Leaving the Scene Read online

  House’s expression could have meant anything. “I worked the synagogue shooting. You can call me with a routine body anytime you want if it’ll keep me away from another one of those. What do you have so far?”

  Doc brought her up to speed. House was unimpressed. “Any ID?”

  “No.”

  “You turn her over?”

  “Waited for you.”

  House smiled. “I knew I liked you, Dougherty. This small consideration almost makes up for your excessively gruesome crime scenes.” Held up a finger. “Almost.”

  “I figure it’s the least we can do, and my father always said I do the least I can, Dr. House. And please call me Doc.”

  “And please don’t call me Dr. House.”

  “You don’t like it?”

  “Would you?”

  “What do you prefer?”

  “Mike is fine.”

  “Okay, Mike. You want us to turn her now?”

  “Give me a few minutes. I want to examine her in place a little more in case anything important sticks to the pavement when we move her.”

  “Sounds good. We’re going to look for the missing shoe. Have Lester call us when you’re ready.”

  Doc and Neuschwander grid-searched every inch of the parking lot. Crawled under the vehicles in case someone parked over it. Tried the doors to the office and service bays. Paused in a patch of shade to decide whether to start looking up and down Greensburg Road.

  “That sandal has to be close by,” Neuschwander said. “It didn’t move itself down the road.”

  “Maybe a dog picked it up.”

  “I thought the kids said their dog didn’t touch anything.”

  “Some other dog. We have to assume this didn’t happen right before they came by. She’s been here a while. Doesn’t even have to be a dog. Coon, maybe.”

  “Would a coon do that?”

  “Might if it smelled like something it could eat. Carry it down to the creek and wash it off.” Doc pointed across the road toward Pucketa Creek. “Might be worth a look over that way a couple hundred yards each direction.”

  Neuschwander looked where Doc pointed. Shrugged one shoulder and started across the road. They made it to the double yellow before Lester hollered.

  “I hate this part,” Neuschwander said walking back. “And this one’s going to be especially nasty.”

  “Look on the bright side,” Doc said. “She can’t have been here long, and it’s not too hot yet. Think of what it would be like if we didn’t find her until three or four in the afternoon.” Neuschwander’s expression showed he didn’t want to consider that option. “Hey,” Doc said, “it’s not my fault I’m Mr. Silver Lining.”

  House had a request when they got back to the body. “I know this is icky, but can you turn her three-quarters over and hold her there for a minute or so while I take a look? The way her face is mangled, I don’t want to get any unaccounted-for debris stuck to it from rolling her all the way over. I promise I’ll be quick.”

  “No problem,” Doc said before Neuschwander could object. “Do me a favor and check her back pockets for me. A wallet would be nice.”

  Doc took the shoulders, Neuschwander the hips. Lester positioned a boot to support the body’s midsection. House looked at whatever she needed to look at, patted the body a few places, and gave the sign to let her down. “Nothing in her pockets. Sorry.”

  “So a stone whodunit and a Jane Doe to boot,” Doc said. “Happy fucking Friday.” Stopped himself from spitting, the area still a crime scene until House and Neuschwander finished with it. “Got anything for us?”

  Every profession has a phrase it can’t live without, taught the first day of school. For cops, it’s “Move along. Nothing to see here.” Doctors who service the living say “Uh-huh” like it means something. House had been well-trained as an ME. “I’ll know more after the autopsy, but it looks like she was already on the ground when the car went over her. There are no bruises or visible injuries on the legs or hips to indicate being struck. No skid marks on her back or the backs of her legs, either, like there would be if she was struck and slid or dragged a little. I can’t say for sure, but it appears the car went over her twice—forward and then again backing out.”

  “He’d have to, close as the old air pump is.”

  House shook her head. “You’re missing my point. If she’d been struck while standing, her body would have been thrown a bit, even at a low speed. She’s hardly been moved. To me, she wasn’t run over so much as rolled over, then he backed over her to get out.”

