Evidence of Murder (22 page)

Leo materialized at her elbow. “What did you stink up the lab for? Are you doing a gastric? Who do we have where time of death is in question?”

While toxicology examined gastrics for undigested drugs or drug capsules, the trace evidence department usually looked at gastrics with only one purpose in mind—establishing time of death. Bodily processes more or less stopped when a person died.

Leo got a look on his face that she guessed had nothing to do with the smell. “Tell me this isn’t Jillian Perry.”

“I did Jacob Wheeler too,” she informed him, hoping to sound virtuous. “The fifteen-year-old?”

He paused. Nothing brought pressure on the office like a child murder, and the press, when they hadn’t been expounding serial killer theories, had been demanding to know who had killed one of the city’s youth in his own backyard. “Find anything?”

“Tortilla chips and pickles. Consistent with what his mother said he snacked on when he came home from school. He probably died shortly after leaving the house.”

“And now you’re working on—?”

“Uh—can you take a look at this red thing? What do you think it is?”

Normally, asking Leo’s opinion stroked his ego enough to deflect any criticism. Not now. “We have to talk about Jillian Perry, Theresa.”

“Okay. But can you take a look first? I always have a hard time with gastrics. Everything looks like it could be anything to me.”

He couldn’t resist this, and she really did need the help. After a two-minute consultation they decided that the dark green flecks were pepper, the light green fleshy bits were apple, and one piece of brown matter could be hamburger. The red skin could be a number of things.

“Okay,” Leo said after Theresa had washed the contents of the strainer down the sink and flushed the sink well to dispose of any remaining odorous substances. “Now let’s have a chat about Jillian Perry. Or actually, let’s not bother. The M.E. wants to see you.”

“Stone?”

“We have only one M.E., Theresa.”

“When does he want—”

“Now.”

This was out of the ordinary, to say the least. Stone had long been an expert in delegation, and appeared in the trace evidence lab only once or twice a year. He had spoken to Theresa privately to tell her she had been hired, and that, ten years previously, had been their last one-on-one chat. Her heart began to thud against her rib cage, gently but persistently. “Why?”

“You might as well ask him that since you’ll be in his office in thirty seconds. Won’t you?”

“But—”

“Now.”

“Not even a hint?”

“I told you. Jillian Perry. Now go.”

She stopped in the ladies’ room to check her hair and the crevices between her teeth, and traveled the one flight of stairs down to the second floor. Carefully, as if any misstep could result in the breaking of bones.

The M.E.’s secretary showed her in without the slightest trace of sympathy, but there had long been lingering resentments between the trace lab and the administrative staff. The secretaries had been instructed to treat the doctors like demigods, and chafed at the scientists’ easy familiarity with same. So this didn’t mean her head had been placed on the chopping block. But it didn’t mean it hadn’t.

Elliot Stone waved her to a seat. He seemed much friendlier than his secretary, though this also meant nothing. The office upholstery smelled faintly of leather. The shelves around her held a few books and many pictures of the man behind the desk with other people, the memorabilia of rubbed elbows. Stone excelled at rubbing elbows.

Like now. Evan Kovacic and a young man in a sharp suit occupied the two other chairs.

Evan nodded at her. “Mrs. MacLean.”

To his credit, Stone could be succinct when he wanted and apparently he wanted. “We have a problem. Mr. Kovacic is planning to file a lawsuit against this office for abuse of authority. He intends to name you as the agent.”

Her lower jaw slackened. “What?”

Evan’s attorney grinned like a lion upon spotting a legless gazelle. Evan didn’t grin, but he had the same sheen to his eyes.

The M.E. held up a stack of legal-size papers. There must have been twenty sheets, stapled together. Why were attorneys always so long winded? “I have the complaint here. He says you advised another man to sue for custody of not only his wife’s body, but their baby daughter? Mrs. MacLean—Theresa—I hope you have a good explanation for this”

“It’s completely untrue, Yo—” She almost said
Your Honor
from force of habit. “Dr. Stone. Drew Fleming came here and asked me about Jillian’s case. I never told him to sue for custody of the body, and frankly, it’s downstairs waiting to be picked up as we speak.”

