The Unspoken
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But she heard nothing in her mind, saw nothing at all in the part of her own soul that was different from other people’s. Her skill, or gift, or whatever one chose to call it, was out of the ordinary—but shared by some. Like Will Chan…
She glanced up at him again. He was watching her, and his striking dark eyes divulged none of his thoughts.
Stepping back, she gave her full attention to the visual aspect of the corpse.
Drowning. She hadn’t done the autopsy herself. She saw that Dr. McFarland’s Y incision was neatly cut and just as neatly sewn with small, competent stitches. It didn’t take a brilliant doctor to detect when the lungs were filled with water, and she didn’t doubt his conclusion on that.
She turned from the body to the report. The man had definitely drowned.
But she didn’t like the coloration of the corpse. Blue lips—natural, given what had happened. However, the lips were also puffy, and one side of his mouth seemed more swollen than the other. And there were curious bruises on the arms.
“You’re aware of the bruising?” she asked McFarland.
“Of course.” He was obviously indignant at her question. “I make painstaking notes. Every bruise is listed in the report, and you will have a copy of it for your files.”
She forced herself to ignore McFarland and Chan, studying the body once again. She was certain that McFarland was adept at his work—and from what she’d seen thus far, his notes were painstaking, just as he’d said. But the medical examiner needed to note the condition of a corpse and assess possible causes for that condition. McFarland’s Y incision on the dead man had been nothing short of artistic, and she was sure he’d inspected the man’s vital organs and taken all necessary samples for the pathology lab.
Brady Laurie showed no postmortem lividity in his lower extremities, which led her to believe that he’d floated, probably upright, after death.
But the bruising on his face still bothered her. So did the bruises on his arms. Those were smaller—the size of fingertips.
“What do you make of these?” she asked McFarland.
“Bruises. As I mentioned, they’re noted in the report,” McFarland said curtly.
Chan cleared his throat as he eased around the gurney. “What would’ve caused bruises on both arms?” he murmured. Kat had the same question. They weren’t as conspicuous, perhaps, as the contusions around his mouth, but unmistakable nonetheless.
“The man was a diver. He was dealing with a lot of equipment. He knocked around in one of the ship’s holds until he was found by other divers from the Preservation Center,” McFarland said. “He could have gotten them from an air tank or from some of the equipment he had piled on him. He was carrying a camera, and he was wearing one of those headlights divers use during night dives or cave dives. There was a dive knife strapped to his ankle. He had a huge light on the camera, as well—and, like I said, he bounced around the hold.”
“Still…I don’t think we should discount these bruises,” Kat said.
Chan seemed to agree. He moved around the corpse again, studying the bruises on Brady Laurie’s arms. Then he angled forward. “They look like fingerprints,” Chan said. “See? If I were to reach out and grab him…”
He demonstrated, putting his fingers just above where the bruises showed on the flesh.
“You think he was held down?” McFarland sounded skeptical.
“I think it’s possible,” Chan said, and he turned to Kat.
“More than possible.” She stepped forward, gently touching Brady’s lips with her gloved fingers. “And there’s some injury around the mouth….”
McFarland seemed troubled now, staring at the corpse and then referring to his notes. Finally, he shook his head. “Mr. Laurie was down in that hold alone. All alone. I don’t know anything about him as a man. Perhaps he had a temper. Maybe he got into an argument with someone before he went down. Maybe someone grabbed him roughly. I imagine he had a few bouts with his fellows at the Preservation Center. He could have gotten these bruises in a scuffle with a friend—even roughhousing for fun.”
Kat looked at him incredulously.
“This isn’t the body of a man who engaged in any kind of serious fight!” McFarland said firmly. “The bruises are small. There’s no injury to any of his bones. There are no real cuts, just some chafing around the mouth. He came in here having drowned. He definitely did drown.”
“But you assumed he might have been in a scuffle?” Will asked. “Do you often hear of fistfights among historians who don’t agree with each other?”
“There’s no real violence to the body. And historians are human like everyone else,” McFarland said.
