Authors: Allison Brennan
After Kyle left, Lucy closed the door and locked it before going back to Vanessa’s body. Six years ago she couldn’t have imagined viewing a dead body much less touching one, but between the Sheriff’s Department and the morgue, Lucy had lost any squeamishness she might have had.
She hesitated before touching anything else in the room. She saw a pair of leather gloves on the dresser, which she remembered Vanessa had been wearing that morning. Lucy put them on, then inspected Vanessa’s body. Touching her skin, she realized that rigor wasn’t well developed. Lucy would guess from the facial muscles and thin, cloudy film over her eyes that Vanessa had been dead at least an hour, but because rigor was still limited to the outer extremities, she didn’t believe she’d been dead longer than three hours. If she had more training, she might be able to pinpoint time of death more closely. The sooner a body was discovered, the more accurately the time of death could be determined, but coroners had more tools at their disposal, as well as more experience.
Lucy glanced at her watch. 5:24
P.M
. Vanessa had died roughly between 2:30 and 4:30 in the afternoon. Lucy was confident that she’d been dead longer than an hour, but three hours was a guess, so she pushed her window to 1:30
P.M
. Patrick had been an e-crimes cop and never liked forensics, but he might have more insight.
Lucy studied her surroundings, imagining the likely scenario that had led to Vanessa’s death. Shower. Bathrobe. Pills. Lucy had a degree in criminal psychology, but had studied a variety of mental illnesses, including depression. Identifying a suicide was difficult, but there were reliable indicators. Lucy hadn’t seen any of the standard signs of depression in Vanessa Russell-Marsh, though many clinically depressed people didn’t show outward signs, especially if they were on meds. Vanessa had been the quietest at dinner, but introverts were uncomfortable in groups of strangers and, like Lucy and Patrick, the Marshes had arrived yesterday afternoon. Vanessa seemed to have had a quiet affection for her more extroverted husband, and had been polite if a bit standoffish.
Suicides sometimes made themselves attractive prior to killing themselves—showering, putting on makeup, dressing in their nicest clothes—so that their loved ones would see them at “their best.” The shower itself didn’t throw Lucy off—it was that Vanessa had showered but
not
dressed or made herself up.
Yet if it was an accident, why would she take sleeping pills in the middle of the day? Especially Seconal. It made no sense, and made it appear more like a suicide than an accident. Still, just because the bottle was there didn’t mean Vanessa had ingested the pills. The bottle was half-filled and closed. But if she hadn’t overdosed on sleeping pills, what had killed her?
Lucy continued her visual examination of the body. Vanessa’s fingernails and toes were painted dark red, and the polish appeared fresh—no chips. Lucy couldn’t remember if Vanessa had painted nails last night, or what color they were.
Her engagement ring was a huge marquise-cut diamond. Too ostentatious for Lucy, but it fit Vanessa and she could see Trevor giving it to her. Her wedding band, however, looked like an antique: a thin, unpolished gold band with seven tiny diamonds embedded in an intricate pattern. Though dwarfed by the engagement ring, Lucy thought it was the more interesting and attractive piece of jewelry.
What a waste, she thought. Vanessa was a beautiful woman, newly married to a man who appeared to adore her, and she was dead.
Always look from the inside out. Husbands, boyfriends, exes—nine times out of ten, when a woman is found murdered, it’s someone she knows
.
Lucy frowned. Murder was a far cry from an accident or suicide. But the idea stuck in Lucy’s head that Vanessa hadn’t died naturally or by her own hand. Lucy looked at the scene like a cop.
“It could be natural causes. She could have had an embolism or an aneurysm,” she whispered to herself.
Lucy had some medical training and a few human biology classes that enabled her to land the internship at the morgue, but she was more interested in the process than in actual autopsies, despite her assistant pathologist certification. She had no idea how to inspect the body for signs of such natural causes of death, but it would be clear in an autopsy.
