Jack and I lived on the outskirts of Bloody Mary on Heresy Road. It was a two-mile stretch of gravel that ran parallel to the Potomac River and acres of forestland. The few houses that were on the road were secluded and mostly obscured from passersby. We didn’t get a lot of trick-or-treaters, and there were some days we didn’t get mail if there was too much rain or snow.
The good news was it was easy to spot unfamiliar vehicles on the road. The bad news was there were countless hiking trails and other ways to approach the house. We were fortunate that we had motion detectors, sensors, and cameras around the perimeter where the clearing and the trees met. But Malachi had proven on more than one occasion that security meant nothing to him.
My childhood home was at the opposite end of the road, recently purchased by a couple from Ohio who didn’t know the unhappy memories that rested inside those walls. It had been falling down when I’d owned it, due mostly to finances and disinterest. But the new couple had started renovations, and there’d been construction trucks up and down the street since the weather had turned nice.
I took a left out of the driveway, heading toward Cromwell Road. I at least remembered the street name. Cromwell was even farther from civilization than we were, and the only reason I was familiar with the area was because the heavily treed fields had been perfect for high school parties, illicit trysts, and the occasional drug deal for the last fifty years.
A cop would patrol the area from time to time, but it was so far out of the way and took them so long to get there that the kids had plenty of time to be warned by lookouts before the cops arrived, so it was kind of a losing battle.
Gravel crunched beneath my tires, and when I finally turned onto Cromwell the terrain changed to a one-lane dirt road. Someone had taken the time to mow the ditches so it wasn’t overgrown with weeds, and it was much easier to see the tire tracks that veered off toward the woods. I drove for a mile or so without seeing a house or any cars.
It was Sunday, which meant I was on my own today. The good thing about a booming business was that I’d been able to afford to hire employees. I had a receptionist who worked regular weekday hours and an assistant who worked with me during the week, and on the weekends only if there was a funeral. I also had two interns, but their schedules were built around their classes. Which meant I was stuck transporting a body by myself, dealing with mounds of paperwork, and an autopsy.
The dirt lane seemed to go on forever, and I was just thinking about calling Nash to ask for directions again when I saw a police cruiser coming toward me. I pulled as far to the side of the road as I could so they could pass, but it was going to be close unless I went into the ditch.
The cruiser pulled to a stop next to me and the window rolled down. Officer Kristi Chen pushed her Ray-Bans on top of her head and smiled, though it was more of a grimace.
“Hey, Doc,” she said. “Great way to spend a Sunday, huh? I’ve got to say that I’ve had my fill of bodies for the week. And that’s something considering I came here from Atlanta.”
Now that I thought about it, it had been a pretty eventful week. Rosalyn McGowen and Carl Planter had both been murdered in their own homes. Rosalyn’s remains were some of the worst I’d ever seen, and I’d spent some time at the Body Farm studying various levels of decomposition from different elements.
Rosalyn had been eaten by her cats, so she’d been cremated, but Carl was still in my walk-in cooler, waiting for his final burial arrangements to be made.
“Now that you mention it,” I said. “It has been a red-letter week.” Then I stopped to look at her more closely. I could see she was pale and there were dark circles under her eyes. “You feeling okay? Maybe you need to take a sick day.”
“I had a rough night,” she said. And then a dimple flashed as she smiled, and she waggled her eyebrows. “But he was worth it.”
I coughed out a laugh, completely taken off guard. Chen was one of Jack’s newest recruits, and she was sometimes hard to read. She was one of the few who had big city experience, and I couldn’t imagine it was easy being an Asian-American woman in King George County, and holding a position of authority at that. This wasn’t a part of the country that was exactly progressive in its thinking.
I didn’t think she’d been here long enough to feel out the dating pool, as limited as it was, but apparently, I was wrong. But my interest was piqued. I hadn’t heard any rumors about Chen being involved with anyone. Either I was way out of the loop, or she was doing a great job keeping her mystery lover a secret. Cops were terrible at keeping secrets, especially if there were two of them involved in anything. I’d find out who it was eventually.
“I’m heading to the scene,” I told her. “Where’s the turn-in?”