“That’s true, but I spent the morning with this man’s coworkers—and there was no difference of opinion. They all wanted the same thing,” Will told McFarland. He sighed. “Doctor, please look at these bruises. Look at the way they match my hands. Think about a regulator. If it was ripped out of a man’s mouth…”
“You would have exactly that kind of trauma,” Kat finished.
“And exactly that kind of bruising,” Will said impatiently.
His tone made McFarland bristle, and Kat frowned at Will.
He ignored her.
Despite the tension in the room, Kat kept her hand lightly on the icy-cold arm of the corpse. She knew that Will was right; she had noted the particular patterns of the bruises on Brady’s arms almost immediately. And combined with the marks around his mouth, they suggested certain conclusions. But then, she was a diver. McFarland was not. And the man who’d been brought to him had been floating alone in the hold of a sunken ship.
At this rate, however, they weren’t going to be welcome back at the morgue.
She wished she could get some feel for the man who’d been Brady Laurie.
Nothing. She was getting nothing from the body. If only Brady Laurie was still somehow here…but his body was cold. Empty.
“This is ridiculous. It’s…it’s not like he has massive bruising anywhere,” McFarland sputtered.
“The bruises may darken, giving us a better idea,” Kat said. “He hasn’t been dead that long,” she reminded him.
“He might not have gone ten rounds at the WWE SmackDown,” Will put in, “but it looks to me as if he was held in a firm grip shortly before his death.”
“It doesn’t make sense that one of his coworkers could have gotten angry enough to have killed him. It’s not like they’re out to claim the treasures for themselves,” Kat said.
“So?” McFarland’s voice was strained. “What? A mummy crawled out of an inner sarcophagus and an outer sarcophagus—not to mention careful waterproofing—to rip his regulator out of his mouth?”
“Of course not,” Kat said.
“This man was the one who discovered the ship! He was alone down there,” McFarland emphasized.
“Maybe—and maybe not,” Will said. “Others had to have known. Brady Laurie had done careful charting before the preservation group sent out requests for financial help, trying to sell their research as a documentary. This is the age of computer hackers, so plenty of people could’ve found out. And Lake Michigan hasn’t been closed, has it?”
Kat wanted to kick him for his sarcasm.
“Agent Chan, I have been at this job for over twenty years,” McFarland began.
Kat stepped in quickly. “Of course, Doctor, and your autopsy and notations are commendable. But there are factors involved that weren’t included in the information you were given. You had no reason to suspect foul play. But with the possibilities out there—”
“What possibilities? A curse! A swimming mummy?”
Will shrugged and replied casually, “No, I’m sure the mummy would have deteriorated if it had somehow come to life,” he said. “Money, Doctor. A treasure of inestimable worth. We don’t know if any other party discovered the wreck due to Brady’s research. It might have been a simple drowning. And then again, maybe not. At this point in the investigation, we have no idea who else might have been out on the lake.”
“He died by drowning,” McFarland insisted.
Will raised his eyebrows. “Yes, he died by drowning. But whether it was accidental or not—that’s a completely different question, isn’t it?”
“You’re really suggesting he was murdered?”
“I’m more than suggesting, I’m saying it’s quite likely,” Will said. “Your findings were absolutely correct, Dr. McFarland, except that…they weren’t. Brady Laurie was grabbed and he was held in the water. He drowned not because he ran out of time, but because his regulator was ripped from him. That’s why he has injuries on his lips.”
“Young man, what you’re suggesting is a remote possibility!” McFarland said.
“Remote? I don’t think so.”
“Dr. McFarland, the point is…there is a possibility,” Kat said.
“And not so remote,” Will added.
He looked over at Kat. He was challenging her to step up to the plate. She wasn’t in the least worried about doing that; she just wished she didn’t have to.
She looked back at Will, who watched her steadily. And then, her heart sinking because she’d so badly wanted this to be nothing, she turned to McFarland. “Doctor, this is your morgue and your call. But…under the circumstances, I’d change that report if I were you. At the very least, hold on to it for a couple of days and let us do some more investigating. There’s a good possibility that this was willful death caused by person or persons unknown.”
3
“Could you have been any ruder?” Kat demanded of Chan.