Stone continued the interrogation, and Evan’s attorney seemed content to let him. Why not? The job of decimating her career was getting done regardless. “Apparently this other man is not a family member or legal kin. And you discussed the victim’s case with him?”

“No, of course not. I asked for information about the deceased. I didn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know.”

Stone did not appear convinced. He fixed her with a look so shrewd that for the first time she did not wonder how he had risen to the position in which he now found himself. She went on, “Drew is suing to be awarded guardianship of the man’s stepdaughter, but that has nothing to do with me. I certainly never advised him to do so.”

Technically
. She swallowed hard, ducking her head to keep the motion from the men present.

“So you admit Drew Fleming would be a completely unfit parent?” the attorney asked.

“I wouldn’t have any idea what kind of parent Drew Fleming would be. All I know is that it is not my decision.”

“That hasn’t stopped you from interfering so far,” Evan said. He had not glanced away from her since the moment she’d entered the office.

The best defense is a good offense. “I’m surprised you aren’t more curious about your wife’s death. I would think you’d want me to do my job.”

“Trying to get the court to take my stepdaughter away? Questioning my friends and business associates about me? That’s your job?”

“Yes.”

That brought all three men up short, but only for a moment. Then the lawyer said, “Dr. Stone, I’m afraid we’ll have no choice but to go through with this lawsuit if Ms. MacLean persists in interfering in Mr. Kovacic’s domestic situation—”

“There will be no further interference,” the M.E. assured the man.

“I never interfered in the first place!” Theresa protested.

“She thinks Mr. Kovacic is guilty of something. What that could be, I don’t know, since his wife clearly committed suicide.”

Theresa said, “There’s nothing clear about it. And as a matter of fact, it’s a good thing her body was not immediately released, because we found more evidence this morning.”

Evan’s attorney ignored her, continuing to pour out subtle and not-so-subtle threats to the medical examiner, but Evan himself lowered his head and his skin flushed, as if he were morphing into one of the undead soldiers of Polizei’s nether regions. “What evidence?”

“Bruises on her arms.”

The lawyer said, “So you think she was murdered by that serial killer?”

She ignored him and spoke to Evan. “Do you have any idea how they might have gotten there?”

He responded with only a muscle flexing at the back of his jaw.

“Did Jillian have any trouble sleeping?” she persisted.

The lawyer switched tacks once again. “Apparently Mrs. MacLean makes a habit of this behavior. Aren’t you currently under investigation for harassing a defense witness?”

“No.” A reprimand from a judge did not constitute an investigation. “What about Griffin Investments?”

Evan turned away to stare out the window. But winter days in Cleveland often grew so dark that the window became a mirror, and she watched his nostrils flare with a sharp intake of breath.

“Dr. Stone, do you tolerate unlawful acts from all your employees?”

Stone, she figured, would happily toss her into the arena if it would get the lawyer out of his office, but not if the smear might extend to him. “Investigating a death is hardly unlawful. To the contrary, it is the very act we are compelled, by law, to do. Mrs. Kovacic’s case will be closed very soon and the body is ready for release right now. I don’t know what to say about your custody troubles, but they cannot be helped or hurt by anyone in this office. Good day, gentlemen.”

The attorney left with the smug look his type used to make everything appear to be a victory, and Evan followed with a heavy tread. Stone had nothing to say to her, so Theresa left as well. Reaching the door at the end of Stone’s large office, however, Evan turned and lowered his head to hers, too far from either Stone or his lawyer to be overheard.

“I don’t know where you’re going, but you’re not going to get there. Jillian killed herself and you can’t prove otherwise.”

“How would you know?”

If she had any remaining doubts about his guilt, he now dispelled them by the way he did not answer this question—couldn’t, without confessing that he knew every detail of Jillian’s death. That and the venom in his voice as he blotted out the crowded, busy office around them with his body and spat out, “I warned you—”

Sweat pricked through her skin, and her heart threatened to pound itself into pulp. She locked her knees and pushed her heels into the floor, refusing to let weakness get a toehold. “Yeah, I know, a pissing contest and I should bring an umbrella. Well, let me tell you something, Mr. Kovacic. You might want to invest in one yourself, because I’m about to rain on your parade.”

