Chapter Forty-Eight Judson
Chapter Forty-Eight
Judson
The Western Lab of the Virginia Department of Forensic Science building in Roanoke was a modern, sleek study in glass and brick.
The medical examiner, Dr. Lydia Kauffman, had conducted Maria Durant’s autopsy late yesterday.
As expected, she’d determined the woman had died of heart failure caused by an overdose of cyanide.
Amy’s and Gabe’s examinations were on today’s docket.
Dr. Kauffman was in her basement office not far from the bay where the autopsies were conducted. Tall, late thirties, shoulder-length black hair, she’d been with the department three years.
She rose and offered her hand.
Most of the cases we’d worked were straightforward—natural, gunshot, or drugs. Never a string of premeditated deaths like these.
I grasped her hand. “Dr. Kauffman.”
“Agent Blackwood.”
“You said you had something to say to me.”
She motioned for me to sit, and when we did, she opened a screen on an iPad. “As you suggested, I tested for cyanide in Gabe Durant and Amy Stocker. They both tested positive for the drug.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. We ran the tests twice.”
“What’re the chances?”
“Unless there’s an environmental source of the substance? Zero. This now falls into your territory. Have you tested all their medications?”
“In the process.”
“Poison slips easiest through something routine—supplements, prescription pills, even bottled water.”
“We found traces in Maria’s wineglass. Gabe took anxiety medicine.”
She nodded. “Maria’s hair strands and nails show signs of low-dose exposure over a period of time.”
“She had a lot of headaches. What about Gabe and Amy?”
“Each appears to have ingested a large single dose. No headaches.”
“No chance of environmental exposure.”
She shook her head. “Doubtful.”
“Did Amy Stocker and Gabe Durant die of heart failure as a result of poison?”
“I’ll know more when I do the autopsies today. Amy’s external exam revealed fibers in her nostrils.”
“She was smothered?”
“No scratches, no defensive wounds. My guess—she was unconscious when someone pressed a rag against her mouth and nose.”
“DNA found on her body?”
“I collected dark, coarse hair fibers on Amy’s body. They’re being tested.”
Hair sounded like Gabe’s. “Gabe and Amy were having an affair.”
Her expression remained steady. She’d heard it all.
“Semen in Maria’s vaginal cavity,” she added. “It’s degraded, but I’m checking the DNA. I’d guess it’s Gabe’s. I’ll confirm.”
“Rumor mill says Maria was having an affair.”
Kauffman shrugged. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“When will Maria and Gabe Durant’s bodies be released? The family would like to plan a funeral.”
“I understand the Durants have a young daughter.”
“She’s with a cousin now.”
“I’ll conduct Mr. Durant’s autopsy this morning. I should be able to release the bodies by sometime next week.”
“I don’t have a timeline, but I’ll check with Raine, Molly’s guardian,” I said. “What about Amy’s remains? I notified her mother yesterday.”
The meeting had been difficult. Mrs. Stocker—a recovering alcoholic—had lost custody of Amy when she was ten. Mother and daughter had reconciled only a few years ago.
When I’d notified Mrs. Stocker last night of Amy’s passing, she’d collapsed into tears.
She’d asked me to leave to give her time to process.
I’d promised to return once she’d collected herself.
I added, “I’ll stop by Mrs. Stocker’s house on the way back to town.
Amy’s mother might have some insight into her daughter’s actions.
” I extended my hand as I rose. “Thank you, Doctor.”
Stepping out of the medical examiner’s office, I glanced up at the blue sky. The air was crisp, hints of fall in the air. My thoughts drifted to Raine as I got in my car. She’d be at Hale House with Molly.
Molly. She was a giggling girl when I’d first met her. Her excitement had lifted my mood. A sharp contrast to the pale, small body lying so still in the hospital bed.
Now she was orphaned.
Gabe had been the last man standing. Had he killed his wife and lover? Had he overdosed Molly with Benadryl? Why not give her cyanide? Maybe seeing Maria’s and Amy’s violent deaths had given him pause. Benadryl would simply put the child into a fatal sleep.
Regardless, I couldn’t wrap my head around it.
The drive to Mrs. Stocker’s house on the western edge of Waynesboro took a half hour.
As I parked in front of the white brick ranch, I regretted not pressing harder last night.
This time I hadn’t called ahead. Mrs. Stocker didn’t need time to overly prepare or rehearse.
A raw question-and-answer session about her daughter’s death would be the most revealing.
Neat hedges, cut and raked grass, and flowers in window boxes. Last night there’d been one red four-door Toyota in the driveway. Now there was a large Ford truck beside it.
