looking at the phone in her hand, wondering how many other coroners shared Dr Talbot’s take on that kind of pressure from families. If she were still in graduate school, she’d do a survey. Maybe she could get someone else to do a survey. She walked to the front of the building, summoning Jayne from her office as she went.

  Steelie stood at Carol’s counter, knowing that their receptionist already had an idea of what she was about to say, since she’d put Chuck Talbot’s call through and she could read Steelie’s smile. But Jayne had no idea. She raised her eyebrows at Steelie, who announced, ‘Thomas Cullen has been positively identified in Anchorage.’

  Jayne just stood still, returning Steelie’s grin, so it was Carol who started clapping first. A slow clap that skipped two beats in between, then gradually sped up to one beat in between. Jayne joined in, then Steelie, until they were clapping as fast as they could, like a team psyching itself up after a mid-season win.

  Two men from A-1 Electrics delivered the generator to Agency 32/1 just after 4 p.m. As it turned out, they didn’t need to spend much time inside the building, as the generator was installed just behind the building, in its own security cage. Just before 5 p.m., Jayne heard Carol announce that Scott was holding on Line 1 for her. She located her copy of the examination report on the freeway body parts, expecting him to ask why there wasn’t more to it. Leaving aside the surgical plate in the right arm, they’d only been able to conclude:

  – Minimum Number of Individuals: 2. One female, one sex indeterminate

  – Left arm: Female, 40 years ± 15, possible Caucasian, healed fractures, possible antemortem defense wounds

  – Right arm: Female, 40 years ± 15, possible Caucasian, mid-shaft surgical plate conjoining proximal and distal humerus

  – Leg: Sex indeterminate, 20 years ± 5, possible Caucasian

  – Torso: Sex indeterminate, 18 years+, possible Caucasian

  It hadn’t looked like much because there was a limit to what a purely external examination could deliver. But then there was that surgical plate in the upper arm.

  Scott sounded buoyant. ‘I’ve got good news.’

  Jayne sat up straighter in her chair. ‘Let me have it.’

  ‘We’ve got an ID on the arm. Or I should say, arms plural, though that’ll have to be confirmed by DNA later.’

  ‘Was it the plate?’

  ‘Yes. That was a great find.’

  ‘It was just sitting there waiting for us! The hard part was not reflecting back the flesh to expose the humerus right there and then.’

  ‘You kind of scare me when you talk like that, Jayne.’

  ‘Sorry. So is she one of your missing women from Georgia?’

  ‘Unconnected. She’s a Mrs Patterson from Carlisle, Oregon.’

  ‘Carlisle?’

  ‘Outside Portland.’

  ‘Was she in NCIC?’

  ‘That’s the interesting part. She was but not listed as suspicious missing. And get this: she went missing two months ago. Eric’s been trying to get details from Oregon. We’ll be sending the arms to the coroner up there after we’ve got the results on whether the left arm goes with the right.’

  Jayne looked at the report in front of her. ‘And maybe you can run DNA on the torso? That’s the other BP that could have been hers.’

  ‘We’re all over that.’

  ‘I take it you won’t be running DNA from the younger person’s leg through CODIS, given that we couldn’t even tell you what sex it was?’ She was referring to the FBI Laboratory’s Combined DNA Index System.

  ‘Even if the Bureau would let me, it won’t be worth it – not enough information. And the leg’s not one of your cases?’

  ‘Not enough information.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  She recalled Scott’s desire to get around the backlog at the coroner’s office when he’d asked 32/1 to do the preliminary investigation. ‘So you’re OK with the leg and maybe the torso going to the LA coroner’s office after all?’

  ‘ID’ing Patterson makes up for a lot.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Jayne smiled. She had said almost those exact words to Gene when he was looking at the 32/1 filing cabine
ts. Gene had been negative but here was Scott, sharing her positive perspective. This was why she liked the man. ‘How’s the search for the van going, if you can say?’

  ‘Actually, we’ve got a lead on that and . . . I’ve . . . gotta run.’

  Jayne knew Carol had left while she was on the phone, so she went in search of Steelie and found her in the kitchen, washing up cups. She told Steelie about the identification of Patterson.

  ‘Mrs? Sounds like he thinks she was married,’ Steelie commented. ‘I’ll bet it was her husband who gave her all those fractures.’

