'But the good news is, we got a few false starts, a wider kerf and TPI,' he said, adjusting the microscope's focus as I continued holding the bone.
I had known nothing about saws until I began spending so much time with Canter. Bone is an excellent surface for tool marks, and when saw teeth cut into it, a groove
or kerf is formed. By microscopically examining the walls and floor of a kerf, one can determine exit chipping on the side where the saw exited bone. Determining the characteristics of the individual teeth, the number of teeth per inch (TPI), the spacing of them and the striae, can reveal the shape of the blade.
Canter angled the optic light to sharpen the striations and defects.
'You can see the curve of the blade.' He pointed to several false starts on the shaft, where someone had pushed the saw blade into the bone, and then tried again in another spot.
'Not mine,' I said. 'Or at least I hope I'm more adept than that.'
'Since this also is the end where most of the knife cuts are, I'm going to agree that it wasn't you. Whoever did this had to cut first with something else, since an oscillating blade won't cut flesh.'
'What about the saw blade?' I asked, for I knew what I used in the morgue.
'Teeth are large, seventeen per inch. So this is going to be a round autopsy blade. Let's turn it over.'
I did, and he directed the light at the other end, where there were no false starts. The surface was polished and beveled like the other one, but not identical to Canter's discerning eye.
'Power autopsy saw with a large, sectioning blade,' he said. 'Multidirectional cut since the radius of the blade's too small to cut through the whole bone in one stroke. So, whoever did this just changed directions, going as it from different angles, with a great deal of skill. We have slight bending of the kerfs. Minimal exit chipping. Again denoting great skill with a saw. I'm going to bump up the power some and see if we can accentuate the harmonics.'
He referred to the distance between saw teeth.
'Tooth distance is point-oh-six. Sixteen teeth per inch,' he counted. 'Direction is push- pull, tooth-type chisel. I'm voting this is yours.'
'You caught me,' I said with relief. 'Guilty as charged.'
'I would think so.' He was still looking. 'I wouldn't think you use a round blade for anything.'
The large, round autopsy blades were heavy and continuous rolling, and destroyed more bone. Generally, this was a utility blade used in labs or in doctors' offices to saw off casts.
'The rare occasion I might use a round blade is on animals,' I said.
'Of the two- or four-legged variety?'
'I've taken bullets out of dogs, birds, cats and, on one fine occasion, a python shot in a drug raid,' I replied.
Canter was looking at another bone. 'And I thought I was the one who had all the fun.'
'Do you find it unusual that someone would use a meat saw in four dismemberments, and then suddenly switch to an electric autopsy saw?' I asked.
'If your theory's correct about the cases in Ireland, then you're talking nine cases with a meat saw,' he said. 'How about holding this right here so I can get a picture.'
I held the section of left femur in the tips of my fingers, and he pressed a button on the camera.
'To answer your question,' he said. 'I would find it extremely unusual. You're talking two different profiles. The meat saw is manual, physical, usually ten teeth per inch. It will go through tissue and takes a lot of bone with each stroke, the saw marks
rougher-looking, more indicative of someone skilled and powerful. And it's also important to remember that in each of those earlier cases the perpetrator cut through joints, versus the shafts, which is also very rare.'
'It's not the same person.' I again voiced my growing belief.
Canter took the bone from my hand and looked at me. 'That's my vote.'
When I returned to the lobby of the M.E.'s office, Marino was still on the phone down the hall. I waited a little while, then stepped outside because I needed air. I needed sunshine and sights that weren't savage. Some twenty minutes passed before he finally walked out and joined me by the car.
'I didn't know you was here,' he said. 'If someone had told me, I would've got off the phone.'
'It's all right. What a gorgeous day.' He unlocked the car.
'How'd it go?' he asked, sliding into the driver's seat.
I briefly summarized as we sat in the parking lot, not going anywhere.
'You want to go back to the Peabody?' he asked, tapping the steering wheel with his thumb.
I knew exactly what he wanted to do.
'No,' I said. 'Graceland might be just what the doctor ordered.' He shoved the car in gear and could not suppress a big grin.
'We want the Fowler Expressway,' I said, for I had studied a map.
'I wish you could get me his autopsy report,' he started on that again. 'I want to see for myself what happened to him. Then I'll know and it won't eat at me anymore.'
'What do you want to know?' I looked at him.
'If it was like they said. Did he die on the toilet? That's always bothered the hell out of me. You know how many cases like that I've seen?' He glanced at me. 'Don't matter if you're some drone or the president of the United States. You end up dead with a ring around your butt. Hope to hell that don't happen to me.'
'Elvis was found on the floor of his bathroom. He was nude, and yes, it is believed that he slid off his black porcelain toilet.'
'Who found him?' Marino was entranced in an uneasy way.
'A girlfriend who was staying in the adjoining room. Or that's the story,' I said.
'You mean he walks in there, feels fine, sits down and boom? No warning signs or nothing?'
'All I know is he'd been playing racquetball in the early morning, and seemed fine,' I
said.
'You're kidding.' Marino's curiosity was insatiable. 'Now, I never heard that part. I
didn't know he played racquetball.'
We drove through an industrialized area, with trains and trucks, then past campers for sale. Graceland stood in the midst of cheap motels and stores, and it did not seem so grand given its surroundings. The white mansion with its columns was completely out of place, like a joke or a set for a bad movie.
'Holy shit,' Marino said, as he pulled into the parking lot. 'Will you look at that. Holy smoke.'
He went on as if it were Buckingham Palace as he parked beside a bus.
'You know, I wish I could've known him,' he wistfully said.
'Maybe you would have, had he taken better care of himself.' I opened my door as he lit a cigarette.
For the next two hours, we wandered through gilt and mirrors, shag carpeting and stained-glass peacocks as the voice of Elvis followed us through his world. Hundreds of fans had arrived on buses, and their passion for this man was on their faces as they walked around listening to the tour on cassette. Many of them placed flowers, cards and letters on his grave. Some wept as if they had known him well.
We wandered around his purple and pink Cadillacs, Stutz Blackhawk and museum of other cars. There were his planes and shooting range, and the Hall of Gold, with Grammy showcases of gold and platinum records, and trophies and other awards that amazed even me. The hall was at least eighty feet long. I could not take my eyes off splendid costumes of gold and sequins, and photographs of what was truly an extraordinarily and sensuously beautiful human being. Marino was blatantly gawking, an almost pained expression on his face that reminded me of puppy love as we inched our way through rooms.
'You know, they didn't want him to move here when he bought this place,' he announced, and we were outside now, the fall afternoon cool and bright. 'Some of the snobs in this city never did accept him. I think that hurt him, in a way, might be what got him in the end. You know, why he took painkillers.'
'He took more than that,' I made the point again as we walked.
'If you had been the medical examiner, could you have done his autopsy?' He got out cigarettes.