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Also by Mary Bush

A Simple Lie

Dedication

For Ray — my dear friend, colleague and partner in our forensic dental team.

1

Valentina Knight stepped around the altar. She estimated its size to be about ten feet across and two feet in width. Bright lights above, set up by crime scene technicians, illuminated the bodies lying on top, making it seem like heaven was shining down and at any moment angels would come to collect them. Prayer—this was all that was left for the young mother and her son, especially after they died like that.

Three cops huddled together in stunned silence as the technicians quietly moved around the church scouring for evidence. No one had any words right now. Val couldn’t help but feel an uncomfortable stillness in the air, as if those fortunate to be alive, those spared death, were waiting to exhale in relief…This wasn’t my family. This isn’t my nightmare. Thank God.

The team had started at the altar. Now that the victims had been photographed, and a search for hair, fibers, fingerprints, completed and documented, it was up to Val to do a preliminary exam for cause and manner of death before sealing up the boy and his mother and transporting them to the morgue.

Val shivered as she looked at the odd placement of the bodies. Their heads were at either end of the altar, feet pointed together, like mirror images. Each had died in a very different way, though.

“Jesus, I’ve never seen anything like this before,” Officer Powell said, his face ashen. He held a document, which Val guessed was the missing person’s report. Computer printout photos were paper-clipped to the front. “The priest found them this morning, though he can’t say how long they’ve been here. He hasn’t been in the church since services last Sunday.” Officer Powell was the first responder and would be in charge until homicide detectives Mitchell Gavin and Alexander Warren arrived.

This was Val’s first opportunity to even get a briefing on the case from him. The lead crime scene tech, though, had provided her with a summary of the findings and also let her know that the names of the victims were Gabrielle Morgan and her son Adam.

“Sunday? That’s three days ago. There’s no way these people have been dead for three days. There isn’t enough decomposition for that,” Val said and then nodded towards the officer’s document. “Do we know how long they’d been missing for?”

“About a week. Six days to be exact.” Officer Powell handed Val the report. “This was filed on Monday.”

Val looked at the victims and then back at the pictures attached to the file. This was them. No doubt. She glanced through the narrative.

Last Friday, January 24th, Gabrielle Morgan, age thirty-one, left her house in Amherst NY, a suburb northeast of Buffalo, at roughly 7:40am. This is the time she usually leaves to drop her eight-year-old son off at school, which is less than a half mile away from their home, before heading to work. This was confirmed by one of her neighbors, a Mrs. Jennifer Ballard who lives next door. Mrs. Ballard saw Gabrielle and waved. Gabrielle waved back. Adam kept his head down, opened the door and got inside the car. He did not wave to Mrs. Ballard, but that was not unusual as the boy often appeared preoccupied. Though Gabrielle seemed to be in a hurry, Mrs. Ballard stated Gabrielle did not look distraught. Gabrielle then got into the car and drove away. That was the last time anyone saw her alive. She did not report to work that morning and no one had seen or heard from her until the discovery of her body today.

On the day Gabrielle disappeared, Adam arrived at school by 8:15am, which was twenty minutes later than usual. Adam’s teacher took note of this because he was always seated at his desk by 7:55. Class started at 8am and Adam was never late. Adam gave no answer for his tardiness and his teacher did not press—everyone has an off-day.

At this moment, she was not aware that Gabrielle had left home at their usual time. No one could confirm that Gabrielle was the one who dropped Adam off. By 8:15, all students and teachers were in the building. Shortly thereafter, Adam started acting as if something was bothering him. He had trouble concentrating, made sharp remarks, lashing out at his teacher, which was uncharacteristic, and later, fell down twice. After about two hours he complained of stomach pain and went to the nurse’s office where he vomited. Multiple attempts were made to contact Gabrielle about her son but all were unsuccessful. The number she had given for an emergency contact, a Ms. Bethany Arias, was not in service.

The boy stayed with the nurse for several hours at which time he stated that he felt better and wanted to go back to class. At 3pm he left school and immediately started walking down the sidewalk.