Up the sidewalk, I rang the bell.
Heavy footsteps echoed in the house. The door snapped open to a tall man. He wore a plaid shirt and jeans and sported a full gray beard.
I flashed my identification and introduced myself.
“My mother said you came by yesterday. I’m Jim Stocker. Amy’s brother.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks.”
“I’d like to talk to your mother.”
“She’s taken a tranquilizer.”
“Is she sober?”
“For her, yes.”
Mr. Stocker stepped aside, and I entered the house.
Drawn window shades doused the sunlight, shading the house in shadows. I followed the man into a den, where Mrs. Stocker sat in a recliner staring blankly at a cable news show.
Mrs. Stocker looked like her daughter. She was petite, and though her figure was fragile, and her skin deeply lined, it was clear she’d been very attractive at one time.
“Mrs. Stocker. I’m Agent Blackwood,” I said. “I met you last night.”
She didn’t look from the television or acknowledge me.
“Mrs. Stocker,” I said louder. “I need you to look at me. I have questions for you about Amy.”
Jim shut off the TV. “Mom. You need to talk to the police.”
She drew in a breath, and her head turned toward me. “What can I tell you?”
“I have questions about Amy,” I said. “I know this is tough, but I’ve got to ask.”
Her eyes blinked slow and heavy. “Okay.”
“Was Amy dating anyone?”
As she rose out of a haze, her gaze watered. “Gabe Durant.”
“How long had they been seeing each other?”
“Five or six months, maybe.” She tugged up a thick gray blanket as she focused more on me.
“How did they meet?” I asked.
“They went to high school together. They met again at work. I warned her to be careful.”
“When did you find out about their relationship?”
“A couple of months ago. She was upset and finally she blurted it out.”
“What was Amy upset about?”
“The wife found out about their affair.”
Maria had known for months. “Did Maria confront Amy?”
“No.”
“I saw a picture of Amy, Gabe, and his little girl.”
“Amy’s idea to take the day trip to Richmond. She thought it would be cute if she had a picture of them.”
“Did Molly tell Maria?”
“Amy never said. But Amy noticed Maria started showing up everywhere.”
“Where did Amy see Maria?”
“Around town. The grocery store. The gas station. Her favorite coffeehouse. Staring. It scared Amy.”
I struggled to reconcile memories I held of the stoic Maria with this shadowing presence. “Did your daughter ever report this to the police?”
“What was she going to say? Amy knew folks would judge her if the affair came out.”
“Did Amy want to marry Gabe?”
“It was her dream. She wanted to make a new family. With Molly. Her baby.”
“Baby?”
Fresh tears pooled in her eyes. “She thought she was pregnant.”
The medical examiner would confirm this. “Did Gabe know?”
“She told him a couple of weeks ago. She demanded he leave his wife.”
“How did he react?”
“She said he was upset. Angry. But he said he would try to figure it out.”
“What does that mean?”
Frustration furrowed her brow. She reached for a packet of cigarettes beside her chair, fished a plastic lighter from the packet, and lit one. Smoke curled around her face. “That’s what I asked her.”
“How do you think Amy’s body ended up on Hale land?”
“She loved that house. She loved working there for Raine. She was so sad when the job ended.”
“That was seventeen years ago.”
“Working in Hale House made a big impression on her.”
“Would she have broken into the house?”
Mrs. Stocker paled. “She never took anything.”
An admission rumbled under the words. “So, she entered the house.”
Her lips flattened. “Sometimes she spent the night in her old room.”
“Did she tell anyone about these visits?”
“Me.” Her gaze sharpened. “I told her to stay away from that family. To not tell anyone about these visits. I told her Gabe wasn’t leaving his family for her and her make-believe baby.”
“Make-believe?”
“Amy lived in a fantasy world.” Smoke curled around her lips. “I blame myself. If I’d done a better job, she wouldn’t have been hiding in her made-up world.”
Her what-ifs weren’t material. What mattered was evidence. The local deputies had gathered the hunting cameras late yesterday, and the memory cards waited on my desk. Good chance one had caught Amy coming and going. Anyone with access to those cameras would’ve known about the trips to Hale House.
How hard would it be to set a cyanide-laden trap for Amy? “Did Amy have friends who knew her during high school?”
“There was a Vivian. Foster kid.”
“Last name?”
“I don’t know.”
“Anyone threaten Amy?”
Sharp, hawk eyes stared at him. “Not directly. Other than the wife’s stalking.”