Sorrow Road (Bell Elkins #5) - Julia Keller Page 0,108

as up-to-date technologically as his budget would allow. “How’re you doin’?”

“Fine, Buster. Hey, I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“How well do you know the Muth County coroner?”

“Ernie Burson. Well, lemme see. I guess he’s doing a mite better. Still at the rehab place, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ernie had a stroke about four months ago. Not back to work yet, but he’s hopeful.”

“So who’s been doing his job?”

“The load’s shared. County calls upon any physicians in the area who have a free moment or two and are willing to pitch in.”

Securing the phone between her ear and an upraised shoulder, she turned to the final page of each coroner’s report. She had not noticed it before, but each one had a different scrawled signature—and none of those signatures read: Ernest T. Burson, MD.

“Those helpful physicians might very well have been rushed, then,” Bell said. “Busy with their own practices. And maybe inclined to wrap up a case as quickly as possible.”

“I suppose so, yes. Although I can’t imagine that any reputable physician would do shoddy work just because—”

“It happens, Buster,” she said, cutting him off. “You and I both know that. A big caseload, a lot of extra work—and the next thing you know, you’re not quite as rigorous as you ought to be. It’s not incompetence. It’s fatigue and expediency.” And it happens to prosecutors, she reminded herself, as often as it does to physicians. It happens to everybody.

“Is there something I can review for you?” Buster said.

“I’d appreciate it. I can fax over the paperwork in a few minutes. If, that is, you don’t mind the use of newfangled technology.” Buster, she knew, expected to be teased. If you did not tease him, he would think you were mad at him.

“I’ll overlook it this once.” He chuckled. Then he was serious again. “Give me a quick sense of what I’m looking for.” He and Bell had worked together for many years, and they had learned to shuttle quickly from jocular to grim as the situation required.

“Three elderly people, all with late-stage Alzheimer’s as well as other significant health issues—diabetes, cardiac and respiratory issues. All died at a care facility over in Muth County within the last few months. Given those circumstances, how diligent would a coroner be about searching for evidence of foul play?”

Buster slowly took in a long breath of air and then expelled it, even more slowly.

“I’ll be honest with you, Belfa. But if you quote me in public, I’ll deny it. If word got out that I was casting aspersions on the professionalism of my colleagues—”

“Not asking you to testify in open court, Buster,” she said, interrupting him. “I’m just asking for your opinion. Off the record.”

“Okay, then. You’re right. They wouldn’t be looking. Now, if it was something big and obvious—ligature marks on the neck or any evidence of physical assault—sure, they’d see that and write it down. But overall, no. No, they wouldn’t be quite as attentive as they might be if the deceased were young and healthy.”

“What would slip through the cracks?”

Buster paused. He was thinking about it. “Well, with a helpless older person, I’d probably be looking for evidence of suffocation. Mucus at the back of the mouth. Trace fibers around the nose and mouth area, from whatever was used to restrict the airway—a pillow, say, or a scarf.”

“To look for those things, though, you’d first have to suspect that a crime had occurred.”

“Yes. But it’s too late, Belfa. If you’re trying to build a case, that kind of evidence would have to be collected at the original autopsy. Once the body is released to the funeral home, you’re screwed. And if the deceased was cremated, then you’re doubly screwed. And even if the body wasn’t cremated, you can’t go back and—”

“I know, Buster. I know.”

“Does this mean a murderer got away with it?”

“No,” Bell said. Her next words would confuse him, but so be it. “She didn’t.”

* * *

Carla had just settled into her Kia. The car was very cold—not surprising, because it had been sitting in the Thornapple Terrace parking lot for the past three hours. Before she left, however, she took a few seconds to savor the day.

She was still excited from the interviews she’d completed this afternoon. Her mind was busy with ways to organize the material. Sure, they could just post transcripts of the individual interviews, one by one, but she also hoped to create other ways to search the archive: train stories, say. Or courtship stories. Stories about