Chapter Twelve #2
“We’ve also made impressions of the teeth for possible dental identification,” Nisha went on, “and we should be able to construct a DNA profile to run through CODIS and MPDP. Oh, and this is interesting.” Nisha moved around the back side of the table and reached over it, indicating one of the victim’s lower arm bones.
“What am I looking at here?” Leland asked.
“It’s the radius,” she said. “There’s evidence of antemortem trauma.”
“Antemortem?” Leland said.
“It means the injury occurred prior to death,” Church said.
“The shaft of the distal end of the radius is crooked,” Nisha said. “It was broken and then joined back together. See how the edges are rounded and smooth? There’s evidence of healing—that’s how we know it didn’t occur at the time of death or after.”
“Can you tell how long prior to death the injury occurred?” Church asked.
“Based on the amount of healing, I’d say several years, at least,” Nisha said.
“Right,” Leland said, and from the blank look on his face, Church could tell he wasn’t connecting the dots, that he failed to see the significance of what an injury sustained by the victim years before death could have for him.
“A broken bone is like a scar or birthmark,” Church said. “We can use it to identify the victim or rule people out. Anybody who’s never had a broken arm, not our guy.”
“Can’t we just wait for the DNA analysis?” Leland asked.
“That will take weeks, maybe months, to come back,” Church said.
“And even when it does, there’s no guarantee we’ll get a match.
In the meantime, I’d check the local missing persons records in a one-hundred-mile radius for anyone matching the description.
And the staff list as well. The family hired out the caterers, entertainment.
That type of workforce can be transient.
There were a lot of people in and out of the house that night.
It’s possible someone went missing and nobody noticed; they slipped through the cracks. ”
Leland nodded. “Right. Good idea. I’ll make sure they’re all accounted for.”
“Now, our other victim, Miss Towers, is a more straightforward case,” Nisha said, rotating to the other table. Church and Leland followed her.
“Miss Towers died of blunt force trauma to the back of the head,” Nisha went on. She picked up the skull gingerly and turned it over so they could see. “There’s a depressed skull fracture on the parietal bones, here. It would have been instantly fatal.”
“Do you know what sort of instrument would have caused it?” Church asked.
“It’s consistent with a hard, heavy object with a small contact area,” Nisha said. “Possibly a rock, a pipe, the barrel or handle of a gun, something of that nature. But it’s also possible she wasn’t struck with anything at all.”
“How do you mean?”
Nisha pursed her lips. “There’s significant overlap in fracture patterns between a fatal blow and a fatal fall. It’s difficult, maybe impossible, to definitively distinguish between the two.”
“I see,” Church said.
“Maybe she tripped and fell,” Leland said. “Maybe it was an accident.”
“Then why hide the body?” Church said. “And what about the second victim?”
“I’m just brainstorming with you here,” Leland said. “Throwing things at the wall and seeing what sticks. You know what they say—there are no dumb ideas.”
“There are definitely dumb ideas,” Church said. “How about you stick to your victim and I’ll stick to mine?”
Leland scratched the back of his head. “Sure, Church. Whatever you say.” Leland turned toward Nisha. “Which way to the men’s room?” he asked.
“Out the door and to your left,” Nisha said.
“Thanks.”
When he was gone, Nisha gave Church a hard look.
“What?” Church asked.
“You should go easier on him,” Nisha said.
“He’s an idiot,” Church said.
“He’s young, and he’s learning,” Nisha said. “I remember a time when you didn’t know your perimortem from antemortem trauma either.”
“Yes, well, you have more patience than I do,” Church said.
“Fruit flies have more patience than you do,” Nisha said with a smile.
Church laughed. “Yes, I suppose that’s true.”
“So what do you make of it all?” Nisha asked, looking down at the bones spread out on the table.
“I’m not sure yet,” Church said. “It still feels like a riddle of sorts. How does a young woman vanish at her own birthday party without anybody seeing anything?”
Nisha nodded. “And then throw a John Doe into the mix.”
“Right,” Church said.
He stared down at the weathered bones on the table.
He used to find a certain solace in physical evidence.
Unlike witnesses, physical evidence didn’t lie.
It didn’t obfuscate, manipulate, or deceive.
It could, however, be misinterpreted. Church had learned that the hard way.
Facts, physical evidence—you had to be careful in how you strung them together, how you constructed meaning out of them.
He’d learned to be distrustful when they took you too easily to exactly where you wanted to go.
Facts and evidence, they could become a mirage of sorts—especially when you were in the middle of a hard case where every lead had seemingly dried up.
Church knew better than anyone—when you were thirsty like that, and desperate, facts and evidence could lead you further away from the truth, rather than closer to it, and, ultimately, to your own destruction.