He opens the envelope flap. I look inside and see a dirt-caked piece of steel about half an inch wide and four inches in length. Several screws protrude from one end. At first glance, I think he’s showing me the hasp from the barn door, but I know it must be more important than that. “What is it?”
“I believe it’s an orthopedic implant. A plate, to be more precise. Probably titanium. Judging from the size, possibly for the forearm—the radius or ulna. As you can see, some of the screws are still intact. We also found some additional screws scattered about.”
“So at some point this individual broke his arm?” Tomasetti says.
“That would be my guess.”
I think about that a moment. “Do those kinds of implants have any sort of identifying number?”
“I believe they do. Of course, I need to get it into a lab environment for a more thorough look. But I’m relatively certain that’s the case, and I thought it might be helpful to you in terms of identification.”
“Let’s hope so,” I tell him.
“In the coming days and weeks I’ll be consulting with Doctor Coblentz. We, as a team, may or may not be able to determine cause and/or manner or death. I can’t make any promises. We don’t have a whole lot to work with here, but we’ll certainly do our best.”
I offer my hand and we shake. “Thank you.”
“I must admit I enjoyed every minute.” He shakes hands with Tomasetti as well. “This promises to be a challenging and interesting case,” he tells us. “I’ll be in touch.”
Ten minutes later, I’m watching the taillights of the Prius disappear into the night, when Tomasetti approaches. He’s left the Tahoe running with the headlights on for illumination while the deputy breaks down the work lights.
“Wanna help me load the generator?” I ask.
“I thought you’d never ask.” He flexes his arm. “I never pass up an opportunity to show off my muscles to a woman I’m wildly attracted to.”
Rolling my eyes, I bend to the generator, wrap both hands around the handle, and wheel it toward the Explorer. It’s not easy; the generator weighs about 250 pounds, and I’m lugging it over clumpy grass, loose gravel, and areas of soft dirt. But I’m glad for the distraction. I’m still thinking about the scene with Paula Kester earlier. Her accusation still stings. I don’t want to talk about it, but I’m pretty sure Tomasetti’s going to bring it up.
I’ve dragged the generator only a few feet, when he usurps the handle and takes over. “You’re quiet,” he says.
“Just thinking,” I tell him.
“About Paula Kester?”
“Mostly about the remains.”
“Uh-huh.” He nods, guiding the generator around a muddy area. “You know Ohio has a Good Samaritan law, right?”
“I’m aware.” A statute in the Ohio Revised Code protects anyone who administers first aid to an injured party from liability. “But we both know there’s always some lawyer willing to argue the point.”
“She’s not going to get anywhere with a lawsuit.”
I want to tell him the possibility of a lawsuit isn’t what’s bothering me, but I let it go. “I didn’t want her arrested.”
“You don’t slug a cop in the face and walk away. Yes, there are extenuating circumstances and she may have been overcome with emotion, but she can tell it to the judge.”
“Tomasetti, you’re such a hard-ass.” But I soften the words with a smile.
We reach the Explorer. I fish my keys from my pocket and open the rear door. “She told me the baby had a neck injury,” I tell him. “If I hadn’t moved her, she might still be here.”
“If you hadn’t moved her and the gas had ignited, all of us would be at the morgue tonight. You used your best judgment, and I think you made the right call.”
“What if it wasn’t? I mean, we’re talking about a baby’s life. Tomasetti, that’s huge.”
“That baby was in a trailer that had been flipped over and half crushed by a tornado. You know as well as I do that aside from a vehicle, a mobile home is one of the most dangerous places to be during a storm like that. There was a gas leak. You risked your life to get her out.”
“I know all of that,” I say testily.
“Look, you know as well as I do that when people get caught up in that kind of grief, they say and do stupid things. Paula Kester was dealt a tough hand. She needed someone to blame. So she picks a fight with you and slugs you in the face? What kind of person does that?”
“Someone who’s just lost everything, including a child.”
He lets my statement stand. “So is she married?”
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe you ought to check, because if she’s still with that baby’s father and he’s as pissed off as she is, it might be smart to keep an eye on him. Make sure he doesn’t do something foolish.”
Bending, I grasp the handle of the generator. “Ready?”
He does the same, frowning at me over the top of the motor. “Yup.”
We lift the generator in tandem and set it in the Explorer. I step back and Tomasetti closes the door, then turns to me. “You coming home after you drop off the generator?”
“Yeah.” I muster a smile. “I’ll see you later.”