trimmed.
Lew noticed, too. “What’s with the class act, Ray? Something wrong? Death in the family?”
“Jeez, Chief, didn’t Doc tell you? We’ve got ESPN coming in, we’ve got a hundred thousand dollar purse—lots of excitement.” Then he rolled his eyes in an expression of total frustration, “but now that damn George Zolonsky is late delivering our boats!”
six
It was two o’clock in the morning when Osborne and Lew climbed into the police cruiser to drive the short mile from the hospital and its tidy six-body morgue to the Roderick home. They had been lucky to find space for their victim. The Highway 51 accident had been bad: four dead.
They left Meredith in a drawer, her naked body resting on cold steel. Osborne had found it mystifying that her torso and extremities were nearly free of contusions. Even at that, the few random bruises he did find on her arms and legs appeared to be days older than the massive skull fracture that may have killed her.
“In my opinion,” Osborne had said, leaning over Meredith to study a mark just below her right knee, “these bruises on the arms and legs are perfectly normal, Lew. Like the ones we all get from everyday banging around.” He looked up to emphasize his point. Lew leaned against the wall in the brightly lit examining room, her arms crossed, her dark eyes intent on watching Osborne work.
He wasn’t having an easy time of it. Meredith’s body was that of a young woman in her prime, a woman who had been physically active, who ate a healthy diet, a woman who kept herself prepared for life, not death. A woman like his own daughters. It must have registered on his face as he withdrew the Shepherd’s hook explorer from the victim’s mouth.
“Are you bothered by the body?” asked Lew softly.
“Is it that obvious?” said Osborne, peering at her over the rims of his glasses. “I can’t help thinking this could be one of my own daughters.” Osborne sighed as he lay his instruments on the nearby metal tray and started to remove his gloves. “Do you ever feel this way?”
“Hah!” Lew pushed herself away from the wall. “More than you can imagine. I bailed that son of mine out so often, I tried so hard to tell him what he was doing to his life—when I see that same arrogant look on the faces of some of these young kids …”
“Really?” said Osborne. He struggled to remember what he knew about her son. “Amazing they survive, isn’t it? What’s he doing today?”
“Pushing up flowers in St. Mary’s cemetery,” said Lew with a tight little grin. “He was knifed in a bar fight, Doc. Bobby Fallon went up the river for that one. That’s the first I met your friend Ray—he dug Jamie’s grave.”
“Oh,” Osborne gave himself an internal kick in the shins. How did he always manage to make such terrible faux pas around this woman? Why did he always forget she hadn’t lived the same Loon Lake life he did? Why did he have to sound like such a middle-class jabone? He changed the subject as fast as he could.
“The only good news is the fillings were definitely yanked out after death. That I can tell from the angle of the scratches on the enamel and bruising on the interior of the mouth. She had to be unconscious or dead for someone to manage this. They might have used a drill, but I can’t be sure. But I will say, whoever it was took great care to get every iota of gold.”
“Just a fomality, Doc,” said Lew, “but would you say for certain that this was not an accidental death? Strictly on the basis of the missing fillings?”
“No. Not just that. I’m convinced this body did not travel far down the Prairie. That current is vicious. Throw in all the loose timber and branches and other debris pounding through there from the storm…,” his eyes scanned Meredith’s form one more time, “… the
entire
body should show serious contusions, not just the neck and the back of the head.”
Silent and thoughtful, they had both stood
Lew noticed, too. “What’s with the class act, Ray? Something wrong? Death in the family?”
“Jeez, Chief, didn’t Doc tell you? We’ve got ESPN coming in, we’ve got a hundred thousand dollar purse—lots of excitement.” Then he rolled his eyes in an expression of total frustration, “but now that damn George Zolonsky is late delivering our boats!”
six
It was two o’clock in the morning when Osborne and Lew climbed into the police cruiser to drive the short mile from the hospital and its tidy six-body morgue to the Roderick home. They had been lucky to find space for their victim. The Highway 51 accident had been bad: four dead.
They left Meredith in a drawer, her naked body resting on cold steel. Osborne had found it mystifying that her torso and extremities were nearly free of contusions. Even at that, the few random bruises he did find on her arms and legs appeared to be days older than the massive skull fracture that may have killed her.
“In my opinion,” Osborne had said, leaning over Meredith to study a mark just below her right knee, “these bruises on the arms and legs are perfectly normal, Lew. Like the ones we all get from everyday banging around.” He looked up to emphasize his point. Lew leaned against the wall in the brightly lit examining room, her arms crossed, her dark eyes intent on watching Osborne work.
He wasn’t having an easy time of it. Meredith’s body was that of a young woman in her prime, a woman who had been physically active, who ate a healthy diet, a woman who kept herself prepared for life, not death. A woman like his own daughters. It must have registered on his face as he withdrew the Shepherd’s hook explorer from the victim’s mouth.
“Are you bothered by the body?” asked Lew softly.
“Is it that obvious?” said Osborne, peering at her over the rims of his glasses. “I can’t help thinking this could be one of my own daughters.” Osborne sighed as he lay his instruments on the nearby metal tray and started to remove his gloves. “Do you ever feel this way?”
“Hah!” Lew pushed herself away from the wall. “More than you can imagine. I bailed that son of mine out so often, I tried so hard to tell him what he was doing to his life—when I see that same arrogant look on the faces of some of these young kids …”
“Really?” said Osborne. He struggled to remember what he knew about her son. “Amazing they survive, isn’t it? What’s he doing today?”
“Pushing up flowers in St. Mary’s cemetery,” said Lew with a tight little grin. “He was knifed in a bar fight, Doc. Bobby Fallon went up the river for that one. That’s the first I met your friend Ray—he dug Jamie’s grave.”
“Oh,” Osborne gave himself an internal kick in the shins. How did he always manage to make such terrible faux pas around this woman? Why did he always forget she hadn’t lived the same Loon Lake life he did? Why did he have to sound like such a middle-class jabone? He changed the subject as fast as he could.
“The only good news is the fillings were definitely yanked out after death. That I can tell from the angle of the scratches on the enamel and bruising on the interior of the mouth. She had to be unconscious or dead for someone to manage this. They might have used a drill, but I can’t be sure. But I will say, whoever it was took great care to get every iota of gold.”
“Just a fomality, Doc,” said Lew, “but would you say for certain that this was not an accidental death? Strictly on the basis of the missing fillings?”
“No. Not just that. I’m convinced this body did not travel far down the Prairie. That current is vicious. Throw in all the loose timber and branches and other debris pounding through there from the storm…,” his eyes scanned Meredith’s form one more time, “… the
entire
body should show serious contusions, not just the neck and the back of the head.”
Silent and thoughtful, they had both stood
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