“Could he have been any more incompetent?” he fired back.
They were out on the street. Car horns blared now and then, and the whir of fast-moving traffic seemed to be all around them.
Kat shook her head. “There’s still nothing to actually prove him wrong, Agent Chan. The bruise could conceivably have been caused by jostling around.”
“I never went to medical school, Agent Sokolov, but I don’t think you need a degree to recognize bruises on postmortem flesh. My fingers fit perfectly into those bruises, so I’d say whoever killed him had nice large hands. Brady Laurie wasn’t any kind of a hulk, although he was certainly strong enough to defend himself to some degree. But you dive, so surely you’re aware that a lack of oxygen can quickly deprive you of energy and skill, leaving only the instinct to survive—and fight against whatever is keeping you from breathing. An actor in a James Bond movie may be able to hold his breath forever while waging a heroic battle, but in most instances, you expend what air you have in trying to fight, and then…” He broke off, his implication grim. “And you agreed with my findings. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have said what you did.”
“I believe your findings suggest further investigation.”
“Beyond a doubt.”
“But that would usually suggest not insulting the medical examiner to the point that he doesn’t want you back in the morgue! In any city, we need to be on the best terms with local authorities,” Kat told him.
Will Chan stared back at her for a moment, then shrugged. “All right, fine. I should have tiptoed around his feelings. We should have pleasantly gone along with him—and then he would’ve released the body and we’d be left with nothing. Well, excuse me. You can go back in and ask the good doctor out for coffee or drinks, but I’m headed to the police station.”
He turned and started walking. Kat glared at him, her temper soaring. She decided to go after him and practically had to run to keep up with his long strides. She caught him by the arm and was surprised by her own strength when she spun him around to face her.
“Look, my team was the one called in. You just happened to be here. This is my investigation, and I need you to stop your high-handed behavior before you offend every cop in the city of Chicago, as well.”
“Why would I offend a cop who’s dealt with a situation competently?” he asked. “And I’m sure you’ve been informed that I’ve already begun the investigation. I did so right after Logan Raintree got the request and called Jackson Crow and Adam Harrison with the information.”
“Great. Except that you offended the medical examiner. Did you offend the film people, too? Or any of the others we’ll have to depend on for access and information?”
“I haven’t offended anyone, Agent Sokolov. What I did was conduct a very professional meeting with the film crew and then speak to the two researchers who worked with and found Mr. Laurie. I’ve politely informed them that we’ll be diving with them tomorrow. Unless, of course, you prefer to maintain your investigation here on the surface. I will certainly understand.”
She wondered what would happen if she simply combusted with anger on the street.
“Agent Chan, it was my understanding that I was to examine the corpse at the request of the producer, Alan King, and that if I found anything I didn’t believe to be completely straightforward, then an investigation would begin.”
“Well, Agent Sokolov, I was told last night to step right up and get things going since I was in the city. That’s what I did. When a body pops up, the first hours can be the most important—as you know—so time was of the essence. Would you like me to share what I’ve learned? Or would you rather let someone else die while you start your own investigation?” he asked.
I’m a professional, but I cannot work with this man!
She took a deep breath. “You do realize, Agent Chan, that we didn’t just go in and prove that Brady Laurie was murdered. Yes, it’s possible that he was held in some way while his regulator was ripped from him, but it’s not a foregone conclusion. There are other reasons such bruising might have occurred.”
“Evidence locker,” he said.
“Pardon?”
“Laurie’s dive gear is in an evidence locker down at the police station, since the police were with the rescue units when he was brought in. I’m going down there to meet up with the local investigator and see exactly how much air was left in Laurie’s tank.” He paused. “I was a day ahead of you—although, yes, it’s your case. I’ve seen the footage that was taken when the body was discovered. Laurie was dead when they found him, which wasn’t long after he’d gone down himself. I still can’t accept that it was a simple drowning.”
“Wait—whoa! I didn’t know there was footage!”
“Yes, there’s footage. And you can call Bernie right now, or you can take my word for it. I haven’t been to look at the evidence yet, but I intend to. You can get together with King Productions now or come with me and see the footage later. Your call.”