A number of his classmates confirmed this as many were outside, preparing to go home themselves. They noticed only because Adam was usually picked up by his mother. If she wasn’t on time, he waited. He commented to one classmate that his mother didn’t like him walking home from school, although home was well within walking distance. Her rule was she picked him up. Adam always followed the rules. His teacher verified this trait. “Model student” she called him. That day, he walked away without hesitation. He didn’t wait, he didn’t look around for his mother. He simply started walking.

He, also, was not seen again until the discovery of his body this morning.

Though Val would get a better estimate for time of death once she finished her exam, by the condition of the bodies, she guessed they’d been dead only about a day. What had happened to Gabrielle Morgan and her son Adam from the time they disappeared until now? Jesus, what happened right after they left their house? There’s twenty minutes unaccounted for.

Val opened her mouth to speak but before she could say anything, one of the crime scene techs motioned to Officer Powell, and he quickly ran over. Val held her breath as she watched their interaction. Did they find something new? She waited, but then slowly exhaled. It seemed the technicians had finished collecting evidence in the last section of the church and he was asking for directions on where to go, what to do next.

As Val turned her attention back to the bodies, she pulled her wool hat down to cover her ears. Outside, the wind gusted, rattling the windows. Snow was building quickly on the bottom of the sills; about a half inch from the time she’d gotten there, thirty minutes ago. The storm all the news stations predicted had arrived as promised.

It was late January in Clarence, New York, a suburb ten miles east of Buffalo. The temperature had hovered at twenty degrees Fahrenheit throughout the morning but had dropped steadily as the storm approached. Val checked her phone. The outside temperature was now five degrees. No blizzard warnings, yet. She quickly scrolled through her messages. Nothing new. Frustrated, she shoved the phone back in her pocket.

Val glanced at the church door often, anxiously waiting for the homicide detectives to arrive. Where in the hell were they? She’d been postponing her exam until they got there. Mitchell Gavin, who would be the lead homicide detective, had sent her a text right after she walked through the doors of the church. All he said was: “I’ll be there soon. Wait for me before you start.” Something big was going on with this case. She glanced at the bodies again and wasn’t surprised.

Val tried hard to keep an emotional distance from the scene that lay before her. She was a death scene investigator with the Erie County Medical Examiner’s office in Buffalo NY. The name said it all. Death was her job. As such, she was to respond to unexpected, suspicious or violent death as a representative of the medical examiner’s office. Her primary responsibility was to document the circumstances of the fatality and do a preliminary examination of the bodies. Basically, collect anything that would help Dr. Richard Maddox, the new chief medical examiner for Erie County, determine cause and manner of death. Val’s charge was to focus on the victims. The cops’ emphasis was on the crime. Fine lines blurred the two roles and a cordial weaving of skills often came into play to get the case solved.

In cases of homicide, especially those that have happened under unusual circumstances, she would be the liaison between the medical examiner’s office and law enforcement. That was certainly going to be the case here.

Shifting her weight several times, Val tried to find a comfortable position to stand as she waited. The chilly bite in the air was taking its toll on her legs, particularly the right one, which was starting to feel numb. The doctors had told her the injury would be sensitive to temperature changes. But damn it, it’s been eight months already. As she fidgeted, she tried hard to not think about why these people died—particularly about the boy. She wondered if his mother had killed him—then taken her own life. Or did someone else murder both of them?

Val took a deep breath and looked at her surroundings, then pulled out her phone again to check the time and her messages again. Where in the hell was Detective Gavin? She put the phone back in her pocket, wondering how this place was chosen for Gabrielle Morgan and her son to die. What was the significance? The décor in this building screamed anything but peaceful. Maybe that was the point.

The small church had four columns of pews, about twelve rows long on each side. Many of the windows were stained glass depicting the stations of the cross—the crucifixion—a gruesome reminder of our violent nature, one that never would be eradicated through evolution, conditioning, therapy. This trait is one that survived and only strengthened over time. Growing to be a little more concealed, a little more calculated; maturing strategically into an innate skill, honed to methodically plan, execute, and take down another human being masterfully.

