What do an 80 year old man with pneumonia, a forty year old woman with a congenital heart defect, and a 21 year old kid with a motorcycle all have in common… besides being dead? Nothing, that’s what.
“We might as well get stuck in on these files,” Sergeant Riggs grumbled. “Let’s start up a board.” He pulled over an old-fashioned whiteboard, looked at it a moment, and dragged a second one over. He divided each board into seven vertical sections, and stood ready to write down the pertinent information for each missing body.
“Okay,” Detective Campbell said, flipping open the first file. He handed Sergeant Riggs a photo, which he taped to the top of the first section of the board. “We have Millard Haynesworth, male, 80 years old, severe pneumonia. Died after seven days in the hospital. Attending physician is a Doctor Jameson. He had a DNR. Instructions for the body to be taken to Trinity Funeral Home over on Casper. Survived by two children, a bunch of grandkids. Not an unexpected death, he’d been in an assisted living facility for… six years. Golden Sunrise, at 67th and Mass. He was a retired manager of a shoe store. No criminal record, nothing out of the ordinary.”
Sergeant Riggs dutifully wrote all the information on the board. “Any big insurance payouts? Sizeable estate? Lover’s quarrel?”
Detective Campbell looked at him.
“Hey, just trying to cover all the bases.” He shrugged. “And older people can have a very full and active sex life, you know.”
“Yes, you’re right, but no, it doesn’t say anything about him being a Casanova of the nursing home, nor was there any money to be had. There was absolutely nothing suspicious about his death, he’d been hospitalized with breathing problems on three other occasions.”
“Next,” Sergeant Riggs moved over, hand out, ready to grab the next picture. Detective Campbell handed one over, he taped it up, and stood with his marker poised.
“Next we have Diana Freemont, age forty, died suddenly due to a heart defect.” He studied the file closely for a moment. “Hm, but it doesn’t look like there’s much room for suspicion – she was pronounced dead on the operating table, and the doctors, Schmidt and Langston, documented the defect, so it wasn’t poison masquerading as a physical defect.”
“Though that would be reason to dispose of a body,” Sergeant Riggs said.
“True, but I can’t see anything that would indicate that. She was single, worked as a librarian, seemed to live a quiet life. She was at her book club when she started having symptoms, they called an ambulance and rushed her to the hospital. And it doesn’t look like there is any hint of malpractice, everything seems very open and shut. She doesn’t have any relatives listed. Left her small estate to a local animal charity. Wanted her body cremated, Forrest Hills Funeral Home.” Detective Campbell tossed the file aside. “She ranks just above Mr. Haynesworth in the suspicious category right now.”
Sergeant Riggs wrote a 13 with a circle around it over Freemont’s name, then added a 14 in a circle over Haynesworth’s. Another picture was taped up in the next column.
“Next up, Jonathon Delmar. Twenty one years old. Blood alcohol content of 0.12, hopped on his motorcycle and lost a battle with a tree. Friends and relatives admit he had some substance abuse problems, and liked to drive too fast. Chalked up to an accident, officers on the scene didn’t find anything suspicious about the crash. Of course he had plenty of enemies, and might have been mixed up in some drug business, but normally drug and gang killings are a little more direct. This seems too subtle for them.”
“Yeah, typically they want other people to know they’ve killed someone. Sends a message.” Sergeant Riggs stopped writing. “Anything else about him?”
“Worked at the video store on Lexx, plenty of priors, but all petty stuff. Was pronounced dead on the scene, not much question. No doctor on file, and the family hasn’t made any funeral arrangements yet. Probably more suspicious than the other two, but not by much. Next up we have Frank Pickerington. Now, here’s one that at least has a little bit of a story to it. Seems Mr. Pickerington was killed in a bar brawl.”
“Certainly more suspicious than anything else we have so far,” Sergeant Riggs said.
“They had plenty of witnesses, and an arrest has already been made, but it is better than any of the others so far. He was fifty three, single, and by all accounts a drunken bully. Worked on a road crew for Milton Construction, been there twenty years. A bit of a troublemaker, but no arrests. A few complaints filed for a few on-the-job incidents, mostly roughing up the newbies and showing up drunk, but no charges. The guy who’s in custody didn’t work for the same company, apparently the fight was over… monster trucks.” Detective Campbell peered at the file, a puzzled look on his face. “Yes, it appears he died because he took offence that the other guy didn’t appreciate the finer points of his favorite monster truck.”
“Ooooh…kay,” Sergeant Riggs said slowly. “Still doesn’t seem like much of a motive to steal a body, unless they can’t prosecute without it.”
“No, looks like the guy already pleaded to involuntary manslaughter, so there’s not even going to be a tried. He had some priors and the plea deal kept him out of a serious three strikes jail term. So, more suspicious than the others, but still nothing jumping out at me. No life insurance, one ex-wife, but she lives out in Colorado. No other relatives in the area, body scheduled for cremation at Rolling Meadows.”
“Seems pretty cut and dry.” Sergeant Riggs set down the marker, stretched, and walked over to his desk to take a swig of the lukewarm coffee sitting there. He grimaced. “This swill is even worse when it’s not hot.”
