Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Blue and red lights lit up Bryant Commons Park from an array of emergency vehicles.
A dead body was never good.
One found in a pond was worse, putting the police at a disadvantage.
Having that body found by a nearby homeowner’s dog in the early morning hours was seriously fucked up.
Ethan met me at the trail leading down a gravel path to the larger of the two ponds the park offered.
The first was a small water feature with a large grassy area in front of it.
The space was available to rent for special events.
The second was a large pond available for catch and release fishing, and even though it wasn’t allowed, teenagers were known to take a dip in the murky water.
Something I’d done myself back in high school.
“The coroner estimates one to three days,” Ethan didn’t delay in informing me. “Fingers, palms, and feet are waterlogged, but decomp hasn’t started.”
One to three days.
Fucking hell.
School was back in session, but that didn’t mean Bryant Park pond wasn’t still popular for fishing. And if not fishing, the walking trails around the pond and the dog park were used daily. And for one to three fucking days a body had been in that pond.
That thought gave me a shiver despite the sticky, already oppressive humidity.
“If you want to see her, do that now. Anna and her team are getting ready to load her up.”
Anna Grant was the coroner for Liberty County. Seeing as the county was small, we didn’t have a dedicated ME. All unexpected or suspicious deaths are transported to the Georgia Bureau of Investigation Division of Forensic Science. One of the GBI’s medical examiners would perform the autopsy.
Not only did Anna need to get on the road, but she also needed to get the body into the back of her van before the rain started. And by the look and feel of it, that was going to start any minute. But still it was surprising the coroner was ready to roll out so quickly.
“Let’s go,” I said, then asked, “Where’s the homeowner?”
Ethan jerked his head to the right. My gaze went in the direction he indicated.
Even though the sun was rising, officers wandered around the pond, shining their flashlights at the dirt and patches of grass near the water’s edge.
Beyond them was a man in a pair of athletic shorts and a white t-shirt, holding onto the collar of a golden retriever, talking to two uniformed officers.
“Jase,” Anna greeted, with a smile as soon as she saw me.
The woman wasn’t smiling because at her feet lay a woman who looked to be in her mid-twenties, with short black hair—and the only way I knew it was black and not dark brown was because the patch I could see was darker than the mud-caked strands.
And thank fuck the woman was clothed. Not that her jeans and short-sleeved red cotton shirt ruled out sexual assault, but they were at least a dignity, albeit a really fucking small one.
Anna was smiling simply because that was Anna. Five forty-five in the morning or eleven forty-five in the evening, the woman always wore a smile—albeit, not a happy one, but a grin, nonetheless.
“Mornin’ Anna,” I returned, “Got anything for us?”
“Just what I told Ethan. She’s been in the water at least a day, three at most. The discoloration around her neck is from trauma, not early decomposition.
The ME will have to examine her to give you exact COD.
However, the bruising around her throat suggests she was manually strangled.
Whether that led to her death is unknown. ”
“ID?” I inquired.
“Nothing on her person,” Ethan answered.
There was something vaguely familiar about her.
“I’ve seen this woman before. I just can’t remember where.”
I pulled a small Maglite out of my pocket, turned it on, and took a moment to study the woman, hoping something would jog my memory.
I counted four silver necklaces around her neck.
A stylish silver watch on her left wrist. Two rings on her left hand—middle finger and thumb.
My gaze went to her right hand, four rings—all different in size and shape, but all silver.
She looked to be average height, slim, and very dead.
I couldn’t place where I’d seen her.
“If you’re done, Detectives, I’d like to get her up to Pooler.” Anna might’ve framed that as a request for us to finish up, and she might’ve been a sweet older woman, but the reality of it was it was a demand.
She had retired from the GBI before she’d run for the county coroner position and won by a landslide due to her previous employment as the chief medical examiner. Meaning, she understood the importance of getting the woman off the dirt and into an autopsy suite ASAP.
“What’s your take?” I asked.
Anna glanced down at the woman. “Strangulation. There’s no mud under her nails. If she was drowned in this pond, there would’ve been a struggle, and a whole lot of mud and debris under her nails.” She looked back up and continued. “Unless she was unconscious during the drowning.”
