7. Ozzie
CHAPTER 7
Ozzie
T eeth clenched and my knuckles white as I held onto the armrest, I said a quick prayer the small plane I was on wasn’t about to go down.
We bounced again, only the seatbelt keeping me in my seat, as we descended into Anchorage. This had to be some sort of joke. Nina was having a jolly good laugh at my expense. I’d seen the bigger planes heading to Anchorage. Why did she stick me on this puddle jumper?
The ground rushed up to meet us as the pilot brought the plane in to land. With a soft bump and a shudder of the airframe, we touched down.
Closing my eyes, I let out a long breath, thankful to be safely on the ground. Tomorrow’s flight wasn’t far enough away.
Taxiing to the terminal, I watched through the small window as an airport employee drove over with a luggage cart. As soon as the pilot cut the engine, the young man wasted no time opening the cargo hold.
“Welcome to Anchorage, folks.” The pilot unbuckled and got out of his seat. “If you have a connecting flight, please check the board inside for your next gate. And if this is your final stop, and you have bags, your luggage will be right outside.” He reached for the door and unhooked the latch. Swinging it open, a blast of cold air hit.
“Watch your step on the way out.” The pilot unfolded the stairs and descended.
I unfastened my seatbelt and moved into the aisle, eager to be off the tiny plane.
On the ground, I found my carry-on and headed inside. Nina had arranged a rental for me. If it wasn’t a two-day drive home, I’d use it to get back to Parker’s Landing.
Fifteen minutes later, I was ensconced inside a white Ford Escape and on my way to the state medical examiner’s office. The autopsy wasn’t scheduled for another forty-five minutes, but I couldn’t check in to my hotel until three, and I wasn’t about to eat lunch before watching the M.E. cut into Mrs. Hammond’s body. It would be a pointless endeavor, because it would all end up in the trashcan in the corner.
Parking in the lot, I walked up to the building. After giving my name to the front desk, I was shown to a waiting area.
With time to kill, I opened my texting app and fired off a message to Turner to see what, if anything, he’d discovered from the Hammonds’ credit card records. Yesterday, I tasked him with cross-referencing charges and tracking down where they were from.
Almost immediately, he responded.
Nothing much. Warren liked to eat out. A few of the charges look like they might be for more than one person. I’m going to check them out later. See if anyone remembers seeing him with someone.
That could be promising. Especially if we could get him on camera with a woman.
Before I could text back, he sent another message.
I checked business and property records this morning and found a plot of land in the middle of nowhere registered to an LLC Hammond set up a couple of years ago. We might need to charter a bush plane to get out there.
I let out a long sigh. More small planes—and an even tinier one than I’d been on today. Great.
Okay. I texted back. I’ll call you later to go over autopsy results and see what you find out about those meals. Thanks for your help.
Anytime , Turner responded.
Switching to my email, I cruised through my inbox. The Hammond case wasn’t the only one on my plate. I had several theft cases and an assault to worry about.
Nothing significant had popped on any of them, though. One suspect had a bail hearing scheduled for tomorrow, another had been remanded into custody after violating the terms of his bail. I was still waiting on fingerprint and fiber evidence for the assault so I could hopefully make an arrest.
“Detective Quartermaine?”
I looked up.
In the doorway, a woman in blue scrubs, clogs, and her dark hair tucked up under a surgical cap smiled expectantly.
“Yes?” I rose.
She moved into the room, a hand outstretched. “I’m Dr. Rebecca Campos, the M.E. performing the autopsy on Marie Hammond.”
I shook her hand, briefly. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“You too. Come on back.” She motioned for me to follow her.
Entering the exam area of the facility, she led me to a prep station, where she gave me a blue gown, shoe covers, and a mask from the metal shelving.
“Put all that on. There’s some chest rub on the shelf there if you want to put some under your nose.” She nodded toward a shelf on the wall by the sink to my right.
I glanced over and saw the small blue container. “Great, thank you.” Tucking the gown and mask under my arm, I put the shoe covers on. With them in place, I donned the gown, then utilized the chest rub before putting on the mask. Marie Hammond’s body was fairly fresh, so the smell wouldn’t be terrible, but there would still be an unmistakable odor of death about her. It was a sour smell and just… off.
“All set?” Dr. Campos’s expectant smile returned. She’d donned similar attire while I got ready.
I nodded. “Let’s do this.”
She pushed through a swinging door to the lab.
Two tables over, a white sheet hid the outline of a woman’s body.
Stopping beside a rolling table, she picked up some protective eyewear and slid the clear glasses onto her face. Next, she put on two sets of purple gloves.