Jerry Graham answered his phone on the second ring, his voice impatient and distracted. After she identified herself he grew less distracted but no less impatient. “I’m really not interested in speaking with you, Mrs. MacLean. Evan has been my friend for many years.”

“I have no interest in paining Mr. Kovacic. I’m simply trying to find out what happened to Jillian, and why.”

“We’ll probably never know why.”

“That may be true. Anyway, I didn’t want to ask you anything about Evan at all. I just need to know what Jillian had for breakfast Monday morning.”

“What?”

“We’re trying to narrow down time of death. Once we have that, then I’m sure we’ll be ready to issue the certificate.” This being, more or less, a blatant lie, but it sounded reasonable enough. Jerry Graham had spoken as if he hadn’t actually
seen
Jillian on Monday morning, and Theresa needed to confirm that.

“Breakfast?”

“It has to do with gastric contents, which is, well, I’m sure you don’t really want to hear about that—”

“No.”

“But I had the impression that Jillian had been eating breakfast when you and Evan left for your meeting on Monday morning. Do you remember what she was eating?”

“No, I—I don’t know. I didn’t see.”

She would have liked to see the expression on Jerry Graham’s face as he evaded her questions, but didn’t dare set foot on the Kovacic grounds again. Did he simply not notice the breakfast table, was he lying, or was he simply grossed out by the thought of someone looking at the contents of Jillian’s stomach? “What was on the table? Do you remember that?”

“I never went inside. I knocked on the door and Evan came out. We were cutting it a little close and had to get going.”

“Oh. You didn’t step inside the apartment?”

“No. I was juggling a couple of files I wanted to review on the way downtown. I don’t think I even glanced up. If I did, I don’t remember.”

“Did Jillian say anything to you? Call good-bye, or anything?”

“No. I don’t know if she knew I was there, or maybe she was in the bedroom or something.”

So he hadn’t seen Jillian. “Did you hear her say good-bye to Evan? What did she say?”

“I don’t know. He shouted, ‘Bye, Jilly,’ or something like that before he shut the door, but I don’t know what she said. We needed to hurry.”

“Did you hear anything from Jillian at all? Even if you couldn’t understand the words?”

His speech had gradually slowed, and now it stopped entirely. She pressed the receiver to her head firmly enough to cut off the supply of blood to her ear, trying to interpret his silence. Did he stop talking to rack his brain, to reconstruct every detail of that morning? Or was he examining every answer to determine if it might harm Evan?

Or had he begun to have some very uncomfortable suspicions about his best friend? A million tiny details might be suddenly falling into place in Jerry Graham’s mind, and she wished she could be privy to each one of them.

Or had Evan thought of each detail and worked every one out with his friend Graham, who now wondered if they had done so thoroughly enough? But if they had collaborated in Jillian’s death, these two very intelligent men, Jerry would know the right answers and repeat them without hesitation.

Ultimately, Jerry Graham hedged his bets, giving her the worst possible answer. “I don’t remember.”

“Do you remember the tone of her voice?”

“No, sorry. I might have heard her say something, I might not have. I just can’t be sure.”

A completely reasonable, and completely unprovable, statement. She added some follow-up, just to keep him from getting too nervous about their conversation. “Did Evan mention what
he
had for breakfast? Maybe they ate the same thing.”

“I doubt it—I mean, I doubt he mentioned it. We had a lot of other things to talk about, and he doesn’t eat breakfast half the time anyway.”

“Okay. Well, it was worth a try. Thanks for your time, Mr. Graham.”

She hung up. Leo dropped into Don’s desk chair across from her, letting the air escape his lungs as if he’d been on his feet all day and might collapse. “Well?”

“Jillian Perry never made it to Monday breakfast. I bet dinner on Sunday became her last meal.”

“I meant the meeting with Stone. Do you still have a job?”

“Far as I know. That’s how Evan got Jillian’s body to Edgewater without being seen—in the middle of a bitterly cold night when not even the drug dealers would have been risking frostbite. I can check opportunity off my list. He had it.”