“From what I could read, most people—and only thirteen percent of female suicides are by hanging—jump off a chair.”
“A chair was found lying on its side beneath the body,” Dallas remembered from the files.
“True. But hanging yourself is a lot more difficult than you’d imagine. Because you need a drop of at least six feet, preferably more, most people actually end up slowly choking to death. Except in judicial hangings—when a state executes a prisoner—the neck is rarely broken.”
“And Lieutenant Murphy’s was?” Julianne asked.
“Snapped like a twig. Also hanging, whether done with a rope, an electrical cord, or a belt, which is what she supposedly used, invariably leaves an inverted-V bruise.”
Dallas leaned forward, studying the marks on the dead pilot’s neck more closely. “That’s a straight line.”
“Exactly.” The doctor nodded. “Ligature strangulation leaves a straight-line bruise.”
“Which would indicate homicide,” Julianne said.
“It does to me. The lieutenant was not a weak woman. She worked out as if it were her second religion. And from what I’ve heard, not a soul who knew her would ever call her timid. She would have fought her killer, fought hard, which also explains the additional bruising.
“But, once again stating for the record that I’m not a certified coroner, if you look here”—he pointed a gloved hand at the base of the dead pilot’s neck again—“this U-shaped bone is the hyoid, which is not usually fractured in a suicidal hanging. Also, I found macroscopic bleeding of the laryngeal muscles, which seldom occurs in suicide.”
“You said she was found hanging with a belt around her neck?” Dallas asked.
“That’s right. Although they loosened the belt while cutting her down, it was still there when I arrived on the scene.”
“How wide are uniform belts?”
“One and one-quarter inch for males. One inch for females. As an officer, her belt had a gold clip worn to the right.”
“Could the metal clip have broken that bone?” Julianne asked.
“I suppose anything is possible. Obviously you’d know more if you had an actual autopsy.”
“Which we’ll arrange for once the ship arrives back in San Diego,” Julianne decided.
“While I’ve no idea the extent of your authority—though, given that you work directly for the president, I assume it’s close to unlimited,” the doctor said, not seeming at all as irked by the idea as everyone else they’d talked with thus far. “I will warn you that her husband, who’ll be receiving her body when the ship arrives home in San Diego, stated unequivocally that he’s not signing off on any autopsy.”
“Interesting,” Julianne murmured. “You’d think he’d want to know exactly how his wife died.”
“He’s accepting that it was a suicide. Says the last few times she’s e-mailed him, she sounded depressed. And apparently his religion doesn’t allow autopsies. He also says it’s against his moral principles.”
“That’s not his decision to make, if it’s ruled a suspicious death,” Julianne pointed out.
“If a regulation belt is an inch wide, then why is that bruise so narrow?” Dallas asked.
“My guess is a wire or cord was used. There’s something else, which may or may not have had anything to do with her death. Her blood test showed an elevated level of hCG. Human chorionic gonadotropin.”
“Which means?” Juls asked.
“The LT was pregnant.”
33
“How far along?” Julianne asked.
“Without more invasive tests, which I haven’t been given permission by anyone—in the military or the family—to do, I’d say approximately four months.”
“And the tour’s been ten months?”
“Yes. We were supposed to be out for six, but got extended as part of the surge.”
“So obviously the husband’s not the father. Unless they hooked up during a shore leave,” Dallas mused.
“They could have,” the medical officer allowed.
“We’ll have to check his records more thoroughly,” Julianne said. “Look to see if he took time away from the sandbox.”
“Roger that,” Dallas agreed.
“Did the LT come to you? Maybe for advice about abortion—”
The doctor had been helpful, even pleasant, thus far. But his back stiffened at that suggestion. “Given that I’m sure every female sailor on the
O’Halloran
knows abortions are not a shipboard medical benefit, the topic didn’t come up.”
“I don’t think Agent Decatur was suggesting you would perform an abortion aboard the ship,” Dallas said mildly. “It would just be helpful to know how she felt about the pregnancy.”
“I wouldn’t know. Her roommate would be more likely to know details like that. I mean, women talk to each other about personal stuff, right?” Roberts asked Julianne.
