Murder by Magic Read online

  “What time’s the press conference?”

  She glanced at her watch. “Oh, shit. Like in twenty minutes. Thanks for the reminder.”

  “You finished it, right?”

  “More, or less.” She pushed past Derek, pulled out her chair and sat down. “I guess less. Give me a minute, and then I’ll call Dr. Greene.” She rummaged through the papers on her desk for the endless list of things to do.

  “Can you…go make sure there’s a transcription of the guard’s interview? I want to have a hard copy. Tell them it’s a rush.”

  “You got it.”

  Her phone rang, and as Derek walked away, she pulled the receiver to her ear. “Detective Sharpe.”

  “We got your tapes.”

  Tech. Great. “And?”

  “The guard’s story checks out. He walks around, wanders into the backyard, and then sits down under a tree, and looks like he falls asleep.”

  Dammit. She’d have liked it much better if the guard came running in the back door, wielding a knife. “Any feeds from inside the house?”

  “Yeah, about that. The outside cameras were all working fine, but the inside cameras went off about the time the guard seemed to fall asleep. Seems kind of strange.”

  “Yeah, we’ll need to look into that.”

  “You coming down to get a copy?”

  “Yeah, for sure. There’s a press conference, after that, maybe before the post.”

  “Well, we’re here when you need us.” The tech guy clicked off. She added that to her growing list of things to follow up on. The necessity of having a notebook was becoming clear; Derek wasn’t being overly cautious. This wasn’t the time to rely on her memory alone.

  “Sharpe.”

  She glanced up from her notebook, the pencil in her hand skittering across her desk. Reflexively, she grabbed for it. Michael Ross was standing at the corner of her desk. With absolute ease, he grabbed the pencil, as it rolled off the edge of the desk. He looked down at it for a minute, then set it back into the pencil cup.

  “Sir…thanks.”

  The hint of a smile hovered briefly around his lips, then resolved into something with a little less warmth.

  “How’s the press statement coming along?”

  She pushed her notebook aside, and pulled out the single piece of white paper she’d been fiddling with since the interview with the guard, and pushed it across the desk toward Ross.

  “Here…” More than anything, she wanted to pull the paper back, ask for more time. “Here’s what I have so far.”

  Ross picked up the paper, reading the few sentences she’d jotted down with an unreadable expression. It took him only a few moments, but it seemed like a small eternity.

  “Fine. I’ll just…” He lowered the sheet of paper, and gave her one of those looks she hated, the one that said there was more to that sentence, and that she probably didn’t want to hear what came after just.

  “I’ll just make some changes to this. And then I’ll give the statement. I think it’s probably better if this comes from me, rather than you. This is a high-profile case. You understand, I’m sure.”

  She didn’t understand, really, but he walked away from her desk, taking her press release with him. As she watched, he crumpled the paper into a ball, and tossed it into a garbage can. Her hands clenched convulsively. The snap of the pencil between her fingers made her jump. Her heart sank lower than she’d thought possible.

  * * *

  The rest of her day had been spent tracking down interview reports from the other detectives, following up with the officers who’d canvassed the neighborhood. Little surprise there: no one heard, or saw anything out of the ordinary. Almost everyone had been asleep.

  She’d let the guard go home—with the caveat that he remain available for further questioning. Then she’d called to get confirmation from Dr. Greene that no, Mrs. Lansing couldn’t claim the body until he’d finished the post.

  “I was just going to call you, Detective. If you’re interested in observing, I’ll be starting in about half an hour.”

  She certainly was interested. Grabbing her jacket and keys, she stood up, looking for her partner. He was at his desk, head down, as ever, writing something.

  He should be a novelist.

  “Derek, come on. Dr. Greene’s going to start the Lansing post.” She started toward the precinct door.

  He looked up, frowned, and then, not surprisingly, grabbed his notebook and stuffed it into his pocket.