“I completed my external exam before you arrived.” She drew back the sheet, exposing Mrs. Hammond’s naked corpse. “There are four stab wounds to the chest.” She pointed to each one in turn. “This one appears to be closest to the heart.” She gestured to one that went through the inside of the left breast. “We’ll know more once I open her chest.”
She moved to the woman’s hands. “She has some minor defensive wounds to the ulnar aspect of the hands.” Turning Mrs. Hammond’s hand, she indicated some discoloration and scrapes to the side of one hand below the base of the pinkie.
“Did she fight back?” I asked.
“They don’t look like marks I would expect to see if she hit someone. I think it was more that she put her hands up to ward off the attack.” Setting Mrs. Hammond’s arm down, Dr. Campos raised her own, pinkie side out, and guarded her face and upper chest.
I nodded, understanding.
“There’s no sign of sexual assault. The rest of her external exam was unremarkable. No bruising except what I noted.”
“Not even to her face?” I tipped my head, studying Marie’s appearance. I’d always found it hard to tell what discoloration on a body was from lividity and what was from faint bruising. They were too similar for my untrained eye.
“No. Whoever stabbed her didn’t hit her first.” Dr. Campos reached for a scalpel. “Are you ready?”
I steeled myself for what was to come. “Yep.”
She didn’t wait. As soon as the word left my mouth, she put knife to skin and cut.
A thin pinkish line appeared on Mrs. Hammond’s chest, only the faintest beading of blood welling from the incision as Dr. Campos pressed down and pushed it from the tissues.
Narrating into a recording device as she went, the doctor finished her Y-incision, then picked up a set of bolt cutters.
I closed my eyes and looked away, trying my best to tune out the sound of ribs snapping like tree branches. That sound, and the whirring buzz of the bone saw cutting through the skull were the two worst sounds in an autopsy. Since there wasn’t any blunt force trauma to the head, I hoped to escape the latter today, but wouldn’t hold my breath.
Glancing back over, I saw Dr. Campos set the cutters down and lift off the section of ribcage and sternum she’d cut out. It went onto a table behind her.
“There is a large amount of coagulated blood in the thoracic cavity.” She flipped on a suction device and used it to clear the chest. The clot squeezed through the clear, half-inch tube to collect in an attached reservoir.
“There are coordinating stab wounds to the lungs and heart.” She glanced up, piercing me with her dark gaze. “Your victim’s death was swift. Her heart stopped likely within moments of the injury, and she exsanguinated within minutes.”
I stepped closer to see the internal wounds. “Did the knife penetrate the sternum?” If it did, it could tell me something about the blade. A basic pocketknife likely couldn’t pierce the thick bone.
“No. It was intact. Judging by the wound in the heart muscle, the knife came in at an angle.” Using one finger, she mimed the way the knife entered the chest. “Your attacker was right-handed. Or at least held the knife in their right hand.”
“Can you tell me approximately how long the knife was?”
Dr. Campos poked at the hole in the heart, then turned, picking up the piece of the chest wall she’d removed and setting it back in place. Easing the skin flap down, she slid a thin metal rod into the wound. Grasping it at the skin level, she pulled it out and held it up. “At least that long.” She reached out and picked up a metal ruler, laying it against the rod. “Six and a quarter inches.” She lifted her head and met my gaze. Setting the rod down, she measured the width of the stab wound. “The blade was an inch-and-a-half wide.”
“Okay.” I chewed on the corner of my mouth under the mask. Knives that long weren’t uncommon around here. Fishermen and hunters used boning knives that size and larger. The question was, did the Hammonds own a knife that size? And if they didn’t and Warren didn’t kill his wife, who owned a knife like that and had motive? Who had motive at all besides the husband?
Dr. Campos removed the section of ribcage again. She held it up, inspecting the bone. “No knicks. Whoever it was either knew what they were doing or got lucky and slipped right between the ribs.” She set the bone down on the table, then picked up a magnifying glass and leaned closer to the body, inspecting the fatal wound. “It’s a clean cut. No jagged edges.” Straightening, she set the magnifier down. “You’re looking for a smooth blade, no serrations, and sharp on just one side.”
I’d bet my badge it was a boning knife. “Noted.”
With the chest wide open again, she set to work removing the heart. Once dissected, we were able to see that the knife went through the left ventricle and the septum and just pierced the inner wall of the right atrium. The hole through the septum wasn’t as wide as the hole through the skin and outer wall of the heart, lending to my theory it was a boning knife.
The rest of the autopsy was uneventful. I learned Marie had an IUD in place and remnants of a turkey sandwich and grapes in her stomach. Her last meal coupled with lividity and body temperature put the time of death at Friday afternoon. Claire Holmes found the body Monday morning.
Her killer had nearly a week’s head start.