Bones Don't Lie

Morgan leaned in and pointed to the screen. “This abrasion?”

Next to her, Lance said, “I would expect the rope to move a little when she stepped off the chair.”

“Yes,” Grandpa said. “But to me, this looks like it could be two distinct ligature marks, a horizontal line and an angled line, with the abrasion connecting them.”

And here’s where Grandpa’s experience with the dead made all the difference.

Morgan sat back. “As if someone stood behind her and choked her with the rope and then strung her up.”

“And the noose shifted position when her body weight hit the rope.” Lance straightened. “Maybe she didn’t commit suicide. Maybe she was murdered.”

“We can’t prove it,” Sharp said.

“How do we tell the ME?” Morgan asked. “We aren’t supposed to have these photos.”

“We don’t,” Lance said. “Frank won’t miss it. He’ll have the actual body. The marks will be even clearer to him. Is this enough for the medical examiner to find the death suspicious?”

“Depends what else the autopsy turned up.” Grandpa studied the screen for a few seconds.

Without his insight, they wouldn’t have had this information until the official autopsy was released, which could take months, since the medical examiner would wait for lab results and the tox screen before he would issue an official cause of death. Sheriff King would never share preliminary autopsy results.

“What now?” Lance asked.

Morgan studied the board. “What did Crystal and P. J. and Jenny all know?”

“Crystal and P. J. have a tighter connection: a relationship with Mary. But I can’t see how Jenny fits into this.” Sharp tapped his closed marker on his chin. “She was home when Vic went missing.”

He started a new column for Crystal’s death. “Art has some other ideas as well.”

“Feels good to be useful.” Grandpa closed the laptop and stared at the board. “The more I looked at the file, the more I thought this was never about your dad, Lance. Vic had a wife sinking into mental illness, financial problems, and a ten-year-old he was trying to shield from all of that. He didn’t have time to misbehave. He could barely squeeze out an hour or so a week to have a beer with his pals. He couldn’t even play baseball anymore. He’d quit his baseball team because he didn’t have time for it.”

Sharp cradled his injured arm. “Until Mary’s bones turned up, we had no other crime to link to Vic’s disappearance.”

Grandpa nodded. “And since her bones were discovered, you’ve been looking for a connection between Vic and Mary. It’s possible Brian was that link, but what if there is no connection?”

“You think my father was collateral damage?” Lance asked.

Morgan watched Lance. What was he feeling? How could he discuss his father’s fate objectively? His face was strained, his mouth grim.

“It’s possible that Vic was accidentally swept up in something relating to Mary.” Sharp set his marker on the bottom edge of the board. “But Art and I have been researching other events around the time of Vic’s disappearance, thinking he and Mary might both have been caught in something entirely unrelated.”

“Have you found anything?” Morgan asked.

Sharp paced. “During the week of August 10, 1994, the biggest events were a fatal car accident on the interstate, two burglaries, and three drunks arrested for assault.”

“At first, we found nothing unusual about any of these events,” Grandpa said. “Until we dug deeper and learned that Lou Ford, one of the drunks, died from a traumatic head injury.”

“I don’t see how that could possibly be related,” Lance said.

“He was arrested during a bar fight on August 10.” Sharp paused. “At PJ’s.”

“Oh.” Lance dropped into a chair and rubbed his temples. “Brian said he dropped Mary at PJ’s around eight p.m.”

Grandpa shuffled some papers. “Lou Ford was arrested at eight thirty.”

Morgan tapped a pen on her desk. “If Brian was telling the truth, Mary might have seen the fight.”

“Then what? How does Mary end up dead?”

“She saw something?” Lance suggested. “Maybe there was more to the bar fight than the cops were told. Who was the arresting officer?”

Sharp consulted his notes. “Deputy Owen Walsh. Owen retired and moved to Florida a few years ago. Ford’s family sued the sheriff’s department.”

“What were the grounds for the lawsuit?” Morgan perked up.

Sharp continued. “The other two men were taken directly to the ER for stitches. Ford appeared to be uninjured, just intoxicated. He was brought to the sheriff’s station and put in the holding cell, where he died. The ME found a head injury during the autopsy. The family won a small civil settlement. Ford had a long history of drunk and disorderly conduct. This wasn’t his first bar fight. Multiple witnesses stated he was the aggressor. The jury was unsympathetic. They found for the plaintiff, but the settlement was too small to matter. No charges were ever filed on Deputy Walsh, though the department changed several policies as a result of the case.”

“We need to talk to Owen Walsh.” Lance said.

Sharp nodded. “I already left a message on his cell phone. Ford was fifty-five years old and unmarried when he died. His sister brought the lawsuit against the sheriff’s department. I’m trying to track her down. She moved out of the area. I’ll keep following up with Owen Walsh and Ford’s sister.”

“This case keeps getting more complicated,” Morgan said.

“But wait. There’s more,” Sharp added. “I also found out that the ADA plea bargained Ricky Jackson’s case. He has to complete a drug rehab program.”

“That the kid who was robbing Crystal’s house while her body hung dead in her bedroom?” Grandpa asked.

“That’s the one.” Lance cracked his shoulder. “We should talk to Mr. Jackson again. When we interviewed him, we didn’t know Warren might have molested Mary when she was a child.”

Grandpa slumped in his chair. Despite the brighter look in his eyes, his shoulders sagged.

She put her hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” He patted her hand.

“Lance and I will take you home,” she said, worried.

Grandpa didn’t argue, which meant he was truly exhausted.

“Morgan and I will pay Warren another visit.” Lance stood and rolled his neck.

“I didn’t get to review these.” Grandpa held up a stack of papers. “Can I take them home with me?”

“I’ll make you copies.” Sharp took the pages and carried them out of the room. He brought them back a few minutes later and put them in a folder for Grandpa. “Thanks again for your help, Art.”

Sharp didn’t look healthy either. His face was drawn and pale, and he moved with the stiff gait of an old man. Morgan was running on coffee, and Lance had to be feeling the effects of too little sleep and too much stress.

But they had no time for a break. The killer was ahead of them at every step of the investigation.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Lance carried the bag of groceries he and Morgan had picked up for Elijah Jackson to the old man’s doorstep. The afternoon had turned gray and cold. Shivering next to him, Morgan knocked.