  “I hate those, you know, really hate them.” Derek made his way across the room, meeting her at the door. “The smell. My girlfriend complains about it, that my clothes smell like death.”

  Derek held the door open for her, and Jessica walked through, and into the hall. The noise level rose, which did nothing for the headache that even a double dose of ibuprofen hadn’t touched. Ross hadn’t helped, and even though she disliked autopsies as much as Derek, she was looking forward to getting out of the chaos of the detective’s room. She was starting to feel paranoid, had the feeling that every move she made, and everything she did, was under scrutiny by every other detective.

  “You paying attention?”

  “What? Yeah. I mean…what?” They walked down the stairs single file, bumping shoulders with the crowd coming up.

  “I said did you get anything else back from forensics?”

  “Yeah. Too much. Lots of prints, lots of DNA, most of it from the security guards. Their prints were all on file with their company. And apparently, they touched a lot of stuff.” She threw Derek a look. “Prints were on almost every surface, including the decanters in the den.”

  Derek laughed. “Someone drinking on the job?”

  “Either that, or Lansing was very friendly with his security staff.”

  They made their way to the street, and Jessica led the way to her car. It had warmed up, but the air still had a chill to it.

  The drive to the city morgue went quickly. They’d missed rush hour traffic thankfully, and it didn’t take long before they were pulling up to the large gray building to meet Dr. Greene.

  The lobby of the crime lab was non-descript. She’d never liked it, but then again, she wasn’t sure it was designed to engender a feeling of warmth. The woman at the front desk looked up as they crossed. Jessica flashed her badge, Derek mimicking her gesture.

  “I’m Detective Sharpe. Dr. Greene’s doing a post. I’m to observe.”

  The woman pushed a form across the desk, and nodded. Jessica quickly filled in the blanks, then scrawled her name at the bottom, and pushed the paper back to the woman. In return, the woman handed them two visitor badges.

  “Do you know where you’re going?” The woman reached for a printed map, but Derek leaned over on the counter.

  “Yeah, I’ve been here before.”

  The map disappeared, and so did the form that Jessica had filled out. Derek took off down the hall, and Jessica followed.

  “What was your first autopsy like, Jessica? Did you pass out, or get sick?” Derek looked a little too interested in her answer.

  “Sorry to disappoint you, but this is my first.”

  “You’re kidding? Didn’t you go to the post on…” He snapped his fingers. “That case a couple months back?”

  She shook her head. “No. Fisher elbowed me aside.”

  “Well, then this is your lucky day. You’ll no longer be an autopsy virgin.”

  They’d reached the gray metal door that led to the autopsy suites. Derek reached for the handle, then stopped. “Seriously, you ready for this?”

  She looked up at him, an eyebrow cocked. “You do realize how often you ask me that, right?”

  “Yeah, I know. Sorry about that.”

  She released him from her gaze, and nodded to let him know, that yeah, she was ready.

  Derek opened the door, and they stepped inside. The hall was long, with doors spaced widely down its length. She’d never gotten past the first door, didn’t even want to know what w
as behind the doors further down the hall.

  Even here, the air held the scent of strong disinfectants, chemical smells, and what she knew, but tried to ignore—the smell of death. It hung in the air like a greasy film. Her stomach, which hadn’t been on speaking terms with her anyway, made a threatening gurgle. At this rate, between drinking stale coffee with too much sugar, and her stomach on strike, she’d probably drop another five pounds before she solved this case.

  “No floaters today.”

  “What?”

  Derek grimaced, or was smiling, she couldn’t tell. “When they find a body in the lake, the whole place smells like rotten fish.”

  “Thanks. I’ll remember that.” She walked away from him, and his fountain of knowledge about the morgue. “Let’s just get through this, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  She hit the buzzer beside the metal door marked Autopsy. The harsh sound grated on her nerves. A few moments later, the door buzzed, and she pushed inside. A woman, dressed head to foot in protective gear, waved. Jessica noticed her glove was covered in blood.