“Some women. About some things.” Although slightly annoyed at his lumping all females together, Julianne had certainly experienced worse chauvinism in her years in the Navy. “My sister’s pregnant. She still gets morning sickness from time to time. And not just in the morning.”
“That’s common. Especially on an empty stomach.”
“So she assures me. Did the LT ever ask for something for nausea?”
“No. But again, she may have avoided the topic to keep from risking getting grounded. The more missions she flew, the better her record. But she might have gotten some OTC meds from the ship’s store.”
“We’ll check.” Julianne figured they’d more easily find a single pearl in a single oyster in the sea surrounding the carrier.
She moved on. “You said you heard things about the LT? What sort of things?”
“Mostly the usual shipboard gossip that had already begun buzzing about her altercation with the LSO on the flight deck. Naturally her subsequent death, and now his going missing, has increased the buzz.”
“I’d imagine so,” Dallas said. “There are a lot of ladders to go up and down every day.”
“That’s putting it mildly. One of the major complaints I get is sore backs and knees. Especially knees—new sailors tend not to immediately learn how to avoid hitting them on the step above when they’re climbing.”
“So I’ve discovered. How far is it from the flight deck to the water?”
“Every carrier’s a little different. On this boat, it’s sixty-three feet.”
“Hard to survive a drop like that, even into water,” Dallas observed.
“True. Which is why they always use lowered elevators for swim call.”
“Swim call?”
“Another thing the captain does to break up the monotony,” the doctor said. “I know enough about bodily injuries not to try it myself, but I was on one of the watch-out boats for the last one we did.”
“They deploy boats around the swim perimeter in case a swimmer needs help,” Julianne explained.
“And to shoot any sharks that approach,” Roberts added.
“Shark and awe,” Dallas murmured.
“It’s a good break from the routine,” the doctor said. “But even from the elevator, it’s about thirty feet, which is quite a major jump. And the thing was, everyone gave LSO Manning a hard time because, when his turn came, he almost couldn’t do it.”
“In the daytime?”
“Of course. No way would any captain allow a swim call at night. Anyway, it turned out he had a fear of heights.”
“What?” Julianne asked as the doctor paused.
“I don’t know if I should share this.” He was decidedly uncomfortable. “It’s a matter of doctor-patient confidentiality.”
“Your patient has been missing for how long?” Dallas asked.
“Several hours. Probably since sometime last night.”
“Then if they find him he’s probably not going to be in a position to object. So, what just crossed your mind?”
“You’re very observant.”
“You get that way when you’re undercover and bad guys want to kill you.”
“I imagine that would be the case,” Roberts agreed. “So.” He exhaled a breath. “Manning later told me that he’d never experienced a fear of heights while working on the flight deck. But for some reason, being alone on that elevator over the sea just suddenly triggered it.”
“And that would’ve been when?” Julianne asked.
“Two weeks ago.”
“So, it’s unlikely he would’ve taken a midnight stroll along the deck close to the waterline.”
“Very unlikely,” the doctor agreed. “The deck’s a dangerous place on a good day. We’ve been having a series of storms come through. Including a nasty one last night.”
“Which makes it even more out of character. So,” Juls said, returning the subject to a dropped thread, “you mentioned talk about Manning and Murphy. About mostly being the expected buzz about their public altercation. I’m interested in why you said ‘mostly.’ Was there more?”
“Not anything I could swear to be the truth.” He rubbed his hand over his short-cropped hair, obviously uncomfortable with the turn the questioning had taken.
Julianne, whom Dallas knew to be one helluva interrogator, kept her mouth shut, waiting for the doctor to fill the silence that was beginning to draw out.
“All right,” he admitted finally. “Since you’ll undoubtedly hear it from someone else, there were rumors—and I have no way of knowing if they were true—that the pair were lovers.”
Dallas and Julianne exchanged a look.
“Do you remember who told you that?” Julianne inquired.
“Honestly, I don’t know. Maybe one of the medics?”
