After All We've Lost

Chapter Two

Hours later, I snapped on another pair of blue gloves and pulled the paper mask up over my nose. Despite the small protective barrier, I held my breath when Jack Casey, the designated pathologist of Cooper County, Illinois, pulled open the door to the morgue. The smell of formaldehyde stung my nose immediately. It reminded me why this was my least favorite part of the job; seeing the victim in the crime scene was one thing, but seeing them in a cold, dark room being scrutinized by teams of medical experts was unnerving. At this point in the process, any inkling of humanity was erased. They were no longer human, still warm to the touch though their heart had stopped beating. Within the concrete walls of the morgue, the victim had become a test subject, an experiment. I sucked in a breath as he pulled the curtain back, revealing the subject I had come here for.

Lying on the steel table, naked and exposed, was this morning's victim. Adrianne Fisher's skin was pale, nearly translucent under the harsh fluorescent lighting. Her blonde hair was slicked back straight, revealing the soft skin of her forehead, the medical examiner's laceration visible beneath the rough stretch of stitches.

I leaned in close, turning Adrianne's wrist over. I slowly made my way around the body, careful not to interfere with Dr. Casey's work. I just needed to find something--anything--to answer my questions. Did Adrianne really jump, and why? Who gave her that necklace? What exactly was I doing here?

There weren't any visible ligature markings or bruises in conspicuous places. Her arms and thighs were clear of scarring, which would have been indicative of previous self-mutilation. I said a silent prayer, apologizing to the poor girl under my breath as I gently lifted the sheet that lay across her chest, checking the cavity for trauma.

Though I already knew the answer, I asked anyway. "Any visible signs of struggle?"

Dr. Casey sighed. "Not a trace." Just as I had figured.

"Do her wounds indicate the manner of death?"

"That she jumped from the water tower? Absolutely." Dr. Casey stepped forward, pointing toward her left side. "Her hip seems to be the point of impact. The bone is fractured here."

I followed his finger, noticing the bluish-purple hue to her skin. The only bruising on the entire body was in the exact place it should have been. Compared to the final exterior examination and the lack of fingerprints at the scene earlier, I was beginning to realize that these people really had called me in a moment of panic. They didn't have reason to suspect that someone was responsible for this girl's death. They didn't have reason to believe it was anything more than a shocking small-town suicide. They simply weren't used to dealing with such a thing, so they pushed matters into someone else's hands.

"Did she die on impact?" I asked again, noting slight bruising on the torso that I didn't see before.

"No," Dr. Casey shook his head. "A few ribs were cracked during the fall, and one in particular punctured her heart. She bled out internally. Likely painful, but it should have been rather quick due to the size of the entry wound."

I swallowed hard, picturing Adrianne Fisher in the grass beneath the water tower, her blood pooling around her.

"Such a tragedy," Dr. Casey muttered, shaking his head as he peered down at her. I was uncomfortable with the way his eyes shifted down the length of the girl's body, taking in every inch.

"Did you know the victim personally?" I asked, semi-curiously but mostly trying to stop his wandering eyes. I grabbed the clipboard from the table and looked over the pathology notes, each scribble and chicken-scratch blurb that told me everything I already knew.

Dr. Casey shook his head. "No, I'm not from around here. But I've talked to enough people to know that this was a surprise to everyone. No one saw it coming."

"They usually don't." I didn't either.

"Well," he began, looking toward the ground, "someone must have."

I watched him, noticing how he had started to fidget with the pen in his pocket.

"What do you mean?"

Dr. Casey grabbed the victim's folder and began rifling through papers. "I don't know," he stammered. "I may be barking up the wrong tree, but I saw the photos from the crime scene. The inscription on that necklace was... chilling." He found the photo he had been searching for and passed it to me.

I examined it, taking in the same pendant I had found this morning. The one I had used to help the father identify her. Again, the message sent a shiver up my spine, but it hadn't been enough to make me question it.

"What makes you think so?" I asked, handing the folder back to him.

Dr. Casey stuffed it back into the shelving along the wall, wiping his hands on the legs of his scrub pants. "Usually when a victim is found with a piece of jewelry, unless of course they are dressed for a specific occasion, it can be used as an identifying marker. Something they wear a lot, that they are known for."

"The victim's father identified her with that necklace. I'm not sure I see what--"

"I did a thorough examination of her neck," he piped in. "I tested the skin and the hair follicles, every inch. When someone wears a piece of jewelry for a long enough time, it leaves a residue. I should have been able to pick it up instantly."

I pulled out my notepad, carefully sliding off the glove on my right hand. "So you're saying she hadn't been wearing this necklace long?"

"Yes, exactly." He ran a nervous hand through his hair. "I just found it odd, you know? It was almost like the person who bought it for her knew that something was going to happen."

I nodded, writing down the information and stamping it in my brain. This was the lead I needed. "Or maybe they were the person behind it," I added softly.

"I didn't want to jump to that conclusion," he said quickly. "But I can't lie and say I didn't think about it." Dr. Casey shrugged, stepping around the table to pull the sheet back over Adrianne Fisher's face. He pressed the fabric firmly against the surface around, as if he was tucking her in for bed.

I turned my notepad away from Dr. Casey's gaze in order to scribble his own name onto the paper, circling it several times. I was going to look into him. In a case like this, with no initial leads or speculations, everyone was a suspect.

"You know," He spoke again, clearing his throat. "In my eleven years working for this county, this could be the first wrongful death case I've ever seen." He chuckled, shaking his head in either disbelief or realization. I found it hard to tell, but the off-hand comment was enough to leave me questioning this man, this town, this entire investigation once again.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Dr. Casey, but your autopsy report suggests that this was a suicide, as does the current state of the crime scene." I circled around the table, my eyes narrowed on the pathologist. I mentally noted how he slowly stepped backward, until his back was pressed against the far wall and he had nowhere else to go. "Legally speaking, suicide isn't considered a wrongful death."

He was a tall, lanky man, but he was somehow cowering beneath the 5'4" woman in front of him. I took another step, staring up at Jack Casey with intimidation in my eyes and awaited his response.

"The- then-" Dr. Casey began, tripping over his own words. He pushed his glasses up his nose, his hands bracing the walls on either side of him. "Then why are you here, Detective?"