“About half a mile up on your right,” Chen said. “It’s the only house on that side of the street. Husband’s a veteran firefighter, so there’s been a lot of traffic in and out.”
I sighed. Traffic was never good. “Lovely.”
“Pretty much Nash’s feelings too. I guess it gave the husband quite a shock to come home from shift and find her like that, but he called his station chief before he called 911. There were firemen here before paramedics or cops could assess the scene.”
It wasn’t what Chen was saying so much as how she was saying it. Being a first responder was a hard job. There was a lot of day-to-day grief and pain that went along with it. But the elephant in the room was that there was a tension between cops and firefighters that was always simmering under the surface. They worked together when they had to, but for the most part they stuck to their own. And when the two worlds collided it could be explosive. And not in a good way.
“Who’s on scene?” I asked.
Chen snorted. “Better question is who isn’t on scene.”
I blew out a breath, already dreading the headache to come. “Well, I hope to God this is just an accidental death.”
“You and me both,” she said. “You just missed the sheriff. He came out and talked to Nash a few minutes and then said he was heading home to get some sleep.”
“It was a long night at the hospital,” I said, trying not to think about Jack. Which was stupid because I’d done nothing but think about Jack and the words he’d said since I walked out of the hospital the night before.
“Oh, right,” Chen said. “I heard about Carver. How’s he doing?”
“Still critical, and he’s still not breathing on his own, but he made it through the first surgery.”
“I’m sure he’ll pull through,” she said, dropping her sunglasses back over her eyes. “I think you might be right about taking a sick day. I don’t have the patience to deal with the public today. Good to see you, Doc.”
I waved goodbye as she moved on, and then I drove the rest of the way until I came to the first turn-in. The trees became sparse and the area opened into a square plot of land with a long driveway and a simple, two-story white house with black shutters. The flowerbeds were neat and weeded, with a variation of colored blooms, and the hedges had all been evenly manicured. There were no toys or other things scattered in the yard or on the driveway. There was a dark blue sedan and a white pickup truck under the carport.
It looked like the solid, middle-class home of someone who worked hard and took care of what they earned.
There were two police units parked in the driveway along with two other pickup trucks and a Jeep. They were parked so I didn’t have a clear path to get the body out of the house, and I sighed in annoyance. I could see the tire tracks in the yard from where cop cars and the rest of the parade had driven in and out.
I pulled in close behind them, not caring that I was blocking the exit. It was going to be a long day, and the sooner I could get back to the funeral home the better.
Lieutenant John Nash was standing on the porch by the time I got out of the Suburban.
“Need any help?” he called out.
“I’ve got it,” I said. “Just let me get my bag. We can mess with the gurney later. I’m without interns today.”
“Yeah,” he said, sighing. “It’s always a pain in the ass when someone dies on a Sunday.”
Nash was somewhere in his mid-forties and graying at the temples. He was tall and lanky, broad through the shoulders and narrow through the hips, and he reminded me of a gentleman cowboy in his Wranglers, boots, and button-down shirt. He wore a shoulder holster and his badge was on a lanyard around his neck. All he was missing was a cowboy hat. He was almost as popular with the ladies as Jack had been before he’d taken himself off the market. Nash was twice divorced and hadn’t given up on finding the next Mrs. Nash. He was a hopeless tease and a ridiculous flirt.
I opened the back end of the Suburban and dressed quickly in my coveralls and then stuck my feet into a pair of utilitarian black galoshes that came up to my knees. I went ahead and put on my gloves and then slung my camera around my neck and grabbed my medical bag.
It was only the beginning of summer, but the sun was ruthless without cloud cover. I was careful not to step in the flowerbeds since they were so well tended and the flowers in full bloom.
“Nice house,” I said, coming up to shake Nash’s hand.
“Gives me the creeps,” he said. “Like one of those Stepford houses. No one is this clean.”
“Maybe you’re just a slob.”
“I don’t think so,” he said. “My mama taught me better than that. But there’s clean and then there’s clean if you know what I mean. Apparently, Mrs. Walsh was a perfectionist. Liked things around the house and yard just so. The husband said she had a routine. Followed it like clockwork. Certain days for cleaning and weeding and baking. She was a professional homemaker.”
