At the end of the day, his lab isn’t responsible for the DNA analysis such as it was, he adds. There’s not much to tell except what he knows from talking to the police, reviewing their reports, he says.
“The FBI decided to move samples to their Quantico labs and do the analysis there,” Clark explains, and they’ll try the same thing with me, I have no doubt.
But it’s not going to happen. I’ve yet to let them take Gwen’s evidence out from under us. The body and everything relating to it is the medical examiner’s jurisdiction. Naturally, I extend that to include the flattened penny, and anything else I collected, the analysis in my labs already under way.
“Our hands were tied as you likely know if you’ve reviewed the records,” Clark says over speakerphone. “Once the FBI took over, that was that.”
“The problem is I’ve not looked at the records yet,” I reply, fussing with my hair in the mirror. “I’d never heard of Cammie Ramada before last night but intend to get up to speed before the day is out.”
“After the FBI took what they wanted, nothing happened. The case was closed.”
He explains that the scene wasn’t managed the way it should have been, too many cooks in the kitchen. There were problems with contamination.
“I’m not sure how well acquainted you might be with the former chief,” Clark says, and he doesn’t know the half of it. “But it’s likely he hasn’t worked many scenes in recent memory.”
“I’d say that’s accurate.” I refrain from adding the rest of it.
Elvin Reddy is more of a politician than a medical examiner, having no passion or respect for the work itself and even less for patients living or dead. He’d far rather appear on the news or mingle with the prominent and powerful than talk to the family of a loved one who’s died suddenly, tragically.
I knew what he was early on when he’d have his morbid fun with those he could bully. Nothing like asking the wrong person to open a body bag crawling with maggots. Or making lewd observations about a dead woman’s “sizeable attributes, what a waste.” I’d overhear his salacious cracks.
He was the sort to keep trophies such as artificial joints and breast implants until I caught wind of it. Suffice it to say, we did nothing but clash during my Richmond days when he was one of my forensic pathology fellows, the worst I ever mentored.
CHAPTER 17
MIND YOU, THIS IS hearsay because I wasn’t there.” Clark continues to tell me what he knows about last April’s case. “Doctor Reddy appearing at the scene only added to the confusion, and the cops were afraid to stand up to him if he did something they didn’t agree with.”
“Such as?”
“Not having appropriate PPE,” he says. “Just a mask, gloves, and he had to be told to put them on.”
Clark says he’s seen the photographs of the former chief shining his light on the body, and he’s not exactly a poster child for proper forensic procedures. Such trifling details are for everyone else to worry about, is the way he looks at it.
“Not to mention,” he adds, “there’s the obvious complications since we’re talking about a national park. The Feds, in other words, and technically the jurisdiction of the park police.”
But Daingerfield Island is located in the city of Alexandria, and of interest to their law enforcement. Also, the FBI could stake claims on the investigation. To confuse things further, Cammie Ramada’s body was partially on Virginia soil, and partially in water located in the District of Columbia. What Marino would call a cluster-eff on flipping steroids.
“Talk about a mess.” Clark’s voice sounds from my phone on the edge of the sink as I do what I can to patch myself together. “Try dealing with a case involving the park police, the locals and the FBI. And meanwhile, the chief medical examiner of Virginia and those answering to him don’t feel a crime was committed.”
“I’m curious why Elvin Reddy showed up to begin with.” Unzipping my makeup bag, I certainly can see that Dorothy rummaged through it for a sewing kit.
“I don’t have a clue. All I can tell you is we picked up Doctor Reddy’s DNA and excluded him. That’s the contamination I’m talking about.”
The investigation never went anywhere after it was determined by my predecessor that the death wasn’t due to violence.
“Samples were never tested or entered into a database,” Clark says, and now I’m really appalled.