  “You can dress over there. Gowns, gloves, shoe covers. Masks, if you feel the need. We’re in Room B.”

  “Thanks.”

  Derek was already pulling on a yellow paper gown over his clothes, muttering to himself. “Like this is supposed to do any good.”

  She left him to his complaining, and pulled a gown off the shelf. Lockers ran across one side of the room, and she opened one, hanging up her jacket. As an afterthought, she pulled her cell phone and keys out of the pockets, stuffing them into her jeans. With a bit of a struggle, she managed to get the gown tied, got her boots covered with paper booties, and gloves on her hands. Because they were there, and she didn’t know what to expect, she grabbed a mask, feeling slightly ridiculous, as she tugged the elastic over her head. Derek hadn’t bothered.

  “Ready?”

  He nodded, and they pushed through the swinging doors into autopsy suite B. Dr. Greene was there, and from the looks of the body, he’d already started. As the doors closed behind her, he looked up.

  “Ah, Detectives. Sorry to start without you, but the room was available sooner than I anticipated. If you could identify yourselves for the recording, I would appreciate it.”

  “Detective Derek Carter.” Derek’s voice sounded strained.

  “Detective Jessica Sharpe.” Hers didn’t sound any less so.

  Mayor Lansing was laid out on the stainless-steel table, under the harsh overhead lights. Dr. Greene stepped away, murmuring something to his assistant. Jessica stood, transfixed by the sight of Lansing on the table. Dr. Greene had already washed the body and against the pale, slightly gray flesh, the wounds on the chest stood out in sharp relief. It was surreal, and for a moment, a wave of vertigo took hold of her. She wanted to take a deep breath, but the smell in the room was overpowering. Instead, she closed her eyes and counted to ten.

  Get a grip, Jessica. This is what you’re trained for.

  “Okay. If you’re ready?”

  Opening her eyes, she found Dr. Greene’s bright gaze pinned to her face. She straightened her shoulders, and nodded. She was ready. This was where she was supposed to be. This wasn’t supposed to be fun; but it was necessary.

  “I am. Do you have any preliminary idea about the weapon used?”

  From behind his mask, Dr. Greene smiled. Then he pointed to a row of cardboard trays on the counter behind him.

  “We made a mold from the wounds. Sarah, if you would.”

  The assistant brought over the trays, setting them beside the body. Dr. Greene picked up a long piece of…something…and held it in his hands.

  “This was the best of the lot. It’s the killing blow, without putting too fine a point on it.” His mask crinkled in what Jessica assumed was a smile. “The blade is at least 30 cm long, and at its widest 2.5 cm. Considering Lansing’s torso measured…do you have that, Sarah? Ah, yes. His torso was 27.3 cm at the sternum. The blade entered here…” He pointed with one gloved finger. Both she, and Derek, leaned forward.

  “This would account for the through-and-through.” With a slow and methodical gesture, Dr. Greene inserted the blade into the wound. Jessica swallowed hard, as the silicon image sank into the grayish flesh. Beside her, Derek made a strange little noise.

  “Oh, come, now. I haven’t even gotten to the good part yet.” Dr. Greene pushed the blade in as far as it would go. “Here, the table keeps it from going through, like it did at his home.”

  “CSI said the end of the blade went through the carpet, and into the floor underneath.” Someone had called her with that information, having torn up the carpet and removed the boards of the floor.

  “Exactly. Now…” He pulled the blade out of the body, set it aside, and picked up another. “If you’ll notice the blade itself.”

  “It’s wobbly.” Derek pointed. “Is that because he was struggling?”

  “But why is the other one straight?” Jessica picked up the first example. “Are we looking for two weapons?”

  “No. Only one. That…” He pointed to the cast she held. “…that was taken from the wound that went through. This…” He held up the cast in his hand. “The wobbly cast, as you call it, is a composite made from the shallower wounds, where the shape of the blade wasn’t distorted by the depth of the cut.”