The windows seemed in perfect harmony with the back wall of the church where a large mural of heaven and hell was painted. It had a medieval quality to it. The top half of the painting replicated heaven, where the blessed and righteous were given eternal life. The bottom half depicted hell. Val winced at the gruesome portrayal of people being beheaded or thrown by pitchforks into flames. Humans can be ruthless and savage, and cunningly veiled. Your closest, your most loved, most loyal, can quickly and silently, in a snap before your eyes, become your most feared. Hence a dead mother and her boy.

Val’s gaze quickly reverted to the altar, and her mind to Gabrielle Morgan. Murder and then suicide? Or double murder?

The sound of the church door opening made Val look up. Finally, she thought as she let out a sigh of relief. Detective Mitchell Gavin entered. He brushed snow from his long black coat as he walked toward Officer Powell. Gavin was a striking man. He stood slightly over six feet and had silver-streaked brown hair. His partner Alexander Warren was right behind him. Warren was a few inches shorter than Gavin. He shaved his head to remove what little hair he had left. Val hadn’t seen him in a while and was surprised that his characteristic goatee had transformed to a tightly cropped beard and mustache, giving him that stubbly, unshaven look.

Though Warren was his partner, Gavin would be in charge of this case. He was in charge of any high-profile case in the county and it wasn’t the first time Val had worked with him.

The detectives spent some time talking to Officer Powell before he turned and pointed at Val. A few minutes later the detectives came towards her. Val limped forward to greet them.

“Just when you think you’ve seen it all, the latest and greatest version of crazy appears,” Warren said.

“Sacrifice?” Gavin asked, pointing to the boy.

“At this point, anything is possible,” Val said.

“She’s certainly dressed for some type of…” Warren hesitated and appeared to be searching for the right words as he spoke of the mother. “Ceremony.”

She certainly was. The mother wore a long white plain satin gown. White satin ballet flat shoes were on her feet. Her long blonde hair was parted in the middle, which hung loosely around her face and shoulders. She held what appeared to be fir tree branches in each hand. These lay at either side of her body and were secured in her grasp with duct tape. Duct tape also covered her mouth. No obvious sign of trauma or cause of death could be seen.

The boy, though, had his throat slashed. Arced blood spatter patterns plastered the ground to the left and right of him and a large pool of blood congealed on the floor beneath his head and neck.

“Odd that he isn’t dressed up in some way too,” Warren said. Val did note that the boy wore jeans with a beige pullover sweater. Snow boots were on his feet. He looked like a regular kid who just came in from outside, apart from his gaping throat and blood-soaked clothes.

“No winter coats?” Gavin asked, looking around.

“No. None were found in the church. The mother’s car was discovered in the back of the parking lot here. No coats in there either.” Val was sure the boy at least, was alive when he came into the church; the evidence was obvious for that. Did his mother bring them both here without coats, or did someone else take them away?

“The murder weapon for the boy?” Gavin asked, glancing around. “Is that here?”

“Yes. After it was used, it was placed on the pulpit behind the altar.” Val pointed to a large wooden lectern with a simple cross engraved on the front. “It’s bagged for evidence, and in box three, if you want to take a look.”

Gavin walked over to a row of cardboard evidence boxes, which were clearly numbered. He pulled the lid off “three” and removed a sealed plastic bag holding a large knife with a bright red handle and a long intimidating silver blade.

As he turned the bag around, Val said, “It looks like some kind of hunting knife, the kind you get from an outdoors store.”

“That’s exactly what it is. It’s a fillet knife. And it’s used to cut up everything from fish to large game,” he said. “These are typically razor sharp because they’re meant to slice through bone.”

“Jesus, that blade has to be about nine inches in length,” Warren remarked. “You think something like this belonged to the mother?”

“If she was looking for an instrument to do the job, then it’s likely,” Gavin said.

“Hopefully we’ll get fingerprints, or DNA off the handle,” Val said.

“I don’t think that will tell us much,” Gavin responded.

“What do you mean?” Val asked, surprised.

“If this knife belonged to the mother and she used it, we’d expect her fingerprints and DNA to be all over it.” Gavin put the bagged knife back in the box. “A killer would have known we were expecting it too, and would have placed them all over it.”

“That would be a smart killer. And someone who knew the victim. The ceremonial aspects have to have some significance for her,” Warren said, shaking his head. “Mitch, you can’t be thinking this isn’t anything but a murder–suicide. It’s far too dramatic for anything but that.”

