Whispers of the Dead (7 page)

officially handed over to him, Hicks was still in charge.
Jacobsen objected anyway. 'Sir, don't you think that should wait?'
she said to Hicks as he motioned for a workman to open the casket.
The pathologist gave her a predatory smile. 'Are you questioning
my authority?'
'Oh, for God's sake, Donald, just open the damn thing if you're
going to,' Gardner said.
With a last glower at Jacobsen, Hicks gestured to one of the
workmen who was standing by with a power tool. A high-pitched
whine shattered the quiet as one by one the casket's screws were
removed. I looked across at Jacobsen, but her face gave no sign of her
feelings. She must have felt me watching her, because the grey eyes
briefly met mine. For a second I had a glimpse of her anger, and then
she looked away.
When the last screw had been taken out, another workman joined
the first to help lift the lid. It had warped, and there was a slight
resistance before it came loose.
'Jesus H. ChristV one of the men exclaimed, averting his head.
The stench that rose from the casket was overpowering, a foully
sweet concentration of rot. The workmen hurriedly moved away.
I stepped up beside Tom to take a look.
A filthy white sheet covered most of the remains, leaving only the
skull visible. Most of its hair had sloughed off, although a few thin
wisps still clung to it like dirty cobwebs. The body had started to
putrefy, the flesh seeming to have melted from the bones as bacteria
caused the soft tissue to liquefy. In the casket's closed environment,
the resulting fluid had been unable to evaporate. Known as coffin
liquor, it was black and viscous, matting the cotton shroud that
covered the corpse.
Hicks took a glance inside.'Congratulations, Lieberman.This one's
all yours.'
Without a backward glance he set off towards the parked cars.
Gardner was looking at the casket's grisly contents with distaste, a
handkerchief held over his mouth and nose in a futile attempt to
block the smell.
'That normal?'
'No,' Tom said, shooting an angry look after Hicks.
Gardner turned to York.'Any idea how this could have happened?'
The funeral home owner's face had crimsoned. 'Of course not!
And I resent the implication that this is my fault! Steeple Hill
can't be held responsible for what happens to the casket once
it's buried!'
'Somehow I didn't think it would be.' Gardner beckoned to the
workmen.'Cover it up. Let's get it to the morgue.'
But I'd been looking at the casket's grisly contents more closely.
'Tom, look at the skull,' I said.
He'd still been staring after the pathologist. Now, giving me a
questioning glance, he did as I asked. I saw his expression change.
'You aren't going to like this, Dan.'
'Like what?' Instead of answering, Tom looked pointedly at York
and the workmen. Gardner turned to them. 'Can you excuse us a
minute, gentlemen?'
The workmen went over to the excavator and began lighting up
cigarettes.York folded his arms.
'This is my cemetery. I'm not going anywhere.'
Gardner's nostrils flared as he sighed.'Mr York--'
'I've got a right to know what's going on!'
'We're still trying to establish that ourselves. Now, if you wouldn't
mind . . .'
But York wasn't finished. He levelled a finger at Gardner. 'I've
given you every cooperation. And I won't be blamed for this. I want
it on record that Steeple Hill isn't liable!'
'Liable for what?' Gardner's tone was dangerously mild.
'For anything! For that!' York gestured wildly at the casket. 'This
is a respectable business. I've done nothing wrong.'
'Then you've nothing to worry about. Thanks for your help, Mr
York. Someone'll be along to talk to you soon.'
York drew breath to protest, but the TBI agent stared him down.
Angrily clamping his mouth shut, the undertaker stalked off. Gardner
watched him go with the sort of speculative look a cat might give a
bird, then turned to Tom.
'Well?'
'You said this was a white male?'
'That's right. Willis Dexter, thirty-six-year-old mechanic, died in a
car crash. C'mon,Tom, what have you seen?'
Tom gave me a wry smile. 'David spotted it. I'll let him break the
news.'
Thanks a lot. I turned back to the casket, feeling Gardner and
Jacobsen's eyes on me. 'Take a look at the nose,' I told them.The soft
tissue had rotted away, leaving a gaping triangular hole lined with
scraps of cartilage. 'See down at the bottom of the nasal opening,
where it joins the bone that holds the upper teeth? There should be
a sill right there, like a sharp ridge of bone jutting out. But there isn't;
it blends smoothly into the bone underneath. The shape of the nose
is all wrong, too. The bridge is low and broad, and the nasal opening
itself is too wide.'
Gardner swore under his breath. 'You sure?' he asked, addressing
Tom rather than me.
'Afraid so.' Tom clicked his tongue in annoyance. 'I'd have seen it
myself if I'd taken time to look. Any of those cranial features would
be pretty strong markers of ancestry by themselves. Take all of them
together and there isn't much doubt.'
'Doubt about what?.'Jacobsen said, bewildered.
'The sill of bone David mentioned is a white facial characteristic,'
Tom told her. 'Whoever this is, he doesn't have one.'
Jacobsen frowned as that sank in. 'You mean he's black? But I
thought Willis Dexter was white.'
Gardner gave an irate sigh. 'That's right.' He stared down at the
body in the casket as though it had let him down. 'This isn't Willis
Dexter.'
7