  “If she was hit at a low enough speed there are no tire tracks, and the car missed the pump…I mean, she’d of moved out of the way, right?” Neuschwander said.

  “You’d think so.”

  “So she’s laying on her back here in an abandoned service station looking up at the stars?” Doc said. “Had to be a reason.”

  “She could’ve been passed out drunk or on drugs,” House said. “The lab results will give us a good idea there. It’s not impossible she was dead already and all of this is post-mortem.”

  “Which implies it’s deliberate,” Doc said. “Kind of like setting a fire to cover up a murder. Will it work?”

  “Depends on how she died. Assuming she was dead already. If she was shot or stabbed or poisoned, no problem. If someone beat her to death, then ran her over…there’s a chance we could still figure it out if the fatal injuries weren’t too badly damaged by the car. No guarantee, though.”

  “You’d still know if she died first, right?” Neuschwander said. “Even if you couldn’t say why.”

  House took her time. “If she was shot or stabbed or poisoned or OD’d, sure. If she was beaten, say killed by blunt force trauma not too long before she got run over? Could be tricky.”

  Doc looked from the body to the road and back, sizing up distances. “Noosh, I think we might could use a traffic investigator. You want to call the Kittanning barracks and see if they can send someone down?”

  Neuschwander ducked under the crime scene tape. Scrolling through his contacts, he had to skip out of the way when another patrol unit rolled onto the lot. Kathy Burrows stepped out of the car centering her hat. “Lester, the chief says you can go home.”

  “I don’t mind staying,” Lester said.

  “Chief says eight in the morning is not when to pay overtime. You know how it works.” Burrows motioned toward the detectives. “These guys will get it all.”

  “Not me,” Neuschwander said. “I’m on vacation soon as I sign out today. This will be down before I get back week after next.”

  “Where you going?” Burrows said.

  “Ocean City.”

  “Jersey or Maryland?”

  “Maryland. Jeannie’s family’s been going there for years. We pretty much take over the hotel, what with all the grandkids. Big fun.” Doc made a phone gesture with his thumb and pinky. Get Neuschwander talking about his kids and he’d miss the vacation. “Right. On it.”

  House went back to work, the cops nearby if needed. Still green, Burrows was well on her way toward becoming a good officer. Not watching House but not looking away. Her eyes scanned the lot for anything out of place or anyone who might disturb the scene. Doc listened to the leather of her utility belt creak as she rocked forward and back on her heels as cops have been doing since the invention of the Sam Browne. Easing his way into a standing nap when House spoke.

  “Based on body cooling, the time of death looks like it’s somewhere between midnight and three this morning. I can tell better if we find out when she last ate.” Stood and brushed grit from her slacks. “Cause of death looks obvious, but I’m not calling it until we get the autopsy and tox screens back.”

  Doc raised a questioning eyebrow as Neuschwander rejoined the group. “About an hour.”

  Doc asked House if she was done. “She’s all yours.” Pointed across the lot. “Her ride’s here.”

  An ambulance
coasted to a stop well clear of the crime scene. Tony Lutz got out and walked over. “Sorry we’re late. Crash on the bypass by the VFW. We came as soon as we could.”

  “It’s okay,” Doc said. “She’s in no hurry.”

  A car pulled in closer than Doc liked, swerved to park on the other side of the ambulance. Ford Escort with some wear on it. A young woman got out. Doc lowered his head. Murmured, “Get rid of her” to Neuschwander.

  “Who is she?”

  “Press.”

  The young woman accelerated to a trot. “Detective Dougherty!”

  “Shit,” Doc said. “Too late. Now I have to get rid of her.”

  “Detective Dougherty! Katy Jackson with the Tribune-Gazette. I—”

  “I remember you, so you should know the drill—whoa. Did you say Tribune-Gazette? You get a promotion?”

  “I got hired.”

  “Full-time?”

  A brief delay. “Almost.”

  “A tiny bit shy of qualifying for benefits, I’ll bet.”

  Almost a blush. “Yeah.”

  “They at least letting you do outside work?”

