CHAPTER 48
THE NEW YORK OFFICE OF THE CHIEF MEDICAL EXAMINER WAS LOCATED on East Twenty-sixth Street.
Sidney made it back to the city just before seven, agitated from the gridlock and with a sore right hip from navigating stop-and-go traffic.
She was led to the third floor, where Dr. Livia Cutty sat behind her new desk and typed on her keyboard.
“Hey,” Livia said when Sidney appeared at her door, “you made it.”
“Traffic. Sorry, I’m late. And sorry to call on you during your first week in New York,” Sidney said.
“It’s perfect timing. I don’t officially start until August first. They buffered me a couple of weeks to get settled and find my way around. I can’t take a formal case until then, and I’m bored as hell. I was happy you called. Sit down. I’ll show you what I found.”
In 1999, Henry Anderson’s body had gone to the Adirondack Medical Center Morgue in Essex County, New York, for autopsy.
Since receiving Sidney’s call early this morning, Dr. Cutty had made some calls to Essex County and tapped into the New York State database to bring herself up to date with the old case.
“Back in 1999,” Livia said, “there were no electronic medical records, so everything I pulled on the Anderson case is on file. This is what I was able to track down on short notice.” She pushed a manila file folder across her desk.
Sidney spun the folder around and opened the cover. The first page was a summary from the scene investigators who arrived at the site where the Anderson boy’s body had been found. Sidney skimmed the findings while Livia summarized.
“The Anderson boy was an eighteen-year-old high-school senior visiting Whiteface Lodge with his family for the Memorial Day weekend. He went missing after a group of teenagers, sixteen in all, went on a hike to High Falls Gorge, where they all ate lunch. That evening, Henry Anderson never came back to the resort. Police were called and a search was started. A couple of the boy’s friends”—Livia looked down at her notes—“Charlotte Brooks and Daniel Greaves, eventually found Henry’s body just after eight in the evening. ”
Sidney looked up from the report when she heard the names. “Where are you getting these specific details?”
Livia pointed to the page in front of her. “I’m reading the detective’s notes. A copy was in the file. Is something wrong?”
“Charlotte Brooks and Daniel Greaves were Grace’s friends who got married at Sugar Beach.”
“In St. Lucia?” Livia asked.
Sidney nodded. She again saw her blockbuster documentary, set to air the final three episodes that showed the unearthed blood evidence and the debunked cleanup that helped exonerate Grace Sebold, as well as her triumphant return home, falling to pieces as some larger conspiracy swirled in her thoughts.
“What can you tell me about Henry Anderson’s autopsy?”
Livia pushed crime scene photos across the desk.
Sidney looked at the awkward angles of the young man’s limbs as he lay on a dust-covered slab of granite, with shrubs partially covering his face.
A dark circle of blood spread along the stone on which his body lay, haloing his head like a cherry sunrise.
His eyes were half opened, like he was stuck between sleep and consciousness.
“He was estimated to have fallen fifty feet,” Livia said.
“The scene investigators were able to track the marks in the side of the mountain where he likely made contact on the way down. Detectives were able to match his shoeprints to the edge of the bluff just above where his body was found. There were many other shoeprints. It was a popular trail and the only hiking route that offered access to the mountaintop café.”
Sidney turned another page to find the autopsy report and photos. She quickly tucked the images of Henry’s naked body splayed on the metal autopsy table underneath the report so they were out of sight.
“With such a long fall,” Livia continued, “interrupted intermittently by impact on the mountain face, there was quite a bit of internal organ damage. The cause of death was determined to be exsanguination due to aortic dissection, meaning the main blood vessel attached to the heart dislodged on impact and he bled to death internally.”
Livia pulled pages that she had kept off to the side. “I know you were interested in the Anderson boy’s skull fracture. Here’s what I found.”
Livia slid autopsy photos of Henry Anderson’s bare skull across the table.
“There were several fractures noted.” Livia pointed to the photo. “Including a large stellate fracture on the posterior right parietal bone.”
Sidney shook her head again. “Just like Julian Crist,” she said.
Livia nodded. “Not only in the type and location—they both were depressed stellate fractures to the back, right side of the head.” Livia slid another page of the report across the desk.
“But I also compared the measurements of the fracture taken from Julian Crist’s autopsy to the ones taken from Henry Anderson’s. ”
“And?” Sidney asked.
“They are close to identical.”
Sidney looked at Livia without blinking. “How close?”
“This is a photo from what you provided of Julian Crist’s case.” Livia slid another image toward Sidney so that it was next to the photo of Henry’s skull.
To Sidney’s untrained eyes, each of the young men’s shattered craniums looked the same. In fact, if Livia switched the pictures around, Sidney would have difficulty determining whose skull she was looking at.
“The measurements from Henry Anderson’s skull fracture were documented to be two and a half centimeters deep, and seven centimeters long. Nearly identical to what was documented in Julian Crist’s autopsy.”
Sidney ran a hand through her hair. “Jesus Christ.”
“There’s more,” Livia said. “The scalp lacerations are also similar, if not identical.”
Livia again arranged the photos from each autopsy next to each other for comparison. Sidney remembered Julian’s laceration reminding her of a split in a leather sofa. Henry Anderson’s looked the same.
“The measurements of the two lacerations are also the same,” Livia said as she sat back in her chair. “I’m not much for conspiracy theories, but if I were a betting woman, I’d say there’s a damn good chance these two injuries were caused by the same weapon.”
Sidney also sat back away from the photos that were spread across the desk, folded her arms in front of her. “Yeah, well, an old detective already offered that theory. And wagered a shot of whiskey that the same person was swinging that weapon.”
Livia shrugged. “I discovered one other thing that you’ll find interesting,” Livia said.
Sidney leaned forward. “What else?”
“Trace amounts of organza fibers were detected in Henry Anderson’s scalp wound.”