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On one hand, the news that the money was indeed gone strengthened Winthrop’s motive for killing her husband, since the timing of the move confirmed he had a partner and Winthrop had discovered the second signatory before the murder. On the other, this J.Grady—or whoever was posing as the second signatory—provided the possibility of another suspect.
The question was, How much time did they have to find this potential suspect before the detective on the case figured out the money was gone, amplifying Winthrop’s motive for wanting her husband dead?
7
11:45 a.m.
Davidson County Medical Examiner
Gass Boulevard, Nashville
One of the fringe benefits of serving as a Davidson County ADA for a number of years was making contacts. If you had a dead body, it was good to have a contact in the medical examiner’s office. If it was someone with whom you’d attended high school and he still had a little crush on you, then it was even better.
Dennis Shafer, forensic autopsy technician, was more than happy to share his lunchtime in the building’s cafeteria with the girl who’d tutored him through calculus and, as he happily reminded her every chance he got, had been a regular in his boyhood fantasies.
This was nice timing, since Winthrop’s head of security, Vivian Ortez, had not been available at all for an interview this morning. Finley would catch up with her this afternoon.
“I doubt the autopsy will be done before Thursday or Friday,” Dennis offered. He picked up a french fry and popped it into his mouth without bothering to drag it through the puddle of ketchup he’d made by emptying five packets onto his plate. “I can tell you a couple ofthings from my preliminary work, if that will help.” He glanced side to side to see who had taken seats at the surrounding tables.
Finley leaned closer, resting her arms on the table. “Any information you can share will be tremendously helpful.”
He smiled, then quickly shifted his face back to a more businesslike demeanor. “Surprisingly, we found nothing unexpected in the preliminary tox screen.”
Finley wasn’t particularly surprised on that point. The alcohol he’d consumed would likely have been metabolized by morning.
“Judging by the part of the hammer—the portion called the face—that contacted with the skull first, as well as the angle of the weapon when it made contact, it would appear to me that the killer came up behind him and swung with his left hand. Like this.” He raised his left hand over his right shoulder, reaching as far back as possible and then swinging forward.
“The reason I say this,” he continued, keeping his voice just above a whisper, “is because of the force behind the blow. For the hammer face to drive in at the angle it did, a right-handed person would never have been able to wield that kind of force without doing a sort of spin.” He demonstrated, twisting at the waist and drawing his right hand and arm as far back as possible over his shoulder and then swooping up and forward.
Finley could see what he meant. “Would this be the same whether the person wielding the hammer was male or female?”
“The theory would be the same, yes.” He grabbed another french fry. “Can I say one hundred percent your killer was one or the other?” He shrugged. “That’s above my pay grade. I can say the killer was likely shorter than the victim.” His face furrowed and his eyes narrowed. “The real questions in my mind after viewing the scene are, Was the water still running when he got out of the shower? Was there music playing?” He moved his hands up and down as if weighing the possibilities. “Anytype of sound that would have prevented the victim from hearing his attacker walk into the room and prepare to deliver the blow?”
Very good points.
“Maybe he was singing,” Finley suggested. Some people liked singing when they showered. Derrick had even belted out a tune while blow-drying his hair. The memory sent warmth flowing through her. She banished the sensation. Try as she might, she could never fully block the memories or the reactions they prompted.
Whether or not the water was running or there was music would likely be in the report made by the first officers on the scene. The two were on Finley’s list to interview. If the crime scene unit finished with the house today—and they should—a look around would help her work out the scenarios more fully. She hadn’t seen photos or anything else at this point.
“I do that,” Dennis said with another of his wide smiles. “I sing or hum whenever I’m doing just about everything.” He winked. “Even when I’m weighing organs. Kind of distracts from the reality.”
“Wow.” Finley stuck her fork into the bed of greens on her plate and feigned interest. Dennis had been a little odd even back in high school. Some things never changed. “Didn’t I hear you’d just had number three?”
A big grin slid across his face. “I did. Another boy, Raymond. Two boys and one girl now.”
He launched into a story about his oldest child’s exploits. Finley smiled as much at his animated face and actions as from the stories. She had checked his social media to catch up on what he and his wife were up to. She’d had no idea they had three kids already. Where was the time going?
She suddenly felt old. And alone.
Derrick attempted to slip once more into her thoughts, but she pushed him away. She’d been doing more of that lately—thepushing-away part. The longer she put off going there, the longer before she learned more details of his betrayal.
Until recently she’d never really considered herself a procrastinator, much less a coward. But she was a bit of both lately. At least where Derrick was concerned.
Her cell vibrated in her jacket pocket, and she pulled it free just far enough to check the screen.Boss.“Sorry,” she said to her lunch date. “I have to take this.”
Finley pushed back her chair and stepped across the small dining area to the wall of windows that overlooked a well-tended garden that stood within the embrace of the building. She imagined the courtyard had once been a smoking area.
“Hey, how was court?” she asked Jack as she glanced back at Dennis, who was wolfing down his burger.