  “I do some feature pieces when I can. Interviews. Stuff like that. I make almost as much as I would full-time.”

  “For the Tribune-Gazette or other outlets?”

  “Tribune-Gazette mostly. They’re who I know, and I have the best contacts there. A couple of editors feed me stories.”

  “So they’re basically working you full-time and not paying you any benefits.”

  “No, it’s not like…” Her voice faded as she realized it was exactly like that. “Hey. I’m supposed to be asking you questions.”

  “Then get to it. So long as you aren’t disappointed when I tell you I can’t answer them.” She pulled a face. “You know the drill. It’s an ongoing investigation.”

  “What about the victim’s name?”

  “Family hasn’t been notified.”

  “Gender? Race?”

  Doc pondered. The morgue would fingerprint the victim first thing, though it might take a while to run the prints. Assuming the victim was in the system. He’d endured a few episodes of NCIS visiting his parents. Wondered if the goofy chick who could type for ten seconds and give full histories of unidentified decedents based on height, weight, eye and hair color made house calls. The quicker they IDed today’s victim, the quicker they could start working on a timeline and acquaintances. “Female Caucasian.”

  “Age?”

  Doc tried not to think about the victim’s face. “Indeterminate.”

  Katy Jackson paused before making a note. “Cause of death?”

  “Pending.”

  “Time of death?”

  “Unofficially?” Katy nodded. “Between twelve and three. Pending autopsy results, tox screens, the usual bullshit.”

  Katy tried to peer around Doc and Burrows’s unit. “Can I take a look?”

  “I’d rather you didn’t.” Doc saw Katy’s expression. “I’m doing you a favor.”

  “Bad, huh?”

  “Off the record?” She nodded. “Gruesome.”

  Doc had a decision coming and having a new boss didn’t make it any easier. Stush would have backed him either way. He had no reading on Sullivan. Figured what the fuck, it’s a union job. “How about I give you a chance to redeem yourself after you screwed me on that mass shooter last winter?”

  “I did not screw you.”

  “Not deliberately.” Let it sink in. “I know you didn’t mean to. I’m willing to see if you learned anything.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Help us identify the body.”

  “I’d love to. It’ll be a lot easier if I can put her picture in the paper.”

  “No, it won’t.” She looked confused. “No one is going to recognize her. Even on the off chance they did, this is not how anyone’s family wants to see her in the paper.”

  “Then what do you want me to do?”

  “We’ll call a presser when we have more to tell, but I’d like you to get it out on the website sooner. Maybe TV or radio will pick up on it. Do this for me and I promise to call you with anything about to become public knowledge before everyone else gets it. Not much before—a few minutes, maybe—but you’ll still be first. Maybe they’ll break down and hire you full-time.”

  Doc told her as much as he could. General height, weight. Clothing. A reasonable guess at hair color, considering the blood and gore on the victim’s head and shoulders. Katy Jackson took it all down. Thanked Doc and started for her car.

  He called her back. “Forgetting something, aren’t you?” Confused again. “How am I supposed to give you advance notice if I don’t have your contact information?”

  “It’s not in your phone from last time?”

  Doc showed exaggerated patience. “You realize it’s not my job to hang onto your contact information, right? I’ll already know what you want to find out. It’s up to you to make it as easy as possible for me to share it.”

  She might have reddened a little. Gave him a card with the paper’s logo on it. Doc filed it in his wallet. Took out one of his own to give her. She declined. “I have your number. I’m not a complete dunce.”

  The media dealt with for the time being, Neuschwander and Burrows working the crime scene, Doc decided to canvass the few houses along this stretch of Greensburg Road until the traffic investigator showed. Mostly businesses right along the road—mechanics and a refrigeration company and a small appliance repair operation—all closed during the time frame he cared about. Some houses set back off the road on the little hill rising up the opposite side from Pucketa Creek.

  The Flats was where Penns River’s location at the extreme northeast edge of the Appalachians stood proud. A lot of people busting their asses to scrape by, and some willing just to scrape. Families like the Beatties sharing blocks with oxy dealers, evangelical Christians, meth labs, and hillbillies. The diaspora of twenty-first-century life among the lowest quintile of whites. All they agreed on were the Steelers.

