Chapter 1

     Personnel and equipment engaged in recording and evaluating the homicide scene filled the medical research lab. The buzz of human voices augmented the soft cries of several guinea pigs in a cage against the left wall and whines from two dogs in slightly larger cages on the floor in front of the portly figure directing the operations.

     Kevin Andrews, his protruding stomach straining the buttons on his shirt, was glad that the body had been covered. Even to the seasoned lieutenant of detectives, the corpse had been stomach-turning. At fifty-seven, Lt. Andrews thought he had seen everything, but the sight of a tall, elegantly and expensively suited male, secured in some sort of metal rack used for animal experiments was new to him. 

     Unfortunately, disruptions to his plans by a homicide investigation were anything but new. In deference to his Captain's urgent call a short time earlier, Andrews had quickly altered his plans for a Friday off. His anticipated leisurely morning, as well as his planned three-day visit with his godson, had been hastily canceled because of the murder here at the prestigious Commonwealth Cancer Institute. 

     Trying to simultaneously redress and explain the necessity for the change of plans to his godson was responsible for an additional aggravation. The white dress shirt he'd hastily chosen from his dresser was uncomfortably snug. No amount of retying of his tie would hide the strain placed on the buttons to hold the shirt front closed. It reminded him unpleasantly that he was supposed to be on a new diet to reduce his increasing bulk.

     His momentary indulgence in personal problems was quickly arrested. A darkly handsome figure stepped over several scattered boxes on the floor and approached Andrews, notebook in hand. 
Andrews relaxed slightly at the sight of the handsome face with its high forehead and full head of near-black hair. If he had to be saddled with a tricky case like this one, he could have asked for no stronger backup than this young sergeant.

     Bart Foster’s full eyebrows arched perfectly over large, intelligent eyes framed by long, curled lashes. Women found the eyes disarming, sometimes a convenient tool in ticklish homicide investigations. Foster's manner was professional and crisp. He wasted no time with preliminaries now.

     "Death seems to have taken place between ten last night and two this morning," Foster relayed. “Doc should be able to tighten the time a bit as soon as he finishes the liver temperature test. The body wasn't discovered until this morning at eight-thirty. The victim’s secretary has a key to the lab, usually opens things up when she arrives." He might have been describing a bus schedule for all the emotion he allow his voice to show.

     "Identity of the victim?" Andrews queried.

     "Michael Porter, Chief of Research here at the Institute, according to preliminary identification by his secretary, Ms. Piper Morgan."

     "The one who discovered the body?" asked Andrews.

     "Yes. Ms. Morgan had the presence of mind to call the Institute’s administrator, Dr. Harold Ketterholt. 

     Ketterholt says he took one look into this room, then ordered the door locked again until the police could respond," Foster said.

     "So any prints on the door would have been obliterated by either Ketterholt or Morgan." Andrews hand reached up to scratch his left ear, a routine with which Foster was very familiar. It indicated Andrews' annoyance at the destruction of possible evidence.

     "Well, I guess we can be thankful that someone showed the presence of mind to seal the room and wait for our arrival," Andrews said.

     "Ms. Morgan was badly shaken by the discovery of the body. I've instructed her not to talk to anyone until you've had a chance to question her. She's in an office across the hall drinking a cup of tea at the moment," continued Foster. "Dr. Ketterholt has returned to his office, but will be available whenever you need him. He said he would notify the victim's wife personally. I took the liberty of requesting he contact the head of security for the Institute and have him standing by. I also asked that he furnish us with a list of names and addresses of staff occupying offices in this building."

     "Efficient, as usual, Foster," acknowledged his superior. "See if any of that crowd in the hall outside may have heard or seen anything unusual. I want to talk with Twill for a bit, then I'd like for you to sit in with me while I question the secretary and the hospital administrator."

     With something that sounded like a 'yes, sir', Foster turned to the door of the lab to carry out Andrew's request. The pudgy lieutenant of detectives allowed his light hazel eyes to wander lazily over the littered scene of the murder once more. He slouched rather than stood, and his lethargic look fooled many who met him for the first time. 

     A bent figure replaced the sheet over the head of the corpse and straightened to reveal a tall stick of a man. His rumpled suit seem to float around the thin body. The walking skeleton's head was as bare of hair as his body was void of flesh. A slight fringe of grey hair partially encircled the head on sides and back, and left the shining bald top sparkling in the overhead ceiling lights of the lab. Behind thick lens in horn-rimmed glasses, small brown eyes turned to focus on the detective lieutenant. At a slight nod from Andrews, Dr. Paul Twill, police surgeon for the City of Richmond, picked his way between police personnel and litter to reach the lieutenant's side.

     "Well, this one is a mess," Twill began. "Glad they put you in charge. Someone didn't like this fellow—didn't like him a lot!"

     "What can you tell me about the cause of death, possible description of murder weapon, and time?” Andrews prodded.

     "Well, we'll have to wait for an autopsy for the official findings, but if you want my best guess ..." Twill’s attempt at humor were interrupted by a grumpy response from Andrews.

     "Give me what you've got, and in plain English too. Not all this mumbo-jumbo you spout in court," Andrews injected.