  ‘Or maybe she divorced him and married a new guy.’

  Steelie looked at her. ‘You live in a dream world.’

  ‘You live in a lawyer’s world,’ Jayne retorted lightly.

  ‘Oh, that reminds me. Did you remember the raffle ticket books?’

  ‘Damn. I completely forgot.’

  ‘It’s OK. I did too, until someone from Legal Aid called to remind me that I’d volunteered.’

  ‘You need them today?’

  ‘Yeah. The raffle’s tomorrow morning so I have to go straight there—but I don’t have to stay. Can I swing by your place tonight and get them?’

  ‘Yeah, I’ll be in.’

  ‘I’ll call when I’m nearby. Should be around eleven.’

  ‘That late?’

  Steelie turned to go. ‘I have that thing with those people. Don’t ask.’

  The pinky-white flower heads waved high above the gaura plants as Jayne carefully lifted them out of her truck. Next were the two geums: absolutely shameless doubles in a clear red, swooning in front of anyone who came near, and sure to meet with Marie’s approval. Jayne nestled them in the two terracotta pots she’d bought to replace the ones by her door. She was still debating about whether the damage had been inflicted by possums or raccoons; either had the strength to tip over cacti pots. She made her way up the stairs to her apartment, reached the landing and then stopped.

  Three metal washtubs filled with blooming white daisy bushes were arrayed next to her front door. The tubs were different yet complementary sizes, their shine artfully worn off in places. Jayne thought the arrangement was gorgeous, like something from a magazine, and it made her doorway look hip and inviting. She stood back, admiring first them and then her mother, who had to be responsible for this transformation. She’d have to remember to call her after she’d potted the other ridiculous flowers she’d bought, which could now live on the deck. She went inside.

  TEN

  Jayne had fallen asleep on her sofa but the scraping noise woke her. She sat up, pushing the open book on her lap to the side, and turned to look at the front door. It was too early to be Steelie and it sounded too loud and definitive to be an animal poking around. It sounded like a person was out there and now . . . were they gone? Without a window to look through, she only had a few choices. She could wait for the sound again and try to identify it, look through the peephole, or open the door. The peephole was out. She’d seen a film where someone was shot through the eye doing just that. And she had seen too many people lying dead on autopsy tables after having let their killers in the front door. So she waited to hear the sound again. She almost jumped out of her skin when her cell phone came to life, its vibrations creating a buzzing noise against the coffee table’s glass surface.

  ‘Hello?’ she half whispered.

  ‘It’s Steelie . . . are you OK?’

  ‘I thought I heard a noise.’

  ‘What kind of noise?’

  ‘Hang on, I just heard it again. Something on the front landing.’

  ‘Human or non-human?’

  ‘Can’t tell. There it is again.’

  ‘Then keep your door locked. I’m less than a minute from your place.’

  Jayne decided to sit on the floor, her back against the bedroom door. This gave her a clear view of the front door but kept her hidden from all the windows. She kept the phone cradled in her lap but didn’t hear the noise again. When the phone vibrated with another incoming call, she didn’t flinch but she still answered quietly.

  Steelie sounded confident. ‘It’s me. I’ve looked around down here but don’t see anything. I’m coming up.’

  Jayne got up with relief and went to the front door. She opened it just as Steelie exclaimed, ‘Whoa!’ and there was a sound of footsteps thudding down the stairs.

  ‘Steelie?!’

  Her voice came from the bottom of the stairs. ‘Make some noise up there, Jayne. You’ve got a mother possum on your stairs with her baby. And the baby’s big enough to have a name. I’ll wait in the driveway.’

  Jayne started clapping her hands and whistling. Then she walked forward until she could see around the corner. The possums were about halfway down the stairs and the larger one was the size of a small dog. She was leading her cub in an unhurried manner down the stairs. When they reached the bottom, Steelie turned on the flashlight she was holding and mimicked airport ground staff guiding a plane into its berth, raking the light across the lawn and away from the driveway. The possums obediently headed off into the darkness.

