Blindsight

“So you merely reached in and felt for a pulse?” Laurie suggested.

“That’s right,” Ron said.

“Which pulse?” Laurie asked.

“The wrist,” Ron said.

“The right wrist?” Laurie asked.

“Hey, you’re getting too specific,” Ron said. “I can’t remember which wrist.”

“Let me tell you something,” Laurie said as she removed the lens cap from her camera and started taking pictures of the body in the refrigerator. “See that right arm in the air?”

“Yeah,” Ron said.

“It’s staying up in the air because of rigor mortis,” Laurie said. Her camera flashed as she took a photo.

“I’ve heard of that,” Ron said.

“But rigor mortis develops after the arm has been flaccid for a while,” Laurie said. “Does that suggest something to you about this body?” Laurie took another photo from a different angle.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ron said.

“It suggests that the body was moved after death,” Laurie said. “Like perhaps out of the refrigerator and then back. And it had to be several hours after death because it takes about two hours for rigor mortis to set in.”

“Well, isn’t that interesting,” Ron said. “Maybe Pete should hear about this.” Ron went to the door to the den and yelled for Pete to come into the kitchen. When he did, Ron explained what Laurie had told him.

“Maybe this guy’s girlfriend pulled him out,” Pete suggested.

“This overdose was found by the deceased’s girlfriend?” Laurie asked. The torture drug abusers put their loved ones through was horrible.

“That’s right,” Pete said. “The girlfriend called 911. So maybe she pulled him out.”

“And then stuffed him back in?” Laurie questioned with skepticism. “Hardly likely.”

“What do you think happened?” Ron asked.

For a moment Laurie stared at the two policemen, wondering what approach she should take.

“I don’t know what to think,” she said finally. She pulled on her rubber gloves. “But for now I want to examine the body, release it to the hospital people, and go home.”

Laurie reached in and touched Stuart Morgan’s body. It was hard, due to the rigor mortis, and cold. As she examined him, it was obvious that his other limbs were in unnatural positions as well as the right arm. She noticed an IV site in the antecubital fossa of the left arm. Except for the refrigerator, the case certainly seemed uncannily similar to the Duncan Andrews, Robert Evans, and Marion Overstreet overdoses.

Straightening up, Laurie turned to Ron. “Would you mind helping me lift the body out of the refrigerator?” she asked.

“Pete, you help her,” Ron said.

Pete made an expression of annoyance but accepted the rubber gloves from Laurie and put them on. Together they lifted Stuart Morgan from the refrigerator and laid him out on the floor.

Laurie took several more photos. To her trained mind, it was obvious from the attitude of the body that the rigor mortis had taken place while the body had been in the refrigerator. That much was clear. But it was also clear that the position the body was in when she found it was not the position it had been in originally.

As she was photographing the body, Laurie noticed that the money belt was partially open. Its zipper was caught on some paper money. She moved in for a close-up.

Putting her camera aside, Laurie bent down to examine the money belt more closely. With some difficulty, she managed to work the zipper loose and open the pouch. Inside were three single dollar bills with torn edges from having been caught in the zipper.

Standing up, Laurie handed the three dollars to Ron. “Evidence,” she said.

“Evidence of what?” Ron said.

“I’ve heard of cases where police steal from the scenes of accidents or homicides,” Laurie said. “But I’d never expected to be confronted by such an obvious case.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Ron demanded.

“The body can be moved, Sergeant Moore,” Laurie said. “And I am supposed to extend an invitation to you to come and see the autopsy. Frankly, I hope I never see you again.”

Laurie snapped off her rubber gloves, threw them in the trash, grabbed her camera, and left the apartment.

“I can’t eat another bite,” Tony said as he pushed the remains of a pizza away from him. He pulled the napkin from his collar where he’d tucked it and wiped his mouth of tomato stains. “What’s the matter. You don’t like pepperoni? You’re eating like a bird.”

Angelo sipped his San Pellegrino mineral water. Its fizz tended to settle his stomach which was still churning from the Spoletto Funeral Home visit. He’d tried several bites of the pizza, but it hadn’t appealed to him. In fact it made him nauseated, so he’d been impatient for Tony to finish.

“You done?” Angelo asked Tony.

“Yeah,” Tony said, sucking his teeth. “But I wouldn’t mind having a coffee.”

They were sitting in a small all-night Italian pizza joint in Elmhurst, not far from the Vesuvio. There was a handful of customers sitting at widely spaced Formica tables despite the fact it was three-thirty in the morning. An old-fashioned juke box was playing favorites from the fifties and sixties.