“Good for her,” I said and meant it.
I was pretty much a disaster in the kitchen, and boiling water exceeded my skill level, so I was always impressed with people who seemed to have a knack for homemaking. Jack had the talent in the kitchen, but we had a housekeeper and someone to take care of the lawn. Otherwise we’d be living under a layer of dust and weeds.
“You’ve let your hair get long,” Nash said out of the blue. “I like it. You should wear it down more often. Shows off those sexy cheekbones.”
“I’ll remember that when I’m elbows deep in a body and my hair is dragging through entrails,” I said dryly.
Nash chuckled and opened the front door for me, and I stepped inside the Walshes’ home for the first time. Sterile was the first word that came to mind. In fact, it was so sterile that it was impossible for it to feel homey, despite the fact there were muted rugs and comfortable-looking furniture throughout. And Nash was right. It was creepy.
It was two stories and shotgun in style. The living room was at the front, the dining room in the middle, and I could see the kitchen at the back of the house. I could hear several low voices and figured that’s where the husband and friends were gathered.
There were stairs to the right side of the room, and on the wall were framed photographs. Each frame was exactly the same and placed precisely the same distance apart. Everything was so perfect I didn’t see how people actually lived here.
“It’s creepy, right?” Nash whispered.
“Definitely,” I said. “Husband in the kitchen?”
“Yeah, and halfway to being drunk. Chief Edwards and some of the other firefighters are in there too. He started with a shot of whiskey to calm his nerves and then they all started. Lewis and Martinez are watching them, trying to get any extra information about the wife, but at this point they’re probably just babysitting to make sure they don’t do anything stupid.”
Since it was barely ten thirty in the morning, I figured that was probably a good idea.
“Sorry about the mess,” Nash said as we made it up to the landing. “It took me a while to convince everyone to get the hell out of the bathroom.”
Things weren’t quite so perfect upstairs. The hall rugs were bunched and someone had left boot prints on the floor, and several of the pictures on the wall hung askew. There was a dent in the sheetrock next to the master bedroom.
“Things got a little heated up here when I told everyone to clear the area. Roy didn’t want to leave her, and then he just flew off the handle at one of the guys who tracked dirt on the floor. I thought he was going to throw the guy out the window. Things kind of escalated from there, but Jack showed up in time and talked some sense into everyone.”
“Yeah, he’s good at that,” I said.
Nash snorted. “Maybe effective is more of the right word. Threatening to lock people up for the night tends to get the point across.”
“Da…” I started to say but remembered my swear jar and that there was already a healthy amount of money in it. I’d made the decision to clean up my vocabulary a few weeks back. It was a personal choice, and not one any of the cops I worked with understood, but I was doing it for me and not them, so I didn’t really care.
I peeked over at Nash to see if he’d heard me and saw his lips twitch. “It doesn’t count if you don’t say the whole thing,” he said. “All I can say is I don’t know what side of the bed the sheriff woke up on this morning, but it wasn’t the good one. I’ve never seen him so mad.”
“We had a rough night at the hospital. We’re both working on little sleep and a lot of coffee.”
“He mentioned that. I saw the crash scene yesterday. Your friend is lucky to be alive.”
“Yeah,” I said, but I was distracted by the room.
The master bedroom hadn’t fared much better in the scuffle, but I could see the same underlying tidiness that the rest of the house had, even amid the sopping wet carpet and boot prints everywhere. Even the curtains had been pressed and the lace doilies that sat on the furniture had been starched. A cell phone sat plugged in on the nightstand table.
“Hey, Doc,” Riley said. He and Walters were standing guard outside the bathroom door. They were both in their early twenties and in uniform.
“Long time no see,” I said.
Riley snorted out a laugh, but Walters was clearly not amused. Everyone had put in a lot of hours the past week.
“Man, you missed a good one,” Riley said. “The sheriff was pissed. Told everyone if they didn’t get themselves under control and clear the scene, they could answer questions behind bars. I thought Chief Edwards was going to have an aneurism, but he got his guys under control and got them out.”
“I always miss the good stuff,” I said, moving past Riley and Walters so I could enter the bathroom.