“Just be thankful we still have a coffee maker. Budget cuts, you know.” Detective Campbell picked up the next file with a sigh, and handed over a smaller, black-and-white photo. “On to number five. James Branch. Seventy-three, lived with his daughter, had an aneurysm. Died on the operating table, diminished lung capacity due to emphysema. I suppose it’s possible the anesthesiologist would want the body to disappear if there was a question of misconduct, but the daughter doesn’t seem inclined to sue. She signed quite a few waivers to even have the surgery attempted, and they knew it was tricky. Dr. Lowenstein was the surgeon, Dr. Pavloski was the anesthesiologist. No real question of cause of death, they don’t suspect any foul play. Still, there’s the grey area there so we’ll bump him to the top of what we have so far.”
“Funeral arrangements?” Sergeant Riggs asked.
“Pre-arranged by Branch himself, when his wife died. Rolling Meadows, interment next to his wife.” Detective Campbell tossed the file to the side. “No monetary motive, he didn’t leave much to his daughter, and neither was he costing her a lot. So no reason either way for her to want to bump him off, and by all accounts they had a good relationship.”
“None of these look like much. Are we wasting our time chasing out tails? There’s got to be something.”
“I can’t believe fourteen bodies were taken from a morgue for no reason. There’s something. We just have to find it. Moving on. Fred Milkstein, age sixty five, pancreatic cancer. Been in the hospital for a month, the last two weeks spent comatose. Leaves behind a sizable insurance policy for his wife, but… it’s pretty clear he had cancer and was going to die, so there’s no reason to do him in sooner. And even if he was helped along, he had so many drugs on board it’d be hard to tell. The autopsy wasn’t even going to be much more than a formality, mostly to get some data on the tumor. Milkstein had given permission for science to study his body after his death, because he’d had a rare, aggressive form of the cancer. No suspicion on anyone in that case.”
Detective Campbell sat back and stretched for a moment, rubbing his eyes. It was only the middle of the afternoon, but already he was tired. This was not going to be a good case, he could feel it. “And on to lucky number seven.”
“Halfway done,” Sergeant Riggs said cheerfully. He moved to the second board and taped the next photo to the first section.
“And still not a solid clue,” Detective Campbell grumbled. “Number seven – Jessie Franklin. Twenty-seven year old male, construction worker. Works for Bernally International, skyscraper work. Killed in a car accident. Single car, looks like he fell asleep at the wheel. Was pronounced brain dead, the family donated the organs, so there were already the standard panel of tests for toxins and poisons and whatnot. Came up clean. So even if someone wanted to destroy evidence of a crime, there wasn’t much there left to destroy. Plus he had been in the hospital for awhile, and they didn’t find anything suspicious. A bunch of doctors signed off on various parts of his file. Brown, Kitterlidge, Henning, and Langston are the main ones. He was single, lived on his own, no life insurance. He didn’t funeral plans, but his family had decided to go with Rolling Meadows. That’s three for them.”
“Hold on, you didn’t say where Milkstein was to be taken.”
Detective Campbell snagged the file off of the table and flipped through it. “Oh, here it is. Peaceful Brooke. With an e on the end. He and his wife purchased side by side plots when they found out he was ill, everything has been arranged.”
“Okay, got it. Thanks. Who’s next?” He grabbed the picture Campbell handed him and taped it up. “Wow, that’s a picture for a Faces of Meth billboard.”
“Clara Morris, thirty seven, drug overdose. Not particularly suspicious, she was living in a halfway house and had had several relapses. If there was foul play of any sort – and no one really suspects it – it wouldn’t be the sort of person who was then capable of staging a large-scale body movement operation. They’re mostly petty criminals and people who’ve genuinely fallen on hard times and are struggling to rebuild their lives, no one with any violent past connected to the house. Still, we have to allow for the possibility that someone outside the house had contact with her. Maybe she had some dirt on some politician or bigwig somewhere. You never know. She’s at the top spot so far.”
“Still,” Sergeant Riggs mused. “It seems weird that someone would make us investigate even further if the crime had already all but been covered up.”
Detective Campbell sat up straighter. “That’s another possibility. It’d be odd, but… No, no, that would be too weird. It can’t be.”
“What?”
“What if this whole thing wasn’t about covering up a crime, but rather uncovering a crime everyone had overlooked?”
“But why not just raise questions at the hospital, with the police, or to the M.E.?” Sergeant Riggs asked.
“That’s why I dismissed it. It seems like a lot of trouble to go through when an anonymous letter or e-mail could have done the trick. Still, it has to be put out there as a possibility. Not that we needed another possibility. With bodies still unaccounted for, there are too many scenarios we have to entertain as it is.” Detective Campbell sat back and clicked his pen against his front teeth. “Where were we? Ah, Clara Morris. No funeral arrangements, family is from out of town and were flying in tomorrow to set up some. Seems she’d been estranged from her family for several years, no money to speak of, no know associations outside of the halfway house. She was pronounced dead at the house, so no doctor on file.”
Sergeant Riggs wrote it on the board, and reached out for another picture, but Detective Campbell waved him off.
“Let’s take a break for a minute,” he said, looking at his phone. “Parts of the bodies are a arriving at the morgue, give Dr. Curtis a call and get her down here. We’ll mosey down there and ask a few more questions when she gets here. For now, I think we need to get some decent coffee.” He set down his coffee mug with a grimace.
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