  Steelie trotted up the stairs. ‘That’s probably who you heard.’ She looked down at the silver plant tubs by the front door. ‘And you got off lightly with the mess. At my place, they get in the dirt, then put their paws in the water I leave out for the birds, wash their hands—’

  She broke off and sank down into a crouch by the pots, flicking on her flashlight again. ‘Look at this. There’s something in the soil.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘You’re at the wrong angle. Come this side.’

  Jayne walked over and they crouched down to look at one of the tubs. Something was glinting in the beam of light. It looked like the top of a metal plant marker.

  ‘Has that always been there?’ Steelie asked.

  ‘I’m not sure.’ She hadn’t looked at the daisy bushes closely when she came home but thought she would have noticed the marker. She’d since forgotten to even call Marie to thank her.

  ‘Mind if I pull it out?’

  ‘No, go ahead. It’s the sort of thing my mother would do. She’s responsible for these things.’ Jayne stood up and looked at the roofline of the duplex where a telephone wire seemed to be hanging loosely.

  Steelie said, ‘It’s only got a series of dots, like Braille.’

  Jayne looked sharply at the metal tag in Steelie’s hand. It was a flat rectangle above a sharpened stake, now studded with soil. A series of dots were etched into the soft metal.

  ‘You think your mother would have brought this by without knocking on your door to say hi? No way, Jayne, not Marie.’

  ‘She brought the plants without telling me.’ They stood for a moment in silence. ‘Why don’t I call her?’

  She stepped inside while Steelie began poking around in the other plant tubs. While Jayne waited for Marie to answer, she took the book of raffle tickets from the kitchen counter and waved them in front of Steelie, who pocketed them with a nod.

  Marie answered after five rings.

  ‘Well, hello darling! To what do I owe this pleasure?’

  ‘I wanted to thank you for the daisies and the tubs. Sorry I didn’t do it right away.’

  ‘Daisies?’

  ‘Yeah, the ones in the metal washtubs.’

  ‘By your front door?’

  ‘Yes.’ Jayne was relieved that her mother remembered them.

  ‘Well, I’m glad someone replaced those cacti, but it wasn’t me, darling.’

  ‘Wait. So you didn’t leave a plant marker in them today?’

  ‘No, but what a cute idea!’

  ‘It’s not cute if you didn’t do it!’

  ‘Jayne, what’s going on? You sound . . . frazzled.’

  ‘Look, did you tell anyone about my cacti?’

  ‘Why would I tell anyone?’

  ‘You know, like one of your landscapers? Tell them to replace the cacti for me?’

  ‘No. What is this? Jayne?’

&nb
sp; She didn’t answer because Steelie had come to stand in the doorway and was making a throat-slitting motion, which Jayne took to mean, Get off the phone NOW.

  ‘I’ll call you later, Mom. Bye.’

  She looked at Steelie who now had a finger to her lips and was beckoning to her.

  Steelie shined light into the plant tub closest to the house. She had excavated more soil than the possums had and the landing was a mess. The root ball of the daisy bush was exposed and nestled beneath it was a plastic box. Steelie gently tilted the tub to expose its underside. A coated wire snaked out of the central drainage hole and ran under the landing. Steelie used the light to trace the wire along the inner edge of the floorboards until it disappeared into a small hole just under the threshold to her apartment. The hair on the back of Jayne’s neck stood up.

  Steelie whispered, ‘Get your purse and whatever else you want. You’re coming to my place and we’ll call for help from there.’

  Jayne was filled with an overwhelming desire to get out of there and perhaps never come back. A few minutes later, she was driving behind Steelie, her overnight bag on the bench seat next to her, concentrating on the Wrangler’s tail lights. She couldn’t think; felt frightened out of all proportion and that fact bothered her as much as the situation itself.

  Her cell phone rang and Jayne jumped again. She knew it would be half an hour or so before she settled down. It was Steelie on the phone, telling Jayne she was stopping for ‘emergency ice cream’ and confirming that Jayne had the spare key. Steelie pulled into the left turn lane for the Atwater Village Shopping Center, followed by the sedan behind Jayne, who herself indicated a right turn.

  Jayne drove slowly through Atwater’s rows of 1920s Spanish houses, each looking compact and picturesque under graceful towering trees. Few had fences, so the streets felt open and inviting. Narrow driveways separated most houses, enough of whose stucco finishes were painted in earthy tones to give away mild gentrification.