“Not true,” Riley said. “I saw you punch Floyd Parker the other day. You’ve got a mean right hook. It was probably best you weren’t here.”
“You’re probably right.”
My boots squeaked as I stepped onto the wet tile. Most of the water had seeped into the carpet and walls, but there was still a fair amount standing on the floor with no place to go. I saw Mrs. Walsh crumpled next to the tub, but I didn’t immediately go to her. I liked to get a mental picture before I looked at the body.
It felt odd being without Jack. We’d developed an easy rhythm working scenes together, and I felt out of my element with Nash. Cops were nosy, and I didn’t want to feed the gossip machine if even a hint went out about our disagreement. All I could assume was Nash was the primary working the case, and Jack had no plans of becoming involved. Fine with me.
The bathroom was simple in design. Beige tile and walls, his and hers sinks with white marble counters and a built-in vanity. The bathroom was perfectly square with a shower in one corner and a big tub with jets in the other.
“Huh,” I said.
“What?” Nash asked.
“The tub seems out of place. Big and fancy with all those jets. Seems like a splurge. Everything else in the house is in good shape and in perfect order, but there’s nothing expensive. The furniture, appliances and electronics…everything is within their means. Except for that tub.”
“I can see it though,” Nash said. “Guy’s got a job that can put strain on the body. Maybe he likes to come home and soak his muscles after a rough shift.”
“Could be,” I said, moving toward the body and looking down into the empty gaze of Nina Walsh.
“Who moved her?” I asked.
Nina was lying face up and she was marble pale, her skin almost translucent so the blue of her veins could be seen beneath the skin. But the reddish marks told their own story. When a person died, the blood settled to the parts of the body that were touching the ground, and her skin was a dark red at her breasts and left arm and hip. The palm of her right hand and the left side of her face was also red.
I frowned at the color of her lividity. Normally the blood settled and turned a dark purple, but for whatever reason, Nina’s was still red. But you couldn’t say that something always happened the same way with the same results. There were too many factors in science and the human body, and the mixture of any outside element, like lying in water, could alter the results.
“The husband moved her when he came home from shift,” Nash said. “Saw her in here and freaked out. Thought she’d just passed out or something. Said he turned her over and started administering CPR.”
“Anything in her medical history that would explain this? Fainting spells or heart issues?”
“He said she was healthy as a horse. Never been sick at all that he knows of. How long do you think she’s been like this?”
I put my bag on the stool in front of the vanity to keep it from getting wet. “She can’t weigh a hundred pounds.”
I focused on the body. The body always told its own story. I took a complete set of pictures of her front side and then dug into my bag to grab the thermometer to take her temperature. Though I had a pretty good inclination as to what I’d find.
“She’s room temperature,” I said. I’d been able to move her easily. “Like you said, all signs of rigor are gone from the body. I’m assuming the water was running hot and that there would have been quite a bit of steam and condensation. Full rigor occurs about eight hours after death, but her size could have sped up the process by an hour or two. It usually stays in the body at least eighteen hours, but same goes. With her size and weight factored in, the heat from the water, and the steam, I can give you a range for time of death sometime between twenty and thirty hours. What time did the husband leave for shift?”
“Six thirty,” he said, raising his brows. “But I’ve got to tell you, Doc. I’m just not feeling it. It’s hard for a guy to fake that level of grief. When I got here, he was still holding on to her and sobbing like a baby. It was heartbreaking to watch. She’s got no visible marks other than the bump on her head, and he’s got no defensive wounds.”
“Maybe his time is wrong,” I said. “Maybe he left earlier.”
Nash snorted. “I don’t mean to judge…”
“That’s just what Gladys Pip says right before she’s about to lay into someone,” I said.
“But the Walshes would make Mussolini’s train schedule look like it was drawn by a kindergartner with a crayon. It took Roy Walsh about twenty minutes to run down his schedule, with precise times for everything from when he eats his oatmeal to when he takes a dump.”
“Fascinating,” I said, fluttering my eyelashes. “You’re such a charmer.”
“Takes one to know one, sugar. You’re the one dragging your hair through entrails to up your sex appeal.”
