Even the Wind: A Jonas Brant Thriller (5 page)

 
``Look, I know this is a dog, but just for once do what you’re told.’’ Jolly had meant the case, not Clatterback.

 
``I suppose I don’t have much choice.’’

 
Jolly shot him a threatening look. ``Just do your job, Brant.’’

 
``Why so much pressure from the brass?’’

 
Jolly furrowed his brows in thought.

 
The question was more than curiosity. Brant’s desk was protesting under the weight of the outstanding case folders. He’d spent much of the summer investigating a series of car thefts. There’d been a spate of armed robberies, too. Then there were the gangs. Cash, weapons and cars had been scooped up earlier in the week during a raid that the department had conducted with the help of the Feds. The target had been one of the most feared and violent street gangs, a group called the Columbia Point Dawgs. The raid had been a success and a public relations bonanza for the Mayor and the department, but the concern was that the near collapse of the Dawgs would create a vacuum. New gangs from Eastern Europe and Asia were already moving in.

 
``The Mayor campaigned on law and order. He’s gotta be seen as being tough on crime. The optics in this case are terrible.’’

 
``What about extra men? Case like this, I could use a few more bodies.’’

 
``I’ll see what I can do. Maybe you can have Katy Malloy.’’

 
``That’d help.’’

 
``Anything else you want to tell me? Anything not in the prelim?’’

 
Brant had filed the preliminary report the day before.

 
``We only just found the body yesterday. As you said. Woman. I’m guessing about twenty five. ’’

 
``She a hooker?’’

 
Brant shook his head.

 
``Shame.’’

 
``What makes you say that?’’

 
``A dead hooker off Copley. You find her ass peddler, bring him in, case closed. We all get to tell the Mayor and his buddies on council what geniuses we are for solving it so quickly.’’

 
``Even if he didn’t do it?’’

 
Jolly stabbed a finger into Brant’s shoulder. ``If I were you, I’d go get Junior and start doing some investigating.’’

``You’re late.’’
 

 
Dr. David Heinz tapped his long fingers distractedly against the tails of his white lab coat. They were standing in a hallway off one of the autopsy suites at the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner’s Albany Street headquarters. Gray doors blocked the comings and goings of technicians and examiners doing their best to disassemble those unfortunate enough to land on one of the agency’s slabs. ``The autopsy’s done but I wanted you to see this.’’

Brant began to protest but thought better of it.
 
``What do you have?’’

``Not here. In my office.’’

Heinz led the way down the corridor and up to the building’s second level. The older man climbed the stairs with ease, his slender long-limbed body making quick work of the exercise. Brant fell behind as he struggled to match the medical examiner’s pace. Clatterback followed.

 
They’d met at the junior officer’s condo on Beach Street, a two-bedroom loft in the Leather District. More than 1,500 square feet with a designer kitchen, recessed lighting, massive flat screen hung from an exposed-brick wall, and heavy casement windows looking out onto an alleyway.

 
Brant smiled admiringly when he’d seen the place, his mind furiously working on a valuation for the property and its contents. Clatterback had taken no notice, which pissed Brant off all the more.
 

``Come on men,’’ Heinz said, urging the two detectives on. ``We don’t have all day.’’

 
They’d come to a hallway.

 
``You met Doctor Simmons the other day?’’ Heinz asked.

 
``She was at the scene,’’ Brant said, recalling the encounter.
 

 
``She’s not joining us today. I’ve reviewed her notes and I’ve taken the case over.’’

 
The medical examiner’s office belonged to another time. No computer. No flat-screen monitors. No light boxes. Instead, he had amassed an impressive collection of medical text books, which he’d displayed in row upon row of book shelves of solid varnished mahogany. An old-fashioned globe sat on a wooden office desk with brass handles. A green banker’s lamp cast a pool of light onto a leather blotter. The room’s blinds had been drawn, blocking out the sunlight.
 

``Sit.’’ Heinz stabbed a crooked finger in the direction of two black leather chairs. Heinz’s own seat, a buttoned red leather armchair with a high back and rollers, creaked as the medical examiner took position behind his desk. ``I’d offer tea but this isn’t a social call.’’

Clatterback said nothing.

``I’m fine, thanks,’’ Brant said.

``Of course you are,’’ Heinz said, studying Brant from above the rim of thick black frames. ``The workload around this place stinks and you aren’t making it any easier.’’

Brant smiled weakly.
 

``Why can there never be any simple deaths? Always tests and more tests. It’s as if you detectives watch too much NCIS, or whatever it is on the idiot box these days, and expect we poor doctors to perform the same kinds of miracles of deduction. Well, it isn’t that way at all. Not by a long shot.’’

 
``I’ve always found your work to be miraculous, doctor.’’

 
Heinz ignored the jibe. ``We had a shortage of body bags last week. Two of the technicians were out for HIV tests after getting stuck with needles. And don’t get me started on the plumbing system around here.’’

 
Heinz’s native Glaswegian accent rose to the surface as the medical examiner worked himself into a frenzy.
 

 
``Plumbing?’’

 
Heinz shook his head. ``Bloody plumbing can’t cope with all the fluids and tissues. Too many autopsies. We had blood and water pooling on the floor, if you can believe it. Had to resort to storing some of the poor souls in refrigerated trucks outside. Wait till the press gets a hold of this. They’ll have a bloody field day. And you know who’ll be to blame.’’

 
``Let me guess. Budget problems?’’

 
``Aye, and a bit more.’’ Heinz sighed as the beginnings of a smile began to form. ``Anyway, you didn’t come this way to hear me blather on about money problems and that’s not why I asked you. Who is this, by the way?’’

``Clatterback. John Clatterback, sir.’’
 

 
The younger detective bowed his head slightly in deference to the doctor.

