“Can you be more specific?”
She leans forward and drops her voice several decibels. “Let’s just say he liked to play rough.”
Chapter 30
Bjorn drops me off at the ME’s office after we return from Smithville and when I tell him he can go home for the night he frowns.
“What’s the matter?” I ask him. “You can handle your new bag okay, right?”
“I guess,” he says. “But hanging with you is kind of exciting. You get into all kinds of things. I don’t usually get this much excitement in a day.”
Or this much food, I think, suspecting that may be the bigger lure for him.
“Well, I don’t have anything exciting planned for the rest of the day,” I assure him.
“What about tomorrow?”
I hesitate. Much as I’ve grown fond of Bjorn, it’s time to get my own set of wheels. “Tomorrow I plan to just hang in the office,” I tell him, though truth is, I don’t know yet what I’ll be doing tomorrow. But I don’t want to commit to anything with Bjorn yet because once he latches on to me, I’m not sure I’ll be able to shake him. “And you need to make some real money, so why don’t you plan on running your cab as usual and if something comes up and I need you I’ll give you a call. Okay?”
He nods but looks crestfallen. For a moment I feel guilty but then figure that once the sun goes down, he’s unlikely to remember any of this anyway. Looking lonely and pathetic, he drives away.
I find Izzy sitting in his office working on a stack of files taller than he is. I pull up a chair and start filling him in on my day, starting with the conversation I had with Sally Hvam. He listens but keeps working on his charts, making notes, looking at lab results, and filling out paperwork.
“I don’t know what it is about Nelson,” I say once I’m done. “There’s something about him that bothers me. He’s a little too slick for my tastes.”
“Just because he’s a philanderer doesn’t mean he’s a killer,” Izzy cautions. “And from what I understand, he has a pretty solid alibi.”
“Speaking of alibis, I have a theory about Shannon that might change her time of death.”
Izzy stops what he’s writing and looks up at me. “Really?”
“I think so. Hear me out and tell me if I’m totally off base.”
He sets his pen aside and gives me his full attention.
“I noticed when we processed the crime scene that Shannon had an abrasion on the knuckles of one hand. But we didn’t find any foreign material there.”
Izzy nods but says nothing, so I continue.
“I also discovered she had a habit of eating a lot whenever she was working at Dairy Airs, and that she spent a lot of time in the bathroom. According to Erik and one of her coworkers, she claimed she had IBS, but when I looked through her medical records there was no mention of IBS, though there were several notes about her asking for diet pills. Then there are the contents of her medicine cabinet. There were several different kinds of laxatives in it. And Erik told me that Shannon was hoping to expand her modeling career but was always struggling with her weight.”
I pause, letting Izzy put the facts together on his own. “You think she was bulimic,” he says.
“I do,” I say, trying to contain my excitement.
He thinks for a few more seconds and I see a light spark in his eyes. “It fits,” he says, nodding slowly. “The knuckle abrasions could have been caused by her teeth scraping over them when she stuck her finger down her throat. It also explains the hiatal hernia she had—bulimics often develop one. And if she threw up her last meal, then you’re right. It would change all of our assumptions about the time of death.”
“And that might exonerate Erik.”
Izzy gives me a cautious look. “It might, but to be honest I think it may simply widen the window on the time of death, rather than shift or narrow it.”
“But if we don’t base the time of death on Shannon’s stomach contents, then couldn’t she have been killed much earlier than we originally thought?”
“Yes, but it’s just as possible that our original time frame is correct. The things we use to estimate the postmortem interval—the degree of rigor, body temperature, vitreous potassium levels—all have variances of several hours. So all this does is give us a broader window of time.”
It’s not the exoneration I was hoping for but at least it’s a bit of hope.
“If nothing else, at least it increases the pool of potential suspects,” Izzy says. “Have you shared any of this with Hurley?”
“Not yet. I wanted to run it by you first, to make sure my thinking was on target.”
“I’d say you’re spot on and we should let Hurley know ASAP.” With that, he picks up his cell phone and dials Hurley’s number. After listening for a few seconds, he says to me, “It’s flipping over to voice mail.” He then leaves a somewhat cryptic message, saying only that I have uncovered some critical new evidence in Shannon’s case.
“Kudos,” he says with a smile as he snaps his phone closed. “This should impress Hurley. It’s a brilliant bit of detective work.”
“Thanks,” I say, blushing and hoping he’s right. “In the meantime, I could use a favor. I need to get some new wheels. I have a little bit of cash saved, thanks to the generously low rent you charge me and what little I have left of my hospital severance pay. But it isn’t much so I’m going to have to get something used.” I pause and reflect on the paltry balance in my bank account. “Really used,” I clarify.
“I can front you a small loan, if that would help.”
I shake my head. “You’ve done enough for me already.”
“What about an advance against your wages? We can set up a payment plan so it’s deducted from your paycheck each week.”
I consider this idea, which would give me a little more money to play with while still saving some face, and agree. “Thanks,” I tell him.
“No problem. Will two thousand be enough?”
I have no idea but I nod anyway. I want to get up and kiss him but I know how much he’d hate it. Izzy isn’t a very demonstrative person.
“Consider it done,” he says.
“There’s one more thing,” I say. “I could use some help picking something out. I have no idea how to tell a good engine from a bad one.”
Izzy gives me an apologetic look. “Sorry, I don’t know my way around these modern engines any more than you do.”
“What about Dom?”
Izzy snorts. “He might be able to help you pick out a color and upholstery, but that’s about it. Tell you what I can do, though. I can give you the name of a reliable mechanic. That way, if you find something you like, you can have him go over it for you before you buy.”
“I guess I can do that if I have no other options but I’d rather not. Any money I spend on a mechanic is money I can’t spend on a car. Plus, if I pick a lemon on my first try, that means paying for at least two visits to a mechanic . . . and on from there. It could get expensive very fast.”
“I see your point. You need someone who won’t mind working on your engine for free before you commit.”
Behind me the door opens, and I hear Hurley’s voice. “Somebody call me?”
I turn and watch Hurley’s long legs stride into the room, admiring the way his jeans hug his thighs. Izzy’s last words hang in the air and suddenly they take on a whole new meaning as I imagine the many ways Hurley could work on my engine.
“Hi, Steve,” Izzy says. “Did you get my message?”
Hurley shakes his head. “I was already on my way here and was pulling into the garage when you called. So I figured I’d come in and talk to you in person. What’s up?”