Roberts considered. Rubbed his jaw. “I think that was it. I believe I heard it at our morning prepatient meeting. But I’m sorry, it’s all been so crazy, I can’t remember who, exactly, brought it up. But no one seemed surprised, so I suppose there’s a chance that it was true. You’re dealing with a lot of people away from home for a very long time, at the age when their hormones are certainly running the highest.”
Julianne could feel Dallas glance over at her. After their encounter last night, there was no way she was going to risk looking at him during a discussion of rampant hormones.
“If it was true, and they continued their argument in her quarters, and he killed her, it’s possible that he jumped out of guilt,” Dallas mused.
“Or to prevent going through a court-martial,” Julianne said.
And wow, couldn’t he identify with that?
“We’ll need to talk to your staff,” Julianne instructed the doctor.
“Of course. Do you want them gathered in a group? Or would you rather take them one at a time?”
“One at a time,” Julianne and Dallas said at the same time. Better to prevent them from coordinating their stories.
“Fine. Can you give me an hour or so to rearrange the schedule?”
“Sure. Since the COD took off without us, we’re not going anywhere unless we decide to try swimming back to Pearl,” Juls said. “Meanwhile, we’ll see what Murphy’s roommate has to say.”
They were at the door when the doctor called out, “One more thing just occurred to me.”
“What’s that?” Julianne asked.
“You should probably talk with the boat’s psychologist. Lieutenant Commander Annette Stewart. It’s possible either the LT or the LSO, or perhaps both, talked with her.”
“Good idea,” Julianne said. “Thanks.”
“He seems like an upright guy,” Dallas said, as they headed back through the labyrinth of hallways toward the medical wing.
“Seems like,” Julianne agreed.
“But does it seem kinda strange to you that he wouldn’t have brought up the shrink right away?”
“We started out discussing cause of death.”
“True. But once you got into the fear of heights, and the pregnancy, and all that messy emotional stuff, it seems he would’ve wanted to pass you off to her.”
“Maybe he was just trying to be helpful. Or maybe it didn’t immediately occur to him. As he said, it’s not as if murder is an everyday occurrence on board.”
“So we’re agreed the LT didn’t off herself?”
“I wouldn’t be willing to bet my career on it. But yeah, I think we’re talking a homicide here.”
“Which, although I hate to agree with those guys who had the bad manners to tail us, sounds more like NCIS territory.”
“Yeah. It does. Unless there’s something else. Something we haven’t been told.”
“What do you think that is?”
“I’ve no idea.”
Dallas liked the way determination had her sticking out her jaw. “You know,” he leaned close to her ear, speaking loud enough for her to hear over the roar of jets and the rumble of the engines, “anyone ever tell you that you’re damn sexy when you’ve got a stubborn on?”
“That was an inappropriate remark,” she said as she continued down the narrow passageway in a long, purposeful stride.
“Probably. But that doesn’t stop me from wanting to push you up against that metal wall and give you a long, deep, wet kiss.”
“You wouldn’t.”
She shot him a sidelong glance. Although she was doing her best to hide it, he had her nervous. Since Dallas suspected there were very few things that could make the former JAG officer nervous, he decided he liked being one of them.
“No,” he admitted. “But only because when I do kiss you senseless, which I have every intention of doing ... and a lot more ... I don’t want it ending up on YouTube.”
That stopped her. Splaying her hands on her hips, she tilted her head back and looked up at him. “What are you talking about?”
“The cameras.”
“What cameras?”
“The video ones we keep walking beneath.”
“Damn.” He gave her props for not glancing up. “You’re not making that up, are you?”
“I’ve never lied to you, Juls. No reason to begin now.”
“If there are cameras, there are tapes.”
“More likely digital video.”
“Whatever.” She brushed away his correction with an impatient flick of her wrist. “We need to see them.”
“Might help,” he agreed.
“You don’t sound all that positive.”
“I’m not a cop. Hell, I’m not even a JAG investigator. But I have watched a lot of movies and read a lot of thrillers. So, even if they don’t record over the previous day’s video, if you were the bad guy, wouldn’t you want to make any incriminating evidence go away?”