  She shook her head. “Not quite following you.”

  “Here…” He took the cast back from her, holding one in each hand. “The thrust that went all the way through his body, obliterated the wavy edge on the lower end of the knife. Because of the wider end, near the hilt, it widened the wound as it entered. The shallow cuts all showed various lengths of the blade, and many showing the wave edge. Since we knew how long the blade was, based on the depth of the final blow, we could estimate what the blade looked like in its entirety.”

  “And how do you know it had a hilt?”

  “There’s bruising here…” Dr. Greene pointed with the tip of the cast. “Around the entrance. An almost perfect rectangular mark, with the cut at its center. There was too much blood at the scene for it to be visible.”

  “Did you get the toxicology screen?

  “I have.” Dr. Greene handed the casts to Sarah, and picked up a clipboard, flipping through the pages. “There was nothing in his system that would have rendered him incapacitated in any way.”

  “Nothing? No alcohol, sleeping pills?” She thought—almost hoped—there would be something, anything. Men didn’t just allow themselves to be stabbed repeatedly without putting up a fight.

  “Nothing whatsoever.”

  “So no sign of a struggle, but nothing that would have knocked him out? I don’t get it.” Derek sounded as confused as she felt.

  “I can’t answer that, I’m afraid.” Dr. Greene picked up a scalpel. “Now, if you’re ready, let’s get started.”

  Jessica would have rather been anywhere else in the world than watching Dr. Greene working on Lansing’s body. Maybe if she didn’t think of him as Jason Lansing, it wouldn’t be so bad. But she couldn’t separate the man who had a wife that adored him, the man who’d been on television, who’d been in the precinct on occasion, from the man lying in front of her. She swallowed back the urge to run, and focused on watching Dr. Greene, though she found herself turning away time and time again.

  Dr. Greene worked in silence for what felt like an eternity, carefully doing things she didn’t want to think about. When he stood up, she looked back at the table.

  “Here…you can see. The aorta was sliced cleanly through. He would have bled out very quickly.” Dr. Greene stopped, poking into the open body with his scalpel. “Strange…”

  Dr. Greene might have a morbid sense of humor, but autopsies weren’t funny to him.

  “What is it?”

  “There’s no blood in the chest cavity.” He moved an organ aside, and she grimaced at the sound. “Not a drop.”

  “I thought you said he bled out?”

  “I did,
and yes, he did. But I’d expect to find pooling in the chest cavity, or the abdominal area. Cadavers are basically vessels, holding onto whatever is inside of them. There was only one thrust that went through, essentially one hole in the vessel. And even though there was a massive amount of blood at the scene, I’d expect to find some inside him. But he’s dry as a bone. How very unusual.”

  Then were all silent for a moment before Derek turned to look at her. “So add that to the list of bizarre findings in this case, huh?”

  “Bizarre is not what I need right now.” She wanted a miracle, the killer to confess, and just end this madness, but she knew that wasn’t going to happen.

  “There’s nothing more we need here, is there?” She was already backing away from the table, a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Can I take the casts with me?”

  “Yes, there’s a set for you.” Dr. Greene’s brows furrowed together. “I’ll send you the full report when I’m finished.”

  But she was already pulling off her gloves and gown, tearing the thin yellow paper away from her. This case was going from bad to worse, and seeing the Mayor on the table did nothing to make her feel as though she was making any headway. The feeling she was behind the eight-ball on this entire case, gnawed at her.

  “You okay, Jess?” Derek caught up with her, as she grabbed her coat from the locker.

  “Yeah. No…I’m fine. Just frustrated. And standing here…in there…doesn’t feel like I’m making any progress in getting this under control.”

  They walked to the parking lot in silence; Jessica deep in thought. She thought about the clues, blade lengths, toxicology reports, and DNA matches, as if memorizing the details would somehow make them form a pattern, and help her solve this mystery.

  Chapter Five