I snorted out a laugh. The nervousness I had for working with someone besides Jack began to ease. Those who weren’t around death like we were wouldn’t understand, but inappropriate jokes and gallows humor were pretty much SOP at any fatality. We had to process too, and laughter was usually the best way to keep from crying.
“Run down the schedule for me,” I said. “Maybe I can make a tighter estimation after I get her on the table.”
Nash flipped open the little spiral notebook he had in his shirt pocket and flipped it open, but I knew he didn’t need to look at it. Nash was sharp. Sharper than he let on most of the time, which was why he was so good getting information out of criminals. He remembered everything, and people who remembered everything were great at catching people who were lying.
“The vic is forty-four and has been married to Roy for almost four years. Before their marriage she worked as a paralegal for the county, but Roy said her passion was being a homemaker, so he told her to do what made her happy and stay at home. He works his twenty-four and then he and a couple of his shift mates own a moving company to fill the rest of their time.
“He said she lived and breathed this house, and sometimes he had to make her get out for dinner and be around other people. I guess she’s something of a recluse.”
“Well, who’d want to make that drive to town all the time? It’s got to take a good half hour. I’d be a recluse too.”
“You live ten minutes from here,” Nash said. “And you were kind of a recluse before you and Jack got married.”
“That’s because I didn’t have much business and I could only afford to eat at home.”
“Fair enough,” he said, shrugging. “Anyway, apparently living and breathing this house meant she got up at four thirty every morning, seven days a week.”
“Yikes,” I said.
“She’d make sure Roy’s uniform was crisply pressed and starched, and then she’d start his breakfast. Roy gets up a half hour later, showers, and then he comes down for breakfast before he dresses for the day. He likes to have oatmeal and wheat toast by the way.”
“I’m sure he’s very regular.”
“Indeed.
“The victim’s breakfast consisted of half a grapefruit with sugar. They both drink their coffee black.”
My knees were killing me, so I sat on the vanity stool.
“After breakfast, they brush their teeth and then he gets dressed and she makes the bed. He leaves for the station like clockwork at six thirty. It’s a twenty-six-minute drive. He gives himself an extra fifteen minutes if the weather is bad. You still with me, Doc?”
“No, I think I fell asleep. Do you know the husband?”
“Roy?” he asked, putting his notebook back in his shirt pocket. “I’ve seen him around the station a time or two, but I don’t know him on a personal level. Didn’t even know his name until the call came in and I recognized his face.”
“Rumor has it he called his chief after he realized she was dead instead of 911.”
“Rumor would be correct,” Nash said. “Roy said he was in shock and it was just habit to call the station. It’s not really a big deal. He was on duty and able to send the EMTs out immediately, and then he notified police.
“Edwards told me he kept Roy on the line because he was afraid Roy might do something rash. Apparently, he was just screaming incoherently. Edwards said Nina was Roy’s whole world, and he treated her like a queen. Kept her picture in his locker at the station and clipped to the visor in the fire truck.”
“They didn’t text or talk on the phone during his shift?”
“He said it was a busy one, so there wasn’t time.”
“Yeah, I guess it would have been,” I said, remembering the fire trucks and personnel who’d worked for hours to clear the scene after Carver’s accident. “Even so, twenty-four hours is a long time. And if she was his whole world, you’d think she’d at least warrant a ‘Hey, how’s it going?’”
Nash frowned. “Do you always look for the bad in people?” he asked.
I was taken a little off guard by the question but said, “You’re a cop. How can you not? In my experience, the only people who tell the truth are the ones laid out on my table. Everyone’s got secrets. No one’s life is perfect, even if it looks like it. Besides, we work it as a homicide until we prove it’s not.”
“Pretty cynical, Doc. I think you need to have more fun in your life. When was the last time you went to a movie or did something that has nothing to do with work?”
“I went on my honeymoon last month.”
“Yes, and ended up solving an eighty-year-old murder. What do you do for fun?”
“My work is fun,” I said primly.
Nash chuckled. “Doc, I just found my new mission in life. We’re going to find you a hobby.”
“Uh-huh,” I said. “That sounds like loads of fun. Maybe check with Emmy Lu to see if I have any openings in my calendar.”
