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With the wrapped body laid on Kristin’s operating table, the young deputy was given leave to go outside and wait. The sheriff remained behind.
“I know you didn’t invite me,” he said as Kristin donned a protective coat and pulled on rubber gloves. “But since there might be an inquest, and especially since a relative of yours is involved, it could prove useful to have a witness.”
“I understand,” Kristin said. “In fact, I was expecting you to stay. Take that chair in the corner. You can sit as close as you like. I’ll tell you what I’m finding.”
In her hospital training, Kristin had assisted in autopsies. This examination would fall far short of those. In this room, with its limited resources, she wasn’t equipped to run tests, bathe the body, or open it and remove the organs—nor did she see any need. This would be a simple inspection of what she could see and feel to determine, as best she could, what had led to Gerda’s death. She could only hope it would be enough.
The sheriff had moved the plain wooden chair to a spot about ten feet away, at an angle that would give him a clear view. “Will you be all right?” Kristin asked him.
“I’ll have to be.”
“If you get queasy, just get up and leave. The bathroom’s across the hall.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Then let’s begin.” She peeled back the canvas covering the head. There was Gerda, her face as white and still as Carrera marble. Only a long scratch down her cheek marred her beauty. Such a waste of a young life. Kristin fought back tears. She was a doctor, doing her job. She continued the examination, talking as her hands moved through the matted hair and down to the throat.
“Dry weed matter imbedded in the scratch. No other marks. No sign of swelling or bruising on her head. No bruises or contusion marks on her neck.”
Now that the shock of seeing Gerda had passed, Kristin pulled back the rest of the bloodstained canvas. There she saw what she’d been most anxious to find. Cradled between Gerda’s side and her arm was the unwashed body of her infant. The tiny girl was no bigger than a week-old kitten, but her fingers and toes had formed, as well as eyebrows, eyelashes, nails, and facial features—all typical of a fetus at four months. The sight was heartbreaking, but it proved one thing. Mason was telling the truth.
This little one couldn’t have been his.
The baby would have been conceived sometime in March. Mason hadn’t returned to Blue Moon and met Gerda until April.
The identity of the father was easy enough to guess. Gerda had been distraught when Ezra decided to move away with his parents. Although she might not have known it, she must have already been pregnant with Ezra’s child.
If the sheriff hadn’t been here, Kristin would have dropped everything and raced to the Andersons’ to tell the family what she’d discovered. But she couldn’t leave now. One more vital question had yet to be answered. What had triggered Gerda’s miscarriage, and had that been the cause of her death?
After wrapping the infant in a flannel receiving blanket, she took a pair of sharp scissors and cut through the blood-stiffened layers of clothing to expose the body down the front. The sheriff’s stoic expression didn’t change. If the man felt any emotion, he kept it under control.
Gerda’s corset was laced to excruciating tightness, probably to hide her pregnancy. Could that have caused her to miscarry? Not likely, but she wouldn’t rule it out, Kristin mused as she cut through the stubborn busk.
Gerda’s hands were skinned and embedded with weed matter, as if she’d fallen into the field and caught herself. But fallen how? Had she jumped? Maybe even been pushed? There were stems and stickers embedded in her skirt as well, including the bodice.
“What do you think?” she asked the sheriff. “Could Mason, or someone else, have shoved her off the dike?”
“Maybe they could have,” the sheriff said. “But it doesn’t make sense. If someone pushed her off the dike to kill her, why would they go off and leave her alive? She had to live long enough to miscarry and hemorrhage. That would have taken some time.”
“So, you think Mason could be innocent?”
“You’re the doctor.”
Kristin continued her examination. “There’s some bruising on her abdomen, as if she landed facedown. It’s a fair drop off that dike. That kind of fall could have triggered a miscarriage. Or the pains could’ve started before she went off. Sadly, those things can happen.
“But look—her shoes are covered with stickers, even on the bottom. It looks like she got up and at least tried to walk before the pains started. If I’m right, you should be able to go back to the field in the morning and see the place where she landed and got up. That would confirm everything I’ve found.”
Kristin rolled the body partway over to get a look at the back. “Nothing here. No bruises, no broken bones. Unless you have any questions, Sheriff, I think we’re finished.”
“No questions.” The sheriff rose to his feet. “Unless we find evidence to the contrary in the morning, I’d say we can probably rule this tragedy an accident. I’ll call my deputy in, and we’ll take the body back to the jail. The family can claim it tomorrow. Thank you, Doctor.”
Kristin tucked the canvas around Gerda’s body, her legs unsteady beneath her. She’d managed to keep her professional demeanor during the examination. But now that it was over, she could barely stand. Tears welled in her eyes. She’d seen soldiers die in war. But this was different. This was personal.
At least it appeared that Mason wouldn’t be blamed. As soon as the sheriff left, she would hurry to the Andersons to give them the results of the examination. Then she would drive to the Hollister Ranch and give Mason the good part of the news. Maybe this experience would teach him to be more cautious. But knowing Mason, she had her doubts.
As soon as she was able to close the house and leave, she raced around the corner and down the street to the Anderson home, where she rapped on the door. It opened to reveal a frantic Britta and Inga. There was no sign of Lars.
“Papa left a few minutes ago,” Britta said. “He took the horse and the shotgun and rode off to settle the score with Mason.”
