Whispers of the Dead - Страница 18

The TBI agent’s face had set. ‘I don’t know, Tom. That’s why we’re questioning him.’

Tom took a deep breath. ‘I apologize. It’s been a long day.’

‘Forget it.’ Gardner seemed to regret his earlier reticence. Some of the tension in the autopsy suite seemed to lift as he leaned against the workbench behind him, rubbing the back of his neck. The bright overhead light bleached what little colour there was from his face. ‘York claims to have hired someone called Dwight Chambers about eight months ago. According to him this guy was a godsend; worked hard, eager to learn, didn’t mind putting in the hours. Then one day he didn’t show up and York says he never saw him again. He insists it was Chambers who oversaw Willis Dexter’s funeral, who prepared the body and sealed the casket.’

‘And you believe him?’

Gardner gave a thin smile. ‘I don’t believe anyone, you know that. York’s a worried man, but I don’t think it’s because of the murders. Steeple Hill’s a mess. That’s why he was so keen to help us, hoping if he was nice we’d go away. By the look of things he’s been struggling to keep it afloat for years. Cutting corners, hiring casual workers to keep costs down. No taxes, no medical insurance, no questions asked. The bad news is there aren’t any records of who’s worked there, either.’

‘So is there any proof this Dwight Chambers actually existed?’ It wasn’t until I’d spoken that I remembered I was only there on sufferance. Gardner looked as though he might refuse to answer, but Tom was having none of it.

‘It’s a legitimate question, Dan.’

Gardner sighed. ‘The funeral home’s employees come and go so often that Chambers would only have been one of many. It wasn’t easy finding anyone who’d worked there long enough to remember him, but we found two who thought they could. The description they gave was pretty vague but matched the one we got from York. White, dark hair, somewhere between twenty-five and forty.’

‘Does that fit Willis Dexter?’ I asked.

‘It fits half the men in Tennessee.’ He absently straightened a box of microscope slides so it was aligned with the edge of the workbench. Catching himself, he stopped and folded his arms. ‘But we’re looking into the possibility that Dexter and Chambers might be the same person, and that Dexter was cute enough to preside over his own funeral as well as fake his own death. According to the autopsy report he died from massive head trauma when his car hit a tree. No other vehicle was involved, and there was enough alcohol in his system to kill a horse. It was assumed he just lost control.’

‘But?’ Tom prompted.

‘But… the car caught fire. The body was only identified through personal effects. So it’s possible that a routine autopsy might have overlooked any racial characteristics. And Dexter didn’t have any family, so the funeral was just a formality. Closed casket, no embalming.’

It wouldn’t have been the first time a burnt-out car had been used to disguise a corpse’s identity. But there were still aspects of this that didn’t add up.

Tom obviously thought so too. He looked across at the body lying on the table. ‘From what I’ve seen so far that doesn’t look burned to me. How about you, David?’

‘I wouldn’t say so, no.’ Although the decomposition could have disguised it to an extent, the body didn’t show any evidence of intense heat. Its limbs weren’t drawn up into the boxer’s crouch characteristic of fire deaths, and while they could have been forcibly straightened afterwards, I would still have expected to see some outward signs, even so.

‘Then maybe it was only superficially burned, just enough to scorch the skin,’ Gardner said. ‘The fact is that Willis Dexter’s still missing, and until we’ve got proof that he’s dead that makes him a suspect.’

I spoke without thinking. ‘It doesn’t make sense for it to be Dexter.’

‘Excuse me?’

Go on. Too late to change your mind now. ‘If Dexter wanted everyone to think he was dead, why didn’t he arrange it so the body was cremated instead of buried? Why go to all that trouble and then leave a corpse in the casket that obviously wasn’t his?’

Gardner’s face was stone. ‘He might have thought that wouldn’t matter if it was burned in the car crash. If not for the fingerprints we found in the cabin it wouldn’t have.’

‘But whoever put the needles in the body obviously expected— wanted—it to be exhumed.’