I glanced back down and focused on her throat. There were perfect patterns from the chains she wore around her neck. She’d been wearing them while being choked. The force needed to make those impressions could either kill or render her unconscious.
Anna glanced around and finished with, “One thing I’ve learned is where there’s a will there’s a way and that goes double for the monsters who perpetrate these types of acts of violence.
Fortunately, they always leave something behind, and the human body doesn’t lie.
The examiner will know if she was alive when she went into the water.
But if I had to call it, on appearance alone I’d say she was already dead.
The deep tissue trauma around her throat indicates the hyoid bone is fractured and there’s enough damage to crush the thyroid cartilage and the carotid sheath. ”
I’d been a cop for a long time. A detective for eight of those years.
I’d seen victims who had been strangled.
I’d interviewed them, I’d studied the pictures of the injuries taken at the hospital and postmortem.
There was a difference between being strangled and being strangled to death.
And the marks around the throat of our victim didn’t say death, it screamed it.
Which obviously meant I agreed with Anna—our victim was dead before she was dumped into the pond. Further, I agreed we needed to wait on the ME’s official cause of death before locking onto a theory that led us down the wrong path only to have to backtrack, wasting valuable time.
I glanced at Ethan. “You have anything else?” When he shook his head, I went back to the coroner. “Thanks, Anna, we’ll let you get on your way.”
Ethan extended his gratitude.
Anna called her assistants over, and only when we knew she had help loading the deceased did we move away.
“She’s in a rush,” I noted.
“I heard her telling Reynolds she was already at the Morton’s when she got the call. Apparently, it’s been a busy couple of days. She’s processing five deaths. Three fatal car wrecks, one overdose, and a cancer patient.”
The county was so small, not only did we not have a medical examiner, but we also didn’t have a morgue.
All deaths that did not require an autopsy were sent to Morton’s Funeral Home for Anna to examine and sign off on before they were released to the family.
Which, incidentally, was less than three miles from the park.
Ethan kept walking toward the homeowner, giving me a rundown. “Joel Adams. He and his wife live in one of the houses on Timberlane Court.” I glanced at the tree line that delineated the back of the properties that backed up to the park. “Dog found the body, and he called 911.”
Christ. Nothing like going out for an early morning walk with your dog and stumbling upon something no one wants to see.
“Mr. Adams,” Officer Reynolds started as we approached. “This is Detective Lenox and Detective Turner.”
I took in his appearance while Ethan greeted the man. “Thanks for waiting for us.”
Tall. Built. Well into his thirties or early forties. Sneakers, no socks. Athletic shorts. Well-worn tee that proclaimed he was a fan of the Atlanta Falcons. Hair messy like he’d just rolled out of bed. No visible scratches on his arms, neck, or face.
“Yeah, no problem,” Joel responded with a small shake of his head. “Like I was telling Officer Reynolds. I didn’t see anyone.”
“Are you okay to answer some questions here? Or would you be more comfortable if we followed you back to your house?” I glanced down at the golden retriever, patiently sitting at its owner’s side. “Your dog’s well behaved.”
“My wife has epilepsy. Linus is her service dog,” he explained.
“He won’t leave my side unless he has the all clear.
” To punctuate his statement, Adams removed his hand from the dog’s collar.
Linus looked up at his owner but otherwise didn’t move even with all the activity around the park.
“And we’re fine to talk here. My wife… hopefully she’s still asleep. I’d rather not disturb her.”
“If you don’t mind, walk us through your morning,” Ethan requested.
“Sure. I got up at five and got dressed. Set the coffee to brew. Let Linus out, and we took off for our morning run.”
“Do you run with Linus every morning?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Did you see anyone around the pond, in the park, car in the parking lot?”
“No. Though it was still pretty dark out. But if Linus heard or saw someone he would’ve alerted.”
I looked back at the dog and figured that was the truth.
“Can you explain what Linus did to lead you to the deceased,” Ethan inquired carefully.
Joel’s hand went to the top of the dog’s head, giving him an affectionate scratch behind the ear.
“He’s trained and there’s no one out when we take our morning runs.”
I waited for him to say more. When he didn’t, it dawned on me, he was worried about the dog not being on a leash.
“We’re not gonna jam you up because he wasn’t on a leash,” I told him.