Maybe she was too suspicious. Did Lucy really expect the worst in every situation? She didn’t want to think that she was such a negative person, but when she worked on a body in the morgue, she was most interested to learn the cause of death—natural, accident, or murder? At the Sheriff’s Department, she’d worked closely with one longtime cop near retirement. Joe Marquez’s philosophy was, “Everyone is guilty of something.” Lucy hadn’t believed it, but in Joe’s life more often than not people lied, even if they weren’t killers or rapists. Wives lied to protect their husbands; women lied about assaults out of fear; juveniles lied about minor crimes because they didn’t want to get into trouble—and sometimes to see if they could get away with it. Fear of cops was a motivator for many, but Joe didn’t have a lot of faith in people or the system. Had some of Joe’s skepticism about the human condition rubbed off on her? Or was it her own past experiences that made her unusually suspicious?
She opened the bottom drawer of the dresser where in her room extra sheets and blankets were stored. They, too, were in here. She covered Vanessa’s body with a sheet and said a quick prayer. As she was about to cover her face she noticed something on the side of her neck.
Lucy carefully moved Vanessa’s hair and turned her head slightly to get a better view. A tiny red pinprick below Vanessa’s ear looked suspiciously like a needle mark. She cursed herself for not having her cell phone with her to take a picture, but since there was no reception up here she’d left her phone in the car. She searched the room, looking for another camera. If the Marshes didn’t have one, she’d ask the others, though she’d then have to explain why.
Vanessa’s death now appeared much more like murder.
THREE
A loud knock on the door was followed by Patrick calling out, “Lucy! It’s Patrick.”
She again put the sheet over Vanessa’s body in case anyone else was with him, and ran to the door, the digital camera she’d found in Vanessa’s purse now strapped to her wrist. Kyle DeWitt was there, along with Steve. She didn’t want anyone else in the room, and said, “Out of respect for the deceased, I think only Patrick should come in.”
“What’s going on?” Steve demanded. “Is Mrs. Marsh really dead?”
“Yes,” she said. “Please—”
“Oh my God.” Steve ran his hands through his mop of hair. He looked panicked. “This is terrible. What more could go wrong?”
The comment was cryptic, but Lucy didn’t ask him to elaborate. She caught Patrick’s eye and signaled to get rid of the other men. Patrick blocked the doorway. “Steve,” he said, “I need you to contact the Sheriff’s Department.”
“They won’t be able to get up here—”
“Call them. You have a landline, right?”
“Yes, but—”
“I know, it might be down, so try now before the storm gets worse. Tell them we have a deceased female, cause of death unknown, and to send a unit and coroner as soon as possible. Get a contact name and number, and tell them that there’s a retired police detective on scene.”
“You?” Kyle said. “You’re young to be retired.”
“Long story.” Patrick handed Steve one of his Rogan-Caruso-Kincaid business cards. “That’s my contact information and P.I. license number. I’ll call in as soon as I have something to report.”
“But what happened to her?” Kyle asked.
Lucy hesitated, then said, “I don’t know.”
Patrick glanced at her. Lucy was the world’s worst liar, and Patrick realized the situation was serious. “Kyle, would you go downstairs and tell everyone to see what they can do to comfort Trevor? As soon as Lucy and I get a handle on this, we’ll be down.”
He closed the door before either Steve or Kyle could object, then turned to Lucy and said, “What’s going on?”
“I found a needle mark on Vanessa’s neck.”
Patrick walked over to the body and was about to remove the sheet when he saw that Lucy was wearing gloves. “You do it.”
“They’re not latex, but it’s better than nothing,” she said.
“You must have been suspicious from the beginning to put them on.”
“Well, a little. The lid is on the pill bottle.”
“So?”
“Suicides aren’t usually so tidy. She could have put it on, out of habit, but then there’s the fact that she took a shower, but didn’t dress. I just thought—be careful. All the training beats it into you.”
“You can say that again.”
She pulled down the sheet. “Do you see it?” She pointed to the mark.
“Yes, but you must have been looking to notice something so small. At first glance, it could be a pimple or minor skin blemish.”
“I saw it and—” She stopped and turned Vanessa’s head more to the right. “She’s had a face-lift. It’s good work, too—I didn’t notice the marks at first, but I wasn’t looking for them.”
Patrick stared. “I can barely see anything.”
“Like I said, excellent work. But right here under her ear—” She put her finger on the tiny scar. “And there’s minimal tightness, so I think she already had good skin and complexion, no excessive sun exposure. She’s someone who has been well taken care of most of her life.”
“Someone killed her,” Patrick said flatly.