She really wished it would be professional just to slap his determined and impatient face.
Another deep breath. “It’s my call, yes,” she said. “But I will come with you. As you pointed out, I can see the footage later.”
He stood his ground but seemed slightly taken aback, something of a smile almost curving his lips.
“We’re not on opposing sides,” she said. “It doesn’t matter who makes what call. We’re here to find out if a murder has occurred, and if an investigation is necessary. I’m here for Brady Laurie, Agent Chan, not for a pissing contest with you.”
Now his lips did curve into a full smile. “Sorry. But the M.E.’s findings were just too easy.”
“Look, if there was no reason to suspect foul play, his findings really weren’t negligent.”
“You’re defending him because he’s an M.E.”
“I’m only saying what’s true, especially in a big city where you can have days when the bodies just pile up,” Kat said.
“All right. I’ll apologize when I see him again—if I see him again—and let’s pray I don’t. As to the rest, time can mean everything in this kind of investigation.”
“I know. But I’m not sure whether we can answer all the questions we need answered or if those answers will lead to more questions. If we find air in the tank…”
“Then there’s a good chance he was murdered.”
He’d turned already. She suddenly hated the fact that he was as tall as he was. Keeping up with him was an effort.
“Even if the air is gone, we can’t be certain of what happened. The air might have bled out after he died,” she said, catching up with Will. “And if there is air in the tank, it still doesn’t prove that the regulator was ripped from his mouth.”
He stopped so abruptly that she plowed into him. He reached out one hand to prevent her from falling.
“No, we won’t prove anything one way or another, not without additional evidence. But it will be interesting to find out if there is or isn’t air in his tank and to take a look at the regulator.”
“You have a car?” she asked him.
“You don’t?”
“I got into my room around midnight. I took a cab from the airport.”
“I’m in the garage.”
He started walking again. This time, she kept a certain distance.
He’d rented a Honda. When Kat climbed in, he indicated a folder thrust between the seats. “Notes from my meeting with Amanda Channel and Jon Hunt at the Chicago Ancient History Preservation Center—and what I’ve dug up from recent newspaper clippings.”
Kat quickly leafed through the folder while he maneuvered the car out of the parking garage. The center sounded like a truly commendable enterprise. Nonprofit, it was dedicated to preservation. The staff was small and included three researchers, a receptionist and a general assistant. Grad students came and went. Of course, now with Brady Laurie gone, it was down to two researchers.
“Landry Salvage and Simonton’s Sea Search,” she murmured, skimming various articles written about the elusive Jerry McGuen. “These can’t be the only two parties interested in finding the ship.”
“I’m assuming that over the last century, countless individuals and companies have tried. Think about discoveries in the past. Both the Titanic and the Atocha took years and years of fruitless searches before finally being discovered.” He glanced over at her. “Laurie must have been a brilliant historian and scientist.”
“But not as brilliant a diver,” Kat said. “He shouldn’t have gone down alone.”
Will shrugged. “Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe the first person to come across the treasure was supposed to die,” he said cryptically. “Or maybe his coworkers weren’t supposed to be so close behind him, who knows? But I believe we’ll find out.”
“You have a lot of confidence,” Kat told him.
He flashed her a smile that was surprisingly charming. “That’s what we do—find things out. So far, my team hasn’t stopped until we’ve gotten the answers. Don’t tell me your team gives up so easily.”
“We haven’t given up yet!” Kat said indignantly.
His smile remained in place as he drove.
At the station, they were led first to one desk and then to another, and finally to the officer in charge of the accidental death investigation, Sergeant Riley. His supervisor had advised him to expect fed agents, and while he was pleasant and seemed to have no problem offering them assistance, he was confused about why they were there. “Sad, but the way the papers tell it,” Riley said, “Laurie went down on his own and drowned. You would’ve thought he’d know better. Every year, every damned year, there’s a diver lost somewhere in the lake, some fool so convinced of his own ability that he just goes down—and comes up dead.” Riley was in his early thirties, tops. He was medium in height and size, and wore a white tailored shirt with the sleeves rolled up. “At the moment, the personal effects found on the corpse are in the evidence room. We’ll go sign them out and you can study them all you want.”