     "Based on the liver temperature test, he died somewhere between 10:15 pm and 10:35 pm last night. He was rendered unconscious by a blow to the head. Something dull. It left a large bump but didn't break the skin. After the blow, and probably while he was still unconscious, he was trussed up like you saw, arms and legs bound behind him with tape. He was secured in that cubic metal frame over there, his head rigidly held by medal rods and a leather harness. A tube was inserted down his throat and secured by a generous amount of tape. Then some type of acid was poured down his throat."

     "Acid? Damn! Any idea what kind?" 

     "Again, you'll have to wait for the autopsy for that. But something very corrosive," said Twill. "Like I said before, someone didn't like this guy! He regained consciousness early on, possibly lived four or five minutes after the acid was poured down his throat."

     "Damn," Andrews repeated, "never heard of this one before. Are you telling me the acid killed him?"

     "Well, in one way or another. Shock from the pain, acid spilling onto the internal organs through a hole or holes in the esophagus or stomach..." Twill analyzed.

     "Spare me the details," Andrews said emphatically. "Would it have been possible for a woman to have trussed up the victim and secured him in that contraption over there?"

     "Well," Twill drawled, taking time to weigh the question before responding. "Yes, if he were unconscious at the time. It would have been difficult for a woman, but possible, I guess. But it's a very brutal way to kill someone. Fairly turns my stomach, and you know there's not much that gets to an old police surgeon. I've seen everything after more than twenty years with the force in this town, but this one gives me chills. I guess I just can't imagine a woman doing this," he reasoned.

     "Kipling would disagree," Andrews answered somewhat enigmatically. "More deadly than the male."
Twill's face registered his momentary puzzlement before the meaning of the reference registered. A one-sided smile lightened his thin face.

     "Ah, yes! The Female of the Species! Still, there has to be a reason for such a brutal method of killing," Twill continued. "Do you think illegal drugs might be involved?"

     "We’ll dust the area, but it seems unlikely,” Andrews responded. “At least, I doubt if drugs would be kept in this guy’s personal lab. This being a cancer research and treatment center, certainly there are plenty of drugs around. But I don’t see why anyone would be looking for them here. The method of killing certainly rules out an attempt to extract information from the victim.”

     Both homicide officials gazed at the covered figure. Andrews asked, “You’re comfortable with your estimate of the time of death?”

     “Yep!” Twill assured him. “You’re fortunate there. The temperature control in this room makes it easier to estimate. I’d say death occurred somewhere between 10:15 pm and 10:30 pm, maybe as late as 10:35 pm but that would be stretching it.”

     Andrews mumbled something that passed for thanks.

     "OK. I'll take the body now and get the autopsy process started unless you need me further here," Twill concluded.

     "Go ahead," said Andrews, already turning his attention to the progress of the team dusting for prints and clues.

     "Any idea how much longer you'll be?" Andrews remarks were addressed to a tall, fair-skinned youngster who was busy dusting a nearby lab bench for physical evidence. Long, red hair was pulled back in a pony-tail and light freckles dusted a short, tilted nose. Despite the trim look of a three-piece camel suit, the young officer looked even younger than her twenty-four years.

     Andrews remarks startled the young women, but she recovered promptly and replied, "Probably another hour at least. I've never seen so many prints, hairs, and other stuff at a scene before. I guess it's the animals, but it certainly looks like a lot of people have been in and out of here since the last time this place was given a good cleaning."

     "All right. Make it as quick as you can. Then seal this place off until further notice," Andrews instructed.
"What about the lab animals, sir?" The eyes of the young officer looked worried.

     The cries of the guinea pigs continued. The two dogs had ceased to whine, but both sat expectantly in front of the doors of their cages, soft liquid eyes following the movements of the officers and Andrews.

     "Aha, yes! The probable eye-witnesses!" Andrews walked over to stand in front of the guinea pigs' cage. The black-and-white one was making all the noise, he decided. Now he saw why. The fur was gone from the back of the little animal. Strips of raw, inflamed skin were oozing moisture and causing the tiny creature great pain. Little wonder that he continually cried. The other five guinea pigs seemed uninjured but very fearful.
He crossed to the larger cages on the floor holding the two dogs. The larger one resembled a black Shepherd Andrews had owned as a child. She stared at him with soft, expectant eyes but did not retreat when he approached. The smaller one resembled a shaggy mop, wolf-grey hair matted and dirty, one ear flopped almost over its right eye. The smaller dog plainly expressed anxiety at Andrew's approach. He retreated as far as the back of his cage would allow, but made no outcry.

     "Now if you could only talk," Andrews muttered aloud, "what you might be able to tell me." He would not admit that the sight of these animals in cages and obviously destined for experimentation touched him deeply. A tough lieutenant of detectives had to maintain an image, especially in front of members of his team.
"We'll see," said Andrews. "Obviously, the animals have to be cared for, but we can't return them to the institute just yet. Not until we're through with the room. Keep the room secured until I tell you different."
"I'll be in the administrator's office or questioning witnesses," he announced. Anything to get away from the pleading eyes of the two dogs