I squatted back beside the victim and moved her head to the side, so the knot on her temple was visible, and then I took a quick photo.
“There’s nothing to indicate she was struck with anything. No debris in the wound. Just a tiny puncture mark with a little blood where she made impact.”
I looked closely at the faucet and then took a swab kit from my bag. The Q-tip was dipped in Phenolphthalein, and I swabbed the edges of the faucet. When I held the Q-tip up to the light there was the tiniest sliver of pink showing.
“That’s settles that,” I said, showing Nash the Q-tip. “For whatever reason, she lost consciousness and hit her head on the faucet when she fell. Livor mortis suggests she fell in a kind of crumpled position, and once she was down, she stayed down until she died.”
I tried to demonstrate by rolling onto my left side and pulling my left knee up slightly. I put my weight on my left side and made sure my chest was pressed down, and then placed my right hand palm down. All the points where lividity had set in.
“The discoloration on the left side of her face is consistent with the rest of her body,” I said, and then got back up to my knees. “Man, I’m not as young as I used to be.”
“You’re not going to use old age as an excuse. There are plenty of hobbies for women your age.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “What do you mean women my age?”
“You’re only as old as you feel,” he said. “How old are you feeling?”
“Yesterday I was feeling my age,” I said. “Today, I feel about ninety.”
“Yeah, those bags under your eyes remind me of my grandma.”
“You know, Nash, I’ve got a whole lot more room in my freezer.”
He held up his hands in surrender, but he was grinning. Nash had the kind of charm that was impossible to get too irritated with.
“Okay, okay. Back to business,” he said, and squatted down next to me. “If she was lying on the left side of her face as lividity shows, do you think it’s possible she drowned? The water would have to come up at least a couple of inches to reach her mouth and nose.”
“It’s possible,” I said. “It doesn’t take much. She could’ve just as easily died from cardiac arrest or some other undiagnosed medical issue. I’ll be able to say for sure once I open her up to see if there’s water in the lungs.”
I looked down at the familiar scar on her abdomen and traced it with my finger. “They have children?”
“Roy said she has a daughter from a previous marriage. First husband died of cancer, so the daughter’s her only other kin. Name’s Hailey Hartford. She’s a third-year law student at the University of Richmond. But Roy said they haven’t spoken in several years. Said the girl was rebellious, liked to party and drink. He said she resented it when her mother remarried, and as far as he knew there’s been no contact between them. He said he’d contact her and let her know.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’ve done everything I can do here. Let’s get her loaded up and back to my lab. I’ll have some answers for you by the end of the day.”
“No rush. I don’t plan on doing any paperwork until tomorrow. I’m supposed to be off today.”
“How’d you draw the short straw?”
“I heard about the problem with the stalker,” he said. “Seemed like a no-brainer. Besides, a little overtime never hurt anyone.”
I winced in sympathy. Malachi was stretching already stretched resources to the max. “Sorry about that,” I said.
“Not your fault,” he said, shrugging. “Like I always say, better to be safe than sorry. We’re all on rotation until the SOB can be caught. We’ll make it work. But I’m still not doing any paperwork until tomorrow. This seems like a case of bad luck all around to me.”
I called out to Riley and Walters in the bedroom. “Do you guys mind getting the gurney from the back of the Suburban?”
“You got it, Doc,” Riley said back.
I unfolded the body bag and unzipped it, and then Nash and I lifted Nina Walsh gently and placed her inside.
“Looks like I get to be your intern for the day,” Nash said.
“If you really wanted to be my intern you’d come help with the autopsy.”
“Been there, done that. Why don’t you put off the autopsy until tomorrow and we’ll go bowling? Maybe that can be your new hobby.”
“Jack and I each stole a pair of bowling shoes when we were teenagers. Mr. Hertz banned us for life.”
“You know I’m going to check out your story. I’m a detective.”
“It’s the truth, I swear,” I said, holding up two fingers. “I promise the autopsy will be fun. There’s nothing else to do today. I’ll let you make the Y-cut.”
“I’d rather do almost anything else.”
“Funny,” I said. “I can’t think of anything I’d rather do more.”
Nash laughed. “That’s messed up, Doc.”
He had no idea.