The sun was high and bright, dazzling off the glass and paintwork of
the other cars on the highway. Even though it wasn't yet noon, the
air above the tarmac rippled with heat and exhaust fumes. Up ahead
the traffic slowed to a crawl, snarled round the flashing lights of
emergency vehicles that were blocking one lane. A new Lexus was
skewed across it at an angle, immaculate and sleek from the back, its
front end a jagged mess. Some way from it was what had once been
a motorbike. Now it was a crumpled mess of engine parts, chrome
and rubber. The road surface around it was stained with what could
have been oil, but probably wasn't.
As we crept past, waved on by a stone-faced police officer, I saw
onlookers crowding a bridge that spanned the highway, leaning on
the railing to gawk at the entertainment below. Then it was behind
us, and the traffic resumed its usual flow as though nothing had
happened.
Tom seemed more his old self on the drive back from the
cemetery. There was a sparkle in his eyes that I knew meant he was
intrigued by this latest twist. First fingerprints from a murder scene
that belonged to a dead man; now the wrong body had been found
in his grave. A puzzle like that was milk and honey to him.
'Starting to look like reports ofWillis Dexter's demise might have
been a little premature, wouldn't you say?' he mused, fingers
drumming on the steering wheel to the Dizzy Gillespie track playing
on the CD. 'Faking your own death's a hell of an alibi if you can
pull it off.'
I pulled my thoughts back from where they'd wandered. 'So who
do you think is in the casket? Another victim?'
'I'm not going to jump to conclusions till we know the cause of
death, but I'd say so. It's just about possible that someone at the
funeral home got the bodies mixed up by mistake, but under
the circumstances that doesn't seem likely. No, much as I hate to
admit it, I think Irving was right about this being a serial killer.' He
glanced across at me. 'What?'
'Nothing.'
He smiled. 'You'd make a lousy actor, David.'
Normally I'd have enjoyed brainstorming with Tom, but lately I
seemed to be too busy second-guessing myself. 'I'm probably just
being suspicious. But doesn't it seem a little convenient that the
fingerprint on the film canister led straight to another victim's body?'
He shrugged. 'Criminals make mistakes like everybody else.'
'So you believe that Willis Dexter might be still alive? That he's the
killer?'
'What do you think?'
'I think I'd forgotten how much you enjoy playing devil's
advocate.'
He gave a laugh. 'Just exploring the possibilities. For the record, I
agree, it does all seem a mite convenient. But Dan Gardner's no fool.
He can be an awkward cuss, but I'm glad he's handling the case.'
I hadn't warmed to Gardner, but Tom didn't bestow praise lightly.
'What did you make of York?' I asked.
'Other than wanting to wash my hand after he'd shaken it, I'm not
sure.' He looked thoughtful. 'He's hardly a glowing advertisement for
his profession, but he didn't seem too worried about the exhumation.
At least, not until he saw the condition of the casket. I don't doubt
he'll have some awkward questions to answer, but I can't see him
being so blase if he'd known what we were going to find.' 'Even so, it's hard to imagine how the wrong body could have
been buried without someone at the funeral home knowing about

