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Carl had folded the flap of the bag back, revealing the body of Carol Roth. The scarf was still wound around her throat, damp and limp from the moisture of being in the cooler, the dark-red fabric stark against the waxy pallor of her skin. Now that the blood had settled and lividity was fixed, I could see faint ligature marks on her wrists and ankles. A little bondage play before the asphyxia, or was there more to it? And, to my relief, I could still feel the faintest hum of essence about her. I knew it wouldn’t be there for much longer. I surreptitiously touched her arm with a gloved finger, confirming for myself that she felt “normal.”
“Stupid way to die,” Carl murmured.
He kept surprising me with the conversation. Or maybe I’d formed an opinion of him as emotionless and dour because I’d never really had a chance to talk to him. “I agree,” I replied. I couldn’t see how the risk of death could be worth the erotic thrill.
He moved to the other side of the metal table, then reached across and grabbed the body by the arm and knee, giving a sharp tug to slide her into position. “She was an easy one,” he said, straightening her limbs on the table.
I frowned, Jill’s comment about Brian and Carol having marital problems suddenly coming back to me. “You mean she slept around?”
He paused, his hands stilling on her legs, and looked up at me. “Actually, I was referring to her weight and how simple it was to get her onto the table. It’s not as pretty when it’s someone weighing four hundred pounds.”
“Ah. Right. Sorry.”
He kept looking at me, hands still motionless on the woman’s thighs. “But it’s funny you should say that.”
“What, that she slept around?”
He made a small motion with his head that I was fairly certain was a nod. “She had a reputation.”
Now, that added a new dimension. “Was she cheating on Brian?”
“I don’t know that. She’d been married before, to a lawyer in Mandeville. Supposedly he caught her with one of the other lawyers who worked in his firm. Divorced her.”
So maybe it hadn’t been Brian after all. A frisson of relief surged through me at the thought. I knew that I was basing a lot of hope on what was—at the moment—merely gossip about Carol, but I also knew there’d be plenty of other people in the department who’d feel the same way if Brian’s name could be cleared.
I tilted my head, regarding Carl in an entirely new light. “How do you know all this?”
The faint smile flickered on his face again. “Most people don’t like the work I do, so they dismiss me from their minds as soon as possible. They forget I’m there, and I hear things.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “You must have dirt on everyone.”
The smile was almost real now. “I know a lot of things about a lot of people.”
It made me wonder what he knew about me.
The outer door banged shut and we both looked up as Dr. Jonathan Lanza walked in. He dumped his keys and phone on the desk in the outer office and then continued in to the cutting room, grabbing gloves and smock without breaking stride.
“Morning, Kara, Carl,” Dr. Lanza said, yanking protective gear on as he moved to the table. He peered at one of Carol’s wrists, then shook his head as his gaze traveled over the rest of the body. “God knows I’ve seen stupider ways to die, but this sure isn’t a way I’d want to go.” He shook his head. “It’s definitely a homicide,” he continued, stressing the word, “but I’m inclined to agree with the sex-play-gone-bad scenario. The ligature marks are fairly light, and I’m not seeing any signs of struggle, though I’ll run a full tox screen to make sure she wasn’t drugged up first. Negligent homicide, perhaps? I’m not the one who decides how the charges go. I just tell you guys how she died.” Then he gave a small sigh. “Not that it matters if Brian did this.”
“I’m keeping an open mind as far as that goes,” I said.
Doc nodded, then his gaze shifted to me, taking in my attire. “I see Carl conned you into helping out. Keep this up and I might hire you away from the PD.”
I wrinkled my nose. “No thanks, Doc. This one’s fine, but if this had been a week-old decomp, you and Carl would be on your own.”
He laughed. “Oh, so that’s how it is?”
“Yup. That’s how it is.”
He grinned and picked up his clipboard, beginning his examination of the body.
Carl took a hypodermic syringe and held it out to me. “You said you wanted to help,” he said calmly. “Do you want to get the vitreous?”
“Ugh! No. Way.” I shuddered as Doc laughed, and even Carl cracked a smile. Getting the vitreous involved sticking a needle into the eyeball and drawing the fluid out. At the first autopsy I’d attended, Carl had made a point to show me how the needle could be seen through the pupil after it was inserted. I could handle a lot of things, but the needle in the eye always squicked me out.
Carl gave a soft sigh and shook his head as he swiftly and expertly slid the needle into the side of each eye to extract the clear fluid. “I have to do everything myself,” he teased.
How had I ever thought this man to be dour and humorless?
