“You’re so right. I could just let you read the report, but I think in a sensitive case like this, you need to see what I saw.” Julie stood and motioned for them to follow.
“The crime techs confirmed that there was vodka on his shirt and neck, but it’s clear someone poured it into his mouth,” Julie said. “We have a down-and-dirty blood alcohol test, and his BAC was zero. His stomach contents are consistent with having had a meal at approximately six thirty this evening. We’re running the contents for common poisons, but he had no external symptoms of natural toxins, such as anaphylactic shock that might occur with a shellfish or peanut allergy. I have his medical records, and he has no known allergies.”
They were at the end of the hall and Julie led them into the locker room. “Booties and gloves. Can’t have contamination.”
Both Lucy and Barry put on the gear Julie handed them, and she led them across the hall to one of the autopsy bays.
One autopsy was currently being performed by three other pathologists. Julie nodded to them as they passed, then on the far side of the room she pulled back a plastic sheet that hung from the ceiling to reveal the body of Harper Worthington laid out on a steel autopsy table. His chest had already been sewn back together.
“I’ve already talked to the crime techs about this, and they’re going to come back with a plausible theory after they play with their computers. Because I absolutely know what this is, I just can’t picture how it happened.”
Julie turned on the bright overhead light. It made Worthington look even more pale, but every imperfection was visible. Julie tilted his head a bit and Lucy peered at a small red mark that was halfway between the side and the back of his neck.
“It looks like a puncture mark. A needle, perhaps.”
“Looks like. Cops.” She rolled her eyes. “Yes, it looks like a needle mark because it is a needle mark.”
Barry asked, “What was he injected with?”
“Don’t know yet. I took tissue and blood samples and the lab knows this is a priority, but you’re going to have to give us a day or two. I know it’s nothing common—I can test for most narcotics right here. It would have to be fast acting, because there was no sign of a struggle. No defensive wounds. No skin under his nails. He didn’t fall to his knees or hit his head. I can’t picture how someone could get close enough to inject him and he didn’t at least try to get away. But you saw the room—it was tidy.”
Lucy could picture a couple different scenarios, but one seemed the most plausible. She said, “That lends credence to the fact that a prostitute was in the room and Worthington intended to have sex with her. Maybe they were kissing and the girl puts the needle into his neck. He pushes her away, but can’t move. Collapses onto the bed. That would have to be an extremely fast-acting drug.”
She walked around the table, collecting her thoughts. “But why? What’s the motive? Did she kill him for kicks?”
“A Thelma-and-Louise spree,” Julie suggested.
“That doesn’t feel right. You say he didn’t have sex, that he was fully dressed when he died. No evidence that he hurt the prostitute—the taxi driver didn’t mention the girl was injured, and he doesn’t have any bruises or cuts on his hands. This wasn’t random. He was lured from Dallas for one hour of sex with a prostitute.”
“If,” Barry interjected, “his wife knew about his fetish, she could have hired someone.”
Lucy’s eyes widened. “I thought you didn’t believe she had anything to do with this.”
“You got me thinking about the possibility,” he said.
She almost smiled. “How would his death, if it was ruled natural causes, benefit her politically?”
“Sympathy votes.”
“I’d think she’d get more negative press than sympathy,” Lucy said.
“She’d be a widow. Her opponent wouldn’t be able to run any real negative ads against her or her record without being made to look like a jerk. Eventually, the circumstances would fade away, leaving behind only the fact that she lost her husband during the campaign. There could be extenuating circumstances—does she gain financially from his death?” Barry was on a roll. “I’m not saying I think she’s behind it—I don’t know. But it sounds to me like Julie is calling this a homicide.”
“I’m right here,” Julie said, holding up her hands. “And I haven’t made my official determination. I’m calling his death suspicious right now. When I get the lab results on what he was injected with and talk to the ME about my findings, I’ll revise that. But unofficially? Hell yeah, someone killed him. Whether the girl did it on her own or was hired to do it, who knows? That’s where you two come in.”
Barry was thanking Julie when Lucy interrupted. “What did his liver look like?”
“It was a bit enlarged. I took tissue samples, which is standard protocol in a suspicious death like this with no obvious COD.”
Liver tests could take a day or a week, depending. But there was something familiar about Worthington’s death.