Читаем The Edge полностью

Minutes later Devine hurried into the funeral home, grabbed someone who worked there, flashed his creds at them, and fast-walked to the room set at the back of the building where he had viewed Jenny’s body. He didn’t bother to knock but just burst in.

Guillaume looked up from what she was doing, which was cutting open Earl Palmer’s chest, while Chief Harper stood across from her looking slightly nauseous.

“Can anyone join the party or is it exclusive?” asked Devine with a bite to his words.

Guillaume glanced curiously at Harper. “I thought you knew,” she said.

Harper groused, “I thought I asked Wendy to let you know, but maybe I forgot.”

“She was actually under the impression that I had no reason to attend,” retorted Devine.

“Well, you’re here now, so let’s get on with it, not that it has anything to do with why you’re here,” snapped Harper. He looked at Guillaume and nodded.

For the next hour Guillaume worked over the body, dictating notes into her iPhone, which was on a magnetized stand next to her. Both Devine and Harper asked questions of her throughout the procedure.

“He wasn’t strangled and then hanged,” said Guillaume in answer to one of Devine’s queries. “As you noted before, the ligature mark is gravity-based, with no straight-line ligature marks under it. His stomach had no undigested food in it, which makes sense if he was killed early in the morning, but there were some other substances in his belly.”

“Was he on medication?” asked Devine.

She nodded. “I was his PCP. So I know he was on statins and high blood pressure meds and also some painkillers for his arthritis and other pain issues. Most people his age are on lots of meds, unfortunately.”

“But those meds didn’t kill him, right?” said Harper.

“I wouldn’t think so unless he overdosed on them. And then he would not have been able to hang himself. And there was nothing in the tissue samples that would indicate any toxins in his body.”

“There was a chair on its side right under the body,” said Harper. “He obviously put the noose up there, climbed onto the chair, and kicked it away, end of story.”

Devine didn’t believe this, but he wasn’t going to say it in front of Harper.

“But you’ll run blood work and tox screens?” he said.

Guillaume looked at Harper, who said, “All that costs money, Devine. A lot of it. And for what? The man killed himself. How else could it have happened?”

“I agree. My cause of death will be suicide,” said Guillaume.

“Good,” said Harper. “Don’t get me wrong. I liked Earl. But I also don’t need another murder in Putnam. Thanks, Doc.” He nodded curtly at Devine and left.

Devine looked down at the cut-up body as Guillaume bagged the organs in thick plastic viscera bags and placed them in the chest cavity. She had already slid Palmer’s facial skin and scalp back into place after having pulled it down to saw through the skull and remove the man’s brain. She now started to stitch up the Y-incision she had earlier made along the sternum.

“So nothing out of the ordinary then?” asked Devine.

“As you saw, I took one-inch tissue samples of his organs. Didn’t see anything unexpected, as I already said. He had heart disease, but I knew that. Although for his age it wasn’t that bad.”

“When I was with him he had a really hard time walking — he just shuffled, really.”

“You know about the spinal fusion surgery. That really limited his range of motion, as I told you before. And he had severe arthritis in both knees and hips, which caused him to have trouble walking.”

“So with all those physical limitations, you think he could have hanged himself?”

“A sudden pop of adrenaline can allow you to accomplish many things that you ordinarily would not be able to do. If Earl really wanted to kill himself, he could do it. Anyone could, really. And while he had limitations, Earl was still a big, strong man whose lifelong work had built his upper body to a remarkable degree.”

Devine nodded but remained unconvinced. He didn’t think adrenaline was the answer to this. “By the way, I saw you last night.”

She looked up at him, confused. “I know, at Earl’s.”

“No, I meant later. You were driving home and I was behind you. Wow, that is some place you have.”

“It’s not really mine,” she said quickly, looking down at her stitch work again.

“Oh, really?”

“My father built it about ten years ago.”

“Didn’t know there was that much money in funerals,” Devine said.

“Oh, there’s not, believe me. But have you heard of Warren Buffett?”

“Of course.”