“Alex, I don’t want to jump to conclusions. The knife was left here. So now, we really only have two options. We either have a mother who killed her son and herself and the knife was left behind because she herself was about to die, or a smart killer with a connection to the victims, who left the knife to implicate Gabrielle. Those are our only two options. And there’s nothing I like better than taking down some damn asshole who thinks he’s a smart killer,” Gavin said. “No one is that smart.”

“And if you don’t have DNA from the mother on the knife?” Val asked, though a random killing like this seemed pretty unlikely.

“Then we have some crazy psycho loose on the streets,” Gavin answered. “And nothing so far points to that. No this…” Gavin circled around. Val could see that his gaze was held on the mother. “This was planned.”

“Do you know if she left a suicide note at her home?” Val couldn’t help a gnawing feeling that this wasn’t a cut and dry murder–suicide. Not because of the evidence at this scene. No, the evidence at this scene was almost textbook for a murder–suicide. There was something about the actions of the victims on the day they disappeared, and the daily habits of Gabrielle Morgan which were spelled out in the missing person’s report that bothered Val. “No note was found in the church.”

“We’re checking her residence for that.” Gavin glanced at his watch. “A forensics team is there now processing the entire place for evidence.”

“Do you need anything more before I continue with my preliminary external exam, then?” Val asked, eager to get a look at the victims close up.

Gavin motioned to Officer Powell who quickly came over. “We’d like to begin examination of the bodies. All documentation complete?”

“We’re good to go on that,” Powell confirmed.

Val limped forward, shaking her numb leg to awaken it. She put on a white disposable Tyvek jumpsuit, and booties on her shoes, then placed a surgical bonnet over her hair, so that she wouldn’t contaminate the evidence. A surgical mask went over her nose and mouth. Lastly, she slipped on a set of latex gloves and moved closer to the altar, towards the dead boy, wincing at the gruesome scene. Blood has a nauseatingly sweet, sharply metallic odor and there has to be enough of it to detect it simply by inhaling. Though Val recognized the characteristic scent when she walked into the church, it was much more powerful here, next to the body, even with the protection of her mask.

“The boy had his throat cut as he lay on the altar.” Val’s skin prickled. Though she knew what she was about to say next—hell she knew from the first moment she saw the crime scene—nothing prepares you to utter these words. “He was alive when it happened.”

“Are you sure?” Gavin asked, coming forward, careful to step away from the pools of blood.

“No doubt.” Val pointed to varying blood patterns on the ground. “Those spurts in an arcing pattern show arterial spray. If his heart wasn’t beating that wouldn’t have happened. That can only occur if blood was still pumping through his system, and at full force. See how some arcs are very big and some are small. You’ll get a different pattern with each beat of the heart. As the blood pressure drops, as he’s losing his blood supply, the patterns get smaller. Then after his heart stopped, he simply bled out as seen by the large amount of blood that seeped down the side of the altar creating the massive pool beneath him.”

“All of that blood is from him? He’s just a kid,” Warren said.

“We’ll double check the DNA to see if anything got mixed, but there’s 1.2 to 1.5 gallons of blood in a human body. By the age of six, children have the same amount as an adult,” Val said.

Officer Powell pointed to the mother. “There’s very little blood on her dress. If she’s the one who killed him, wouldn’t she have been covered in it? There’s no way it wouldn’t have splashed on her.” Powell was right. The gown was almost pristine.

Val positioned herself near the boy’s head. “If she’s the one who cut his throat and she did it while standing behind him, she could have missed most of the spray, especially if she stood back far enough after the cut. If she stepped back, I wouldn’t expect much, if anything, to have gotten on her since the blood spray is localized to the sides of the body, not behind.” Then Val added, “Anyone who cut his throat in this manner would have avoided becoming a bloody mess.”

“Any blood in her car in the parking lot?” Warren asked, directing the question to Officer Powell. “She also could have slashed his throat, gone somewhere, and then returned in her white gown.”

“Some. The crime scene techs found a small amount on the front driver’s side and the rear passenger seat,” he said. “But it was no greater than if someone had a minor cut or had a bloody nose. Nothing to account for something like this.”

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