“I think so, but I couldn’t say definitively. We should secure her body and this room.”
“How long has she been dead?”
“One to three hours.”
“We need to question everyone. But Lucy—if the killer suspects that we’re on to the fact that Vanessa Marsh was murdered, no one here is safe.”
“I understand.”
“I don’t think you do. Lucy, you’ve never been able to lie. Let me ask the questions, okay? I’m going to tell everyone that we need to move the body to a cold environment for health reasons.”
“That’s true.”
“Then you can say that.” Patrick rubbed her arm. “Then I’ll say we have no idea what happened, but it looks like an accidental overdose or possibly natural causes.”
“Before I saw the needle mark, I thought embolism or aneurysm.”
“Good—”
“But will anyone believe she took sleeping pills in the middle of the day and accidentally overdosed?”
“Not everyone thinks like a cop, Lucy. We need to search this room now, before we move the body. I’ll need help—Steve and Kyle.”
“Do you think Trevor killed her?”
“The husband is always the first suspect, and often guilty.”
“He just doesn’t seem—” She cut herself off. Killers didn’t always look the part. “I like him,” she said simply.
“So do I. But we’re cops in this scenario. You didn’t kill her and I didn’t kill her. Therefore, right now we’re the only people we can trust. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“I’ll start here. You take the bathroom and their luggage.”
Lucy started in the bathroom. The shower floor was still damp; the hair dryer was plugged in. She put herself in Vanessa’s shoes—take a shower before dinner, dry her hair before dressing. She’d set out her clothes—another indication that she planned to go downstairs to eat. Vanessa’s makeup, jewelry box, and toiletries were organized neatly on the counter. She wouldn’t leave the hair dryer plugged in all day. She would have put it away. The meticulous way the bathroom was set up indicated that.
How did the killer get the needle into Vanessa without a struggle? It had to be someone she trusted to get that close. And what drug could have such an immediate effect that she would have no time to scream or fight back? It would have to have a paralyzing effect. Had she been drugged while lying in bed? Then why had she lain down in the first place?
Maybe Trevor came in and suggested a midday lovemaking session. They got into the bed and during foreplay he injected her. Up close and personal. Intimate. Watched her die. Was she surprised? Did she beg for her life or demand to know why?
There were few convenient drugs that could kill instantly, but if Vanessa was incapacitated that would make it easier for her killer.
Lucy stepped out of the bathroom and said, “Patrick, the wine by her bed. We need it for evidence.”
“What are you thinking?”
“She was drugged before she was injected. There’s no food in here; the wine is the only thing.” She took a picture of the wineglass and pill bottle. She’d already photographed the body and the puncture wound. She wished Trevor hadn’t moved the body, because lividity hadn’t set in. She could guess, based on the slight discoloration along the right curve of Vanessa’s waist, that she’d been lying on that side for over an hour when she died. Because Trevor had now laid her on her back, the blood and fluids would be pooling on her underside.
Still, Lucy had taken the pictures and hoped someone with more experience than she had would be able to decipher them.
“If I ask Grace for plastic bags for evidence collection, she’ll be tipped off that we think Vanessa was killed,” said Patrick. “I think it’s best we keep the likelihood of homicide to ourselves.”
“I have some ziplock bags,” Lucy said.
He raised an eyebrow. “You normally carry evidence bags around with you?”
“I keep them for travel. Makeup, toothpaste, shampoo. I have some that haven’t been used.”
She opened the door and was startled when she saw lodge owner Grace and her sister, Beth, in the hallway. Had they been listening at the door? Lucy didn’t think so, but she made no assumptions.
“I don’t understand what’s going on,” Grace said. “Why did you and Patrick lock the door? What happened to Vanessa? Trevor is distraught—”
“I thought you were going to stay with him.”
“Angie and Heather are with him in the library,” Grace replied. “He didn’t want tea. I gave him Scotch. Steve told me you had him call the sheriff. What happened to Vanessa?”
“We don’t know exactly,” Lucy said, obfuscating.
Patrick walked up behind her. “Vanessa is dead, and the sheriff needs to be notified about any unattended death. I can’t tell whether or not she died of natural causes. I don’t know her medical history. I need to talk to her husband first, and then hopefully the sheriff can contact her immediate family and doctor and see if there was some other contributing factor to her death.”