She snipped the plastic wrap from bottom to top and carefully separated the edges. Silence fell over the autopsy suite. The victim was definitely Spencer. Matt had seen his driver’s license photo. A piece of duct tape covered Spencer’s mouth, but that wasn’t the biggest shock.
The word liar had been carved into Spencer’s forehead.
Matt swallowed, his mouth dry.
Bree cleared her throat. “Did the mutilation occur before or after death?”
Dr. Jones examined the inside of the plastic wrap. “Before. There’s blood here, so probably before.”
If the wounds had occurred after death, they would not have bled much. Once the heart stopped beating, blood no longer circulated but began to pool in the lowest parts of the body.
“The edges of the wounds are clean, so they were carved by a sharp blade.” Dr. Jones continued to peer at the plastic wrap. “See this moisture? It’s a by-product of respiration.”
Bree shifted her weight. “So, the plastic was definitely put on while he was alive and breathing.”
“Yes,” Dr. Jones agreed. “Its presence supports asphyxia due to suffocation as the cause of death. Smothering is also confirmed by presence of cyanosis.” Lack of oxygen tinted the skin blue. “And petechial hemorrhages on the eyelids.” She pointed to red dots that appeared when blood vessels in the skin ruptured due to intense pressure. They were common in deaths by strangulation, hanging, or smothering. After the morgue assistant took photographs, Dr. Jones peeled off the duct tape. “I see more petechial hemorrhages in the mouth. What’s this?” She picked up a magnifying glass and leaned closer to the plastic wrap. “Looks like some kind of animal fur.” Using tweezers, she plucked the item from the plastic, then moved to a microscope on the other side of the room. Holding the end of the tweezers under the lens, she said, “Don’t hold me to this. We’ll need to send this for DNA analysis, but cat fur tends to be finer than dog fur or human hair. This looks like fur from a long-haired black cat.”
Dr. Jones bagged the hair, then reached for a scalpel and approached the victim’s side. The next step was for her to make the Y-incision and begin the internal examination.
Matt inched away from the table. Bree caught his eye and nodded toward the exit. Seemed they were of the same mind. He’d watch the entire autopsy if he felt it would help him solve the case, but autopsies were gross, and the investigation was short on time.
“Thank you, Doctor,” Bree said.
“I’ll call you if I find anything else interesting.” Dr. Jones pressed the tip of the scalpel to the victim’s collarbone.
Matt turned toward the exit. He pushed through to the antechamber with Bree right behind him. The saw started up with a high-pitched whine as the autopsy suite doors swung shut behind them.
“The cat fur could have come from anywhere.” Bree stripped off her face shield and mask. “It’s impossible to have pets without the fur getting everywhere. I find Ladybug and Vader fur in the weirdest places. It’s worse than Kayla’s glitter.”
Matt tossed his used gown into the labeled bin. “Brody’s undercoat almost seems magnetic. I keep a lint roller in my glove compartment.”
“And one in my desk.” Bree stopped, her head cocked. “Fur from a long-haired black cat goes on the list.”
“We can hope forensics pulls more evidence from the plastic wrap.” Matt stopped at a sink to scrub his hands, even though he hadn’t touched a single thing in the autopsy suite.
“I doubt there’ll be prints.” Bree did the same. “Everyone knows to wear gloves nowadays.”
“True.” Matt dried his hands. “We can hope for a human hair.”
“What do you think about the word on his forehead?” Bree asked.
“I think it confirms the possibility that his murder was personal and suggests we’re on the right track by investigating the women he dated.”
“I agree.” Bree checked her phone. “I need to get to the horse auction. We don’t really have the time, but I promised the kids. I won’t let them down.”
Matt checked his watch. “We’ll consider it our lunch hour.”
Bree snorted. “As if we ever actually take a lunch hour.”
“Todd is still working the investigation. You’re delegating now, remember. That means you get to share the load. We’ll have time to interview Monica Linfield and Farah Rock afterward.”
They reached the SUV and Bree opened her vehicle door. “I know the work is being done, and Todd is more than capable.”
“But?”
“I still have control issues.”
“At least you know your faults.” Matt shook his head, and they climbed into the SUV. “You know you can’t keep Todd busy with phones and paperwork forever.”
“He was in charge of the crime scene.”
Matt gave her a look. “You know what I mean.”
“You’re right.” Bree huffed. “But last time he got more actively involved in an investigation, he was kidnapped and almost killed.”
“Yep,” Matt agreed. “But he needs to get back out there before he starts to doubt himself. There’s a horseback-riding analogy . . .”
“Ugh. Am I damaging his self-confidence?”
“Not yet,” Matt said. “But if you keep him under wraps, he could interpret that as you losing faith in him, which would be a serious blow to his confidence. Has he given you any reason to doubt his ability to do his job?”
“No.” Bree blew out a long breath. “Have you seen any signs that he isn’t up to the task?”
“No. He seems OK. Eager to get back to it.”
She pulled out her cell phone and called Todd. “Matt and I are tied up with something. Would you interview Spencer’s manager and coworkers at Electronics Depot? He’s been there for years. See if he made any enemies or anyone there noticed unusual behavior recently.”
“Really?” Todd sounded almost excited.
“Yes.”
“I’m on it.” Enthusiasm rang in Todd’s voice as he signed off.
Bree pocketed her phone. Stress lines bracketed her mouth. “That was hard.”
“It was the right thing to do. Todd needs to get back into the field.”
“I know, but I don’t want anything bad to happen to him. We’ve already been shot at on this case.”
“Todd’s a cop. You can’t shield him from what he wants to be,” Matt said. “Besides, statistically patrol is more dangerous than working investigations.”
“I know.”
Domestic disturbances and traffic stops were the worst.
Bree’s phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen. “Nick West. Again.”
“You have to deal with the press,” Matt warned.
“I know. I’ll do a press conference later today, after we have a little more information.” Because if she didn’t release enough details, the media would speculate and dig. No good ever came of that.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Trying to suppress her worry about her chief deputy, Bree started the engine. Matt was correct. This was her issue, not Todd’s.