The ME said, “The tox screens should show what was in it, if it was a medication patch. If the drugs are still in the body, that is. If the patch was taken off too long ago, the meds might have worked through his system.”
Decker eyed the man closely and said, “So, the big question: Have you got a time-of-death determination yet?”
The ME said, “When I got to the house limbs were stiff on both, so they were in rigor. I’d say they’d been dead about twenty hours or so, or even far longer, since they might have actually been coming out of rigor at that point. I’ll know better later.”
“Did you take a core temp?”
The ME said in an annoyed tone, “Something went wrong with my equipment. It was registering wacky numbers.”
“Meaning really, really cold?”
The man looked surprised. “Yes, how did you know that?”
“So even without a core temp, twenty hours or even far longer is your final verdict? You sure about that?”
The ME looked indignant that Decker seemed to be challenging his conclusion. He said stiffly, “Yes, I am. Well, that they were dead at least twenty hours. Why?”
“And are you sure the bodies weren’t moved after they died?”
The ME shot a look at the corpses and then glanced back at Decker.
“Yeah, I mean, I’m pretty sure, why?”
“I think you might want to take some additional forensics classes beyond the minimum or maybe better yet, try another line of work that doesn’t involve performing postmortems.”
The man said furiously, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“I thought I was pretty clear.” Decker turned to Green. “So, are we good to go on this investigation? Working it together?”
Green looked at him curiously for a moment and said, “You have to keep us looped in on everything. No exceptions.”
“Agreed,” said Decker quickly.
“From a practical point of view, how do you want to do this?” asked Green.
“There’s a lot of ground to cover, so I say two and two,” replied Decker. “That way we can each hit a crime scene.”
Lassiter interjected, “Good, I’ll go with you and your partner can go with Marty.”
Jamison looked surprised by this. “Why? You have your team and we have ours.”
“Because that way we’ll be apprised and up to date on both sets of investigations,” said Lassiter. “There won’t have to be any long, drawn-out reports or multiple explanations. Saves everyone time and trouble.”
“Works for me,” said Decker distractedly, which drew a quick glare from Jamison.
*
As they were leaving the morgue, Jamison drew Lassiter aside.
“Just FYI, my partner is a little difficult to work with.”
“Trust me, I’d spotted that myself,” replied Lassiter.
“No, I’m not sure you have the full picture.”
“Well, Marty’s no peach to partner with either. But we’re girls in guys’ territory, right? We learn how to deal with it.”
This unexpected comment drew a smile from Jamison. “I think that’s the first thing you’ve said I agree with.”
“Let’s hope there’s more in the future.”
Chapter 8
CRIME SCENE NUMBER Two.
At least that was how Decker had designated it in his mind.
It had been an auto repair facility. An unexpected place for a murder. But then again, most everything about a murder was unexpected.
He and Lassiter climbed out of her car, a pale blue four-door Prius with limited legroom, at least for someone as tall as Decker. It was her personal ride. The department didn’t have money in the budget for cars for their detectives, she’d told him on the drive over.
Decker said, “FYI, I saw at least six drug deals going down on the way here.”
“Seven,” replied Lassiter. “You might have missed the soccer mom with the little girl in the rear seat. Mom was getting her pop from the dude at the last traffic light before she dropped her kid off at daycare.”
“And you drove right past?” said Decker.
“If I stopped every drug deal I saw, I wouldn’t have the time to eat, sleep, or use the bathroom. I happen to know the woman. She won’t take the pop now. She’ll do it later, at home, when her hubby is there. He’ll take care of her and the girl.”
“What’s the drug of choice around here?”
“Used to be OxyContin and then fentanyl. Now it’s heroin even though fentanyl is far more potent.”
“Must be impacting your crime rate.”
“People burglarize their neighbor’s house so they can sell the stuff for cash to service their addiction. Or a son embezzles his mom’s bank account to do the same. Or a granny steals from her granddaughter’s piggy bank. It’s seriously demented stuff and happens every day.”
“And heroin is popular because you get a gram of it for about fifty bucks and it’ll last you a lot longer than fentanyl, or OxyContin, which runs about, what, eighty bucks a pill on the street?”
“Hell, you don’t have to buy it on the street anymore. They’ll deliver it right to your house, like pizza. Or they get it from pharmacies or the local Boy Scout troop leader. Or it comes down one of the drug pipelines around here. They crush and snort it, inject it. They even chew on fentanyl patches instead of putting them on their skin to get the pop.”
“Maybe that mark on the dead guy was a fentanyl patch.”
She nodded. “Could be. Our OD rate is up nearly seventy percent from last year. And the last ten cases we’ve investigated have been people over sixty-five. Some people call it ‘Rust Belt Retirement.’”
“I left being a cop in Ohio before the opioid crisis really got going. But even back then we started calling it the zombie apocalypse.”
“It’s why we all carry Narcan with us.”
“To resuscitate an OD?”
Lassiter nodded. “And the city enacted Good Samaritan laws, so you won’t get in trouble if you report an overdose, even if you might be doing drugs as well. The woman we passed? Her husband keeps a Narcan kit at home. Rehab place in town started to give them out. Some say it’s enabling. I say until we get this figured out, it’s better to keep people alive. We got an army of addicts and a twenty-bed rehab center. Tell me how that makes sense. I think the town’s just sick of it. They don’t want to spend tax dollars they don’t have on people they don’t think give a damn. They hear methadone treatment center and think it’s what meth addicts take to get their high and not the drug used to treat that addiction. They don’t want ‘these’ people around them, not coming to grips with the fact that ‘these’ people are often members of their families. So some say let ’em die and good riddance.”
“But not you?”
“It’s hit pretty close to home with me, Decker. So, no, I don’t say good riddance to a human being.”
“Your family?” he asked.
“Not going there,” she replied curtly.
As they reached the door of the repair facility, Decker said, “I take it since Mrs. Martin taught you in Sunday school that you grew up here?”
“I did. Though I went to college in Philly. Criminal justice degree at Temple. Then I came back here, joined the force, was a street cop for four years, passed my exams, became a sergeant, and then moved up to detective.”
“Pretty fast-track for you.”
“I worked my ass off for it.”
“I’m sure you did, more than the guys had to.”
“That’s pretty astute of you, Decker.”
“Did you shut the repair facility down after the crime, or did it close on its own?”
“The guy who ran it hit the state lottery for about six hundred thousand and got the hell out of here.”
“You got a key?”
She pulled one from her pocket and unlocked the front door.
There was a small reception area, and beyond that, through a wall of glass interrupted by a door, Decker could see three service bays.
“Okay, take me through step by step.”
“We got a call about a possible break-in. Uniforms responded. They found the bodies.”
“Who called it in?”
“Anonymous. We tried to trace it but couldn’t.”
“That’s unusual, because most people don’t carry untraceable phones. Where did you find the bodies?”
She led him into the service bay area.
“Vic number one was found in the grease pit of this service bay.” She pointed down in the hole.
“Cause of death?”
“A gunshot wound to the head sealed the deal.”