it:
Tom nodded. 'Almost impossible. But I'm still reserving judgement
on York for the time being.' He paused to indicate before
changing lanes, overtaking a slow-moving mobile home. 'Nice work
back there, by the way. I hadn't noticed the nasal cavity.'
'You would have if you hadn't been so mad at Hicks.'
'Being mad at Hicks is an occupational hazard. I should be used to
it by now.' His smile faded as he saw my face.'OK, out with it.What's
bothering you?'
I hadn't planned on bringing it up, but there was no point ducking
the issue any longer. 'I don't think my coming here was such a
good idea. I appreciate what you're doing, but . . . Well, let's face it,
it isn't working out. I think I should go back.'
Until that moment I hadn't even been aware I'd made the
decision. Now it seemed as though all my doubts had crystallized,
forcing me to accept what I'd been avoiding so far. Yet part of me felt
shocked at the admission, knowing there was something irrevocable
about it. If I left now I wouldn't be simply cutting my trip short.
I'd be giving up.
Tom was silent for a while. 'This isn't only about what happened
at the cabin, is it?'
'That's part of it, but no.' I shrugged, struggling to put it into
words. 'I just feel this was a mistake. I don't know, perhaps it was too
soon.'
'Your wound's healed, hasn't it?'
'I didn't mean that.'
'I know.' He sighed. 'Can I be frank?'
I nodded; I didn't trust myself to speak.
'You tried running away once before and it didn't work. What
makes you think it'll be any better this time?'
I felt my cheeks burn. Running away? Was that how he saw it? 'If
you mean when Kara and Alice died, then yes, I suppose I did run
away' I said, my voice harsh. 'But this is different. It's like something's
missing, and I don't know what.'
'So it's a crisis of confidence.'
'If you like, yes.'
'Then I'll ask you again: exactly how is running away going to
help?'
This time it was my turn to fall silent.
Tom didn't take his gaze from the road. 'I'm not going to insult
you by giving you a pep talk, David. If it's what you really feel you
should do, then leave by all means. I think you'd regret it, but it's your
choice. But will you do something for me first?'
'Of course.'
Tom adjusted his glasses. 'I haven't told anyone this except Mary
and Paul. But I'll be retiring at the end of the summer.'
I looked at him in surprise. I'd thought he was staying on till the
end of the year.'Is this because of your health?'
'Let's just say I've promised Mary. The point is you were one of my
best students, and this is the last chance we're going to have to work
together. I'd consider it a great favour if you gave it another week.'
I sat there for a moment, admiring how neatly he'd trapped me. 'I
walked into that, didn't I?'
He smiled. 'Yes, you did. But you can hardly break your word to
an old man, can you?'
I had to laugh. Oddly enough, I felt lighter than I had done in
ages. 'OK, then. A week.'
Tom gave a satisfied nod. He tapped his fingers in time to the
trumpet coming from the car speakers.
'So what do you think of Dan's new helper?'
I looked through the window. 'Jacobsen? She seems keen enough.'
'Mm.' The fingers continued to beat out a gentle tattoo on the
steering wheel. 'Attractive, wouldn't you say?'
'Yes, I suppose so.' Torn said nothing. I felt my face start to burn.
'What?'
'Nothing,' he said, grinning.

Tom had called ahead to warn the morgue that the exhumed
remains were on their way. They'd have to be examined in a separate
autopsy suite in order to avoid cross-contamination with the body
from the cabin. Just the possibility of that could cause an evidentiary
nightmare when the killer was caught.
Assuming he was.
Kyle was talking to two other assistants in the corridor when we
arrived. He broke off to take us to the suite he'd prepared, glancing
behind us as though expecting - or hoping - to see someone else.
He looked crestfallen when he realized there was no one there.
'Is Summer coming in today?'
The attempt at nonchalance wasn't successful.'Oh, I dare say she'll
be stopping by later,' Tom told him.
'Right. I just wondered.'

Tom kept a straight face until Kyle had left the autopsy suite. 'Must
be spring,' he said with a smile.'Gets the sap rising in everyone.'
The casket from Steeple Hill was brought in just as we'd finished
changing into scrubs and rubber aprons. It had been transported in a
box-like aluminium container; one coffin nestling inside another like
Russian dolls. Before anything else the body had to be X-rayed, so
Kyle wheeled the whole thing into the radiography room on a
trolley.
'Need a hand with this?' he asked.
'No, thanks, we'll manage.'
'Tom. . .' I said. The remains would have to be lifted from the
casket to be X-rayed. Decomposition had reduced the body mass,
but I didn't want him exerting himself.
He gave an exasperated sigh, knowing what I was thinking. 'We
can wait till Summer gets here. I've already gotten Kyle in trouble
once.'
'Oh, it's all right. Martin and Jason can cover for me.' Kyle had
perked up at the mention of Summer. He gave a shy grin. 'Besides,
Dr Hicks isn't here right now.'
Tom reluctantly conceded. 'Well, OK, then. You can help David
lift the body out once we've taken photographs .'Just then his phone
rang. He looked at its display. 'It's Dan. I better take it.'
While Tom went into the corridor to speak to Gardner, Kyle
and I unsnapped the big clips that held the aluminium lid in
place.
'So you're British, huh?' he asked. 'From London?'
'That's right.'
'Wow. So what's Europe like?'
I took a moment to wonder how to answer that as I wrestled with
a difficult clip. 'Well, it's pretty varied, really'
'Yeah? I'd like to go someday. See the Eiffel Tower, places like that.
I've travelled around the States, but I've always wanted to go somewhere
foreign.'
'You should try it.'
'Not on my pay' He gave a rueful smile. 'So ... is Summer going
to be a forensic anthro like Dr Lieberman?'
'I imagine that's the plan.'
He kept his attention on unfastening the clips, trying to seem
unconcerned. 'Does that mean she'll be staying in Tennessee?'
'Why don't you ask her?'
The look he gave me was terrified. He quickly dropped his gaze.
'Oh, no, I couldn't. I just, you know. Wondered.'