“That’s really clever. Thanks, Ronan.”
“No problem, rookie.” He waggled his eyebrows and hopped out of the SUV.
It was go time. Cope hadn’t felt nervous or scared until this moment. Hearing that something he did or said could influence the criminal case, should one be brought, was humbling. He wasn’t only doing this for the Salem Police station, but for Frankie herself. Cope didn’t want to let either of them down.
The building which housed the morgue was several stories tall. Not only did the county medical examiner have an office in the building, but so did several other state agencies. Fitzgibbon held the door open for everyone to enter. Cope followed Jude down the corridor to a bank of elevators. When they were inside, Jude pressed the B button. Of course the morgue was in the basement.
It was a bright, sunny day outside, but none of that feel-good sunshine reached inside the basement level. It was like Cope was trapped in a black hole. Jude stopped at one of the autopsy rooms and knocked on the door.
“Come in!” a voice hollered from inside.
When Jude pushed through the door, AC/DC blasted into the hall.
Cope couldn’t decide if it was badass or just plain creepy that the ME was listening to “Highway to Hell.”
“Hey, Cam, good to see you.” Jude bumped elbows with the doctor, who wore scrubs, an apron, a surgical cap, and a mask. He also wore glasses that made his eyes look as big as baseballs. Cope assumed they were for magnification. “Cope this is DoctorCameron Dobbs. Doc, this is my husband, Cope. He’s on a ride along with us today.”
“Nice to meet you.” Cope didn’t offer his elbow for a bump. He was scared of what he might see if he touched the doctor who’d performed countless autopsies.
“Jude talks about you all the time. It’s nice to put a name with the face.” Doctor Dobbs smiled, making him look all the more cartoonish.
Cope wished he felt the same. With the surgical mask and the magnifiers the doctor wore, all Cope could see were his blue eyes. He wouldn’t be able to pick the man out of a lineup.
“You’re here to talk about Francesca Adams?” Dobbs asked.
“We are,” Fitzgibbon agreed. “Chief Jackson assigned the case to us.”
The doctor whistled. “That’s a pretty big feather in your cap.”
“Only if we solve this crime. What can you tell us about the remains?” Fitz asked, taking out his notebook.
“Not very much, I’m afraid.” The doctor motioned them forward to an autopsy table covered by a crisp white sheet. He pulled it down to what would have been the middle of Francesca’s torso. “You can clearly see the gunshot wound to the head, as well as the exit.” He turned the skull over and Cope gasped, not at the size of the hole, but his gift had shown him what happened. The shot came from behind Frankie at close range. He couldn’t tell the make of gun or if it was a man or woman who fired it.
“You okay?” Jude whispered.
Cope nodded. He took a deep breath. Keeping a cool head was key. As much as he didn’t want to see anything else, he knewwhatever his gift showed him could be vital to the case. When they got back to the car, he’d tell the detectives about his vision.
“There are no other marks of human violence on the bones,” the doctor was saying, when Cope tuned back in.
“Does that mean there’sotherkinds of violence?” Cope asked, once again scared of the answer.
“There was a lot of animal predation,” the doc said, pointing to gouge marks on Frankie’s ribs. “A coyote made these marks.” Moving to the other side of the table, he pointed to Frankie’s left shoulder. “You can see where the arm was detached. It has not been found. Most likely it was carried off by a predator. Possibly a coyote or a black bear. Their numbers have started to rise in Massachusetts over the last few years.”
Cope reached his hand out, as if he were going to touch the remains, when he felt dizzy. Stumbling back a step, he backed into Jude who thankfully caught him.
“Are you okay?” Jude pulled Cope away from the autopsy table.
“She was pregnant,” Cope whispered. “I saw a vision of her cradling her baby bump and singing her daughter a song.”
“Let’s keep that to ourselves for now. Okay?” Jude wore a worried look.
Cope nodded. He followed Jude back to the table, where the doctor was about to remove the sheet from the lower half of the body.
“The one big surprise was that Mrs. Adams was pregnant. About seven weeks by the size of the fetus.”
“You found remains of the baby?” Cope asked, feeling like he was about to vomit. The only thing worse than looking at the skeletalremains of a friend, would be to see the tiny bones of a baby who never drew its first breath. The nameAmeliacame into Cope’s mind, no doubt what Frankie planned on naming her daughter.
“We did,” the doctor said. He pulled the sheet back to reveal a tiny, but intact skeleton. “With the level of predation damage to the body it’s exceedingly rare for these remains to be intact. There are no signs of violence on the body. The baby died as a result of the gunshot wound to Frankie’s head. I can tell you that based on measurements, and the pelvis, the baby was female.”