 
``Sir, is it? Well that’s a damned sight better than what most of you lot call me. Welcome aboard.’’

 
Heinz handed Brant a manila envelope. A report had been prepared with the findings from the woman’s autopsy. The results, much as Brant had imagined, were conclusive. She’d died of a single gunshot wound to the head.

 
``Am I missing something?’’

 
``Let me.’’ Heinz snatched the report back. ``This woman was in perfect health, with the exception of the damage to her skull and brain caused by the impact of a projectile we refer to around here as a bullet. Her heart, liver, kidneys…all in good shape. Obviously not a drinker or smoker and I couldn’t find any evidence of drugs either in her system at the time of death or past drug use. Her face was beaten quite badly as you know. Blunt force. Someone used their fists. We also found skin cells not her own under her nails, which would indicate she had time to fight back. An indentation on her forehead would seem to indicate that whoever killed her pointed the gun directly against her skin. Curious, since the shot was actually made at the back of the skull.’’

 
``Maybe the shooter changed his or her mind, decided looking into her eyes was too much? That would seem to indicate the killer had a conscience. Maybe someone who knew her if they were able to get so close to her?’’

 
Heinz considered the theory. ``Maybe, you might be right. In any event, the point of entry and the trajectory of the bullet in the brain would seem to indicate the killer must have been a good deal taller. Either that or the woman was on her knees and the killer was pointing down. And by the way, you’re a lucky man. We recovered the bullet.’’

 
The medical examiner took a plastic zip lock bag from his lab coat and placed it on his desk. The bag contained a single bullet, its tip a twisted bud resembling a flower made of molten metal.

 
``It’s a pretty basic bullet. We’ve had a hell of a time with Black Talons and such lately. Bloody things are a godawful mess, I can tell you. They fragment on impact, you see. The sharp and jagged edges mean we have to be extra careful when we remove them lest someone gets their finger sliced open. Hell of a lot of damage those buggers can inflict, too. No, this one was quite benign if you ignore the fact it still killed the poor woman.’’

 
Heinz smiled.
 

 
``So whoever shot her didn’t want to look at her face AND he or she didn’t want to cause a mess?’’

 
Heinz shrugged. ``It’s a theory. I wouldn’t want to speculate on what the killer was thinking. Beyond my pay grade.’’

 
``Where did you find the bullet?’’

 
``Here.’’ Heinz drew a line down his face. ``The left side of the jaw. The mental foramen to be exact. The point of entry was the right side of the skull behind the occipital bone.’’

 
``So the shooter was right handed?’’ Brant asked. Heinz shrugged.

 
``I’ll leave that to the forensics boffins.’’

 
``Time of death?’’

 
``The degree of putrefaction and insect activity indicates two days.’’

 
``Insect activity?’’ Clatterback’s eyes had narrowed in thought.

 
``We found maggots but no pupae. That would seem to indicate death took place between two and ten days ago. Combine that with the state of decay, and I’d say about forty-eight hours roughly. You must have seen the maggots.’’

 
``We did,’’ Brant said, his gag reflex kicking into gear at the memory.

 
``What about location? There was an absence of blood.’’

 
``That’s a good indication that she was killed elsewhere and the body moved. The maggots were indicative of an urban environment. Forensics also found some metal shavings. Maybe a factory floor? But the location where the body was found was highly contaminated. I wouldn’t draw too many conclusions from that.’’

 
``Can we narrow the location?’’

 
``We can try,’’ Heinz said. ``Forensics also found mouse dander and hair on the skin.’’

 
``Dander?’’ Brant asked.

 
``Shit. Mouse shit.’’
 

 
Brant frowned in thought as he and Clatterback rose to leave.

 
Heinz continued: ``I’m not sure if this is relevant to your investigation, but you do know that she had had a child?’’

 
``Ah, no, that’s a new one on me.’’ Brant resumed his seat.
 

 
Heinz nodded his head. ``We checked to see if she’d been raped or had engaged recently in sexual activity. No body fluids down there that weren’t supposed to be there and no recent tears. No pubic hair that wasn’t her own and no fibers. She wasn’t raped.’’

 
``But she’d had a child?’’

 
Heinz nodded again. ``Scarring from an episiotomy. I’d say by the looks of the trauma that it wasn’t…err…an easy birth. Not by a long shot. Probably quite traumatic. And there were some other signs that pretty clearly indicated she’d had a child. I don’t know if it matters but there you are.’’

 
Brant considered Heinz’s findings.
 

 
``Any chance you can tell me when she gave birth?’’

 
Heinz shrugged. ``The scarring was mostly healed but not completely. As I said, it was quite traumatic. It’s possible she’d had the baby within the past year. I’m afraid I can’t be more precise.’’

 
Brant nodded, filing the information for possible use in the future. As the medical examiner had said, perhaps the fact she’d given birth wasn’t relevant to the case. Then again, maybe it was.
 

``So what’s the next step?’’ Clatterback asked when they were seated in Brant’s three-year-old Hyundai Elantra.

 
The day was bright. Cooler than before and slightly less humid. The sky was blue and fresh, washing the buildings around them with light.

 
``What did you get out of that?’’

 
Clatterback shrugged. ``Just what he said. Was there something I was supposed to get?’’

 
The younger detective made air quotes with his fingers, emphasizing the last word.
 

 
``You really are a newbie, aren’t you?’’

 
Clatterback folded his arms defensively, his droopy smile replaced by a sheepish frown.

``Get to know the good doctor. He may seem like a prick, but he’ll be your best friend.’’

 
``I’ll keep that in mind.’’

 
Brant indicated and pulled the Hyundai out of its parking space and into the flow of traffic on Albany Street.

 
``I’m talking about the angle of the bullet and the type of bullet,’’ Brant said finally. ``The killer knew that woman.’’