Page 70 of Pretty Broken Dolls
“What? You’re killing me here.” He sat down to face his partner.
“I think…I think that…” she rambled.
“What? Spit it out.”
“We could possibly be looking at a military person or even a veteran as the killer instead of someone who just hates the military.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Monday 1450 hours
Katie and McGaven made their way to the morgue to speak with the medical examiner, Dr. Jeff Dean, about the findings in the Jeanine Trenton case. They still hadn’t heard from him about the autopsy on the body from the fairgrounds, but he had told them they were backed up. Thinking about a morgue being backed up gave her some gruesome images.
As they entered the morgue, Katie’s senses were assaulted by an exceptionally strong odor of cleaning disinfectants—more than normal. She fought the urge to pinch her nose so she didn’t have to smell it anymore. She glanced at McGaven—he hated the morgue and still had some trouble seeing the oftentimes twisted remains of the dead. Now he was relaxed because they didn’t have to view an actual autopsy.
They walked through the doors leading to a row of exam rooms, but this time, Katie didn’t divert her attention to glimpse who was lying on a steel exam table, open wide and having their internal organs weighed and counted.
Katie kept her focus on speaking with Dr. Dean.
Before they reached the office area, the doctor hurried out of one of the cubicles, carrying a stack of file folders.
“Hi. My favorite investigators,” he said, with his usual upbeat manner. “Please have a seat in my office and I’ll be there in five minutes.”
He never disappointed Katie with his openness and also his choice of clothing. Some thought Dr. Dean was a bit eccentric, but Katie loved the fact that he wore khaki shorts with a very brightly colored Hawaiian shirt, no matter the weather. He usually sported sandals, but today he’d opted for sneakers and socks.
Katie and McGaven entered the medical examiner’s office. It was neat and organized as usual with file folders in arranged piles, brightly colored tabs differentiating categories, and every filing cabinet drawer was closed. There were plastic anatomical parts sitting on top of the cabinets; some were in pieces, while others were put together, along with a full, life-size skeleton in the corner. She didn’t remember seeing the skeleton before and assumed it must have been a gift from someone.
To Katie’s relief, the smell of disinfectant had subsided and her stomach had stopped churning from the harshness of the odor. She noticed that smells triggered memories—and memories opened a heavy door for anxiety—but she quickly slammed that door and refocused her mind. She had been taught to let her anxious feelings and memories go—float away like balloons. As silly as it sounded, it actually helped Katie to minimize her panic attacks.
McGaven fidgeted in his seat as he looked around the office.
“Do you want to sit this one out?” Katie said.
“Nope.”
“Why are you so restless?”
“Three cups of coffee.”
“You’re making me twitchy.”
“Detective Scott twitchy,” he mimicked with a half smirk on his face.
“I can’t take you anywhere,” she softly said.
“Okay,” said Dr. Dean as he entered the room and shut the door. “No bodies today, just photos. I had some time to review them last night.”
“We appreciate your time. I realize that an autopsy was already performed and reported on the victim, but…”
Dr. Dean made himself comfortable at his desk as he pulled out several files each with a green coded label. Looking at Katie, he said, “Detective Scott, you don’t have to apologize to me. I respect your opinion and admire your tenacity when given a cold case. I’ll help in any way I can.”
“Thank you, Dr. Dean.”
The medical examiner put on the reading glasses that he kept on a wide cord around his neck. Flipping open the first file with “Trenton, J.” typed on the label, he said immediately, “I respectfully disagree with the senior medical examiner on this case. Actually, partly disagree.” His tone was calm and he remained confident in his position, experience, and credentials.
“Really?” she said and leaned forward in her chair. “Why is that?”
“It reads that the manner of death was homicide. I agree. The cause, however, reads neck injury of a sliced throat—loss of blood. However, looking closer, we can see that the knife cut the thyroid and cartilage, and nicked the trachea,” he turned the photo image to show the injury, “but it didn’t penetrate the larynx, trachea and through the cervical vertebrae to cause instant death.”