  The canvass went about as expected. The people who’d talk to him had jobs that sent them to bed early or had them asleep in front of the television four beers into the evening. The problem was the kinds of sounds of interest to him—squealing tires, yelling—were too common to be noteworthy. He got as many statements of “I didn’t see anything,” “I didn’t hear anything,” “If I think of something I’ll let you know” as he needed to satisfy his conscience and went back to the scene. He’d send a couple of uniforms back later after people came home from work.

  Stepping onto the parking lot, Doc saw a man he took to be the traffic examiner ducking under the crime scene tape, two hours after Neuschwander’s call. Tony Lutz looked antsy, his passenger growing riper by the minute. Doc knew how much the living loved riding in an ambo that smelled like the dead.

  The state cop wore plainclothes, carried himself as if still in uniform with his baton stored up his ass. Sidewalls cut short with not much more on top. Aviator sunglasses. Didn’t look up as Doc approached.

  Neuschwander did what passed for an introduction. “This is Sergeant Mansfield from Troop D in Kittanning.” Mansfield still didn’t look up. Took measurements with a small tape he kept in a pocket and photographs with his cell phone. Jotted notes on a spiral-bound pad. Doc chose to interpret his disinterest in interacting with him and Neuschwander as professional intensity bordering on mania. The other choice was asshole.

  No one spoke during the twenty minutes Mansfield worked. He took meticulous care in putting his tape, phone, notebook, and pen into their respective pockets. Stepped back and looked down at the body until it occurred to Doc the state cop might be waiting for one of the locals to ask him a question. Turned to Neuschwander and placed a finger to his lips, moved his head side to side one time.

  Getting late in the morning of a day forecast to be in the nineties and humid. Doc and Neuschwander had the foresight to sta
nd in the shade of a few trees in the neighboring lot. Mansfield and the body in the sun on concrete already beginning to shimmer in the heat. Nothing happened for at least another minute until Tony Lutz cleared his throat.

  “It okay to take her now? Before I have to scrape her off the fucking pavement?”

  Mansfield looked to Doc and Neuschwander as if to say What’s he asking me for? “Go ahead, Tony,” Doc said. “The ME already pronounced her. You can take her straight to the morgue.”

  More silence until Tony and the other EMT had the victim on the gurney and Mansfield took his turn. “Some kind of sports car. Mustang, Camaro, Challenger. Something close to the ground.”

  “Because…” Doc knew it was the tires. Wanted Mansfield to get on with it.

  “The tread marks.” Mansfield went on for a few minutes that seemed like hours about tread patterns and characteristics of high-performance tires.

  Doc let him get it out of his system. Jumped in when he came up for air. “Can you be any more specific?”

  “Such as?”

  “The make and model would be nice.” No way Mansfield could reach that definite a conclusion. Asked the question to get him to admit it.

  “Can’t tell from what’s here.”

  Having established Mansfield’s lack of omniscience, Doc got straight to business. “How do you think it went down?”

  “She was already on the ground. He literally ran her over.”

  “We know.” Mansfield looked at Doc for the first time. “No contusions or fractures on the lower extremities consistent with being struck by a vehicle. We hoped you might have some information the ME hadn’t already told us.” Not the way to foster interdepartmental cooperation, but the combination of the heat and missing his shower had Doc smelling himself, and he hated that.

  Mansfield pointed to the ground. “Body’s here.” Spread his hands apart shoulder-width at an angle. “Car comes in like this. Can’t be going too fast or he’d of hit the pole here or left skid marks, which he didn’t. Didn’t make too hard a turn, either, or there’d be rubber to show that too.”

  “You think it was deliberate?”

  Mansfield considered. “I’m not willing to go that far. He could’ve pulled in here for…anything. Take a leak. Do a line. Maybe he was over the limit and saw a patrol unit coming and wanted to get off the road.”