“Were you there when Brady Laurie was brought up?” Kat asked him.
“They were on the lake. Our marine unit went out to the site. He was declared dead at the hospital, but there’d been attempts at resuscitation before that. I took over the investigation when his wet suit and dive tanks were sent to us, and I’ve been awaiting the medical examiner’s report, but…I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting anything to come of it,” Riley said.
He walked them back to the evidence cage, where they were introduced to the officer in charge and signed in. “Was the equipment tested for leaks?” Will asked.
“Immediately. No problems.”
“Fingerprints?”
“Um, no.”
“Ah,” Chan said.
Riley frowned. “Is that a problem? I doubt we’d have gotten anything, anyway, since divers in the lake wear gloves. And then, of course, our technicians worked with the equipment to find out if it was faulty in any way.”
“But it wasn’t?”
“No.”
In the evidence area where the tank, regulator and buoyancy control belt had been stowed, along with Laurie’s weight belt, Will looked back at Kat. “May I?”
“Go right ahead.” Laurie’s equipment had not been disassembled; the “octopus” with the regulator, secondary system and computer console was still connected to the air tank.
Will examined the computer at the end of one of the hoses. He grimaced and beckoned to Kat. She came over and stood next to him, staring down at the dials. Brady Laurie had died with five minutes of air still available.
“There was air in his tank,” Will explained to Riley. “After it was checked out for leaks.”
“Well, so there is,” Riley said. “Then he must have panicked and spit the thing out.”
“Experienced divers don’t panic when they have a regulator and air. He had a secondary system, too,” Kat said thoughtfully. “Properly attached to his BCV.” Riley was looking at her blankly. “This,” she said, indicating the buoyancy control vest. “He could easily have reached for it if he’d had difficulty with his main regulator,” she said, pointing to the mouthpiece. “It allows for the flow of air.”
Riley shook his head. “We really think it was just a tragic accident.”
Kat stepped in front of Will. “I’m sorry, Sergeant Riley. We don’t.”
“You’re taking over the investigation?” he asked. To Kat’s astonishment, he sounded hopeful.
He must have read her mind. “Hey, big city here, folks. I have my hands full, so…the chief already sent down orders to set you up in one of the conference rooms.”
“Good,” Will said. “Thank you.” He pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket. “Can you see that we have access to this equipment, and a technical officer if need be?”
“Whatever you want that we’ve got,” Riley assured them.
“Can you also connect us with the officer in charge of the marine patrol unit?”
Riley was happy to do so. He was happy, perhaps, to do anything that would make them someone else’s responsibility.
Outside the station, Kat took out her phone. “I’ve got to tell Logan I can’t say for sure that Laurie died by accident,” she explained to Will. “Do you need to call in, as well? Now might be a good time.”
He shrugged. “I don’t have anything to report yet. Jackson Crow knew I’d be staying on for a while.”
“Oh?”
“Hey, I happen to love Egyptian history,” he told her.
“You seem delighted that there might have been a murder,” she said sarcastically.
“Death never delights me.” His voice had grown serious. “You came into this expecting an accidental drowning—which is also what the police believed. But whenever there’s big money involved and a massive black market, I expect trouble. We need to put a stop to it or it’s going to continue.” He studied her for a moment. “Hey, this is what we do,” he said. “You shouldn’t be in this if you can’t hack it.”
“I can hack it just fine,” she snapped. “You forget I’m a doctor—a certified medical examiner and forensic pathologist. I’ve studied all manner of deaths.”
“No, I didn’t forget,” he said. “I couldn’t possibly—you constantly remind me.”
He walked away so she could make her call.
Kat looked after him, frustrated, her temper soaring again. Then she flushed and turned away. Was she afraid she didn’t have control of the situation? Mental note: quit reminding people that I’m an M.E.
Wincing, she made her call.
She told Logan that yes, it appeared that they should investigate, although she had nothing solid as yet. He promised that more team members would be there within twenty-four hours. “I’m assuming that you’ve met Agent Chan?” Logan asked.