He studied me, as though debating whether to answer or throw me out. ‘I’m aware of that. And in case you’re wondering, it’s also occurred to us that the fingerprint might have been left deliberately. Maybe Dexter did it himself, or maybe he’s buried in another grave at Steeple Hill, and someone’s got his hand in an icebox. But until we know one way or the other, then he’s going to stay a suspect. That all right by you, Dr Hunter?’

I didn’t say anything. I could feel the planes of my face tightening.

‘David’s only trying to help, Dan,’ Tom said, which somehow made it worse.

‘I’m sure he is.’ Gardner’s expression could have meant anything. He stood up to go, then paused, addressing Tom as though I wasn’t there. ‘One more thing. The X-rays of the body from the cabin match Terry Loomis’s dental records. We might not be Scotland Yard, but at least we got an ID on one of the victims.’

He gave Tom a nod as he went to the door.

‘I’ll be in touch.’

* * *

The day was nearly over by the time we resumed work. We were badly behind schedule, and it didn’t help that there were just the two of us. After what had happened to Kyle, Tom wasn’t prepared to let Summer help any more.

‘It might be bolting the stable door after the horse has gone, but she’s only a student. I don’t want anything else on my conscience,’ he said. He regarded me solemnly over his glasses. ‘I’ll understand if you want to back out.’

‘What happened to “last chance to work together”?’ I joked.

The attempt to lighten his mood failed. He rubbed at his breastbone with the heel of his hand, but stopped when he realized I was watching. ‘I didn’t know then what I’d be getting you into.’

‘You didn’t get me into anything. I volunteered.’

Tom took off his glasses and began to clean them. He didn’t look at me. ‘Only because I asked you to. Maybe it would be better if I asked Paul or one of the others to lend a hand.’

The depth of my disappointment surprised me. ‘I’m sure Gardner would be happier.’

That at least raised a smile. ‘Dan doesn’t have anything against you personally. He just likes to do things by the book. This is a high profile homicide investigation and as ASAC he’s under pressure to get results. You’re an unknown quantity as far as he’s concerned, that’s all.’

‘I get the feeling he’d like me to stay that way.’

The smile became a chuckle, but it soon faded. ‘Look at it from my viewpoint, David. After what happened to you last year…’

‘Last year was last year,’ I said, more forcefully than I’d intended. ‘Look, I know I’m only here at your invitation, and if you’d rather bring in Paul or someone else to help out, then fine. But I can’t duck and run whenever things get complicated. You said as much yourself. Besides, we’ve found the needles now. What else can happen?’

Tom stared broodingly down at his glasses, still wiping the lenses even though they must have been spotless by now. I stayed silent, knowing he had to decide for himself. Finally, he put the glasses back on.

‘Let’s get back to work.’

But the relief I felt was soon crowded out as my doubts returned. I found myself wondering if it wouldn’t be better for Paul or one of Tom’s other colleagues to step in after all. I hadn’t come here to take part in an investigation, and my presence was clearly causing friction with Gardner. Tom was every bit as stubborn as the TBI agent, especially when it came to who he worked with, but I didn’t want to make things difficult for him.

Even so, I was reluctant to back out now. Whether it was because of what had happened to Kyle, or just that my professional instincts had finally kicked back into life, something in me had changed. For a long time I’d felt as though an essential part of me had been missing, amputated by Grace Strachan’s knife. Now something of the old obsessiveness had begun to stir; the need to get to the truth behind a victim’s fate. I might only be assisting Tom, but I still felt I had a stake in the investigation. I was loath to simply walk away.

Unless I wasn’t given any choice.

While Tom made a start on reconstructing the skeleton that had been confirmed to be Terry Loomis’s in one autopsy suite, I began processing the anonymous body from Willis Dexter’s casket in the other. It had been hosed down, but the remaining soft tissue still needed to be stripped from it. I hadn’t been at it long when Tom poked his head round the door.

‘You might want to take a look at this.’

I followed him down the corridor to the other autopsy suite. He’d arranged the large bones of the arms and legs on the examination table, laying them out in an approximation of their anatomical positions. The other bones would follow one by one, until the entire skeleton had been reassembled; a painstaking but necessary job.

Tom went to where the cleaned skull sat at the top of the table and picked it up.

‘Beautiful, aren’t they? As perfect an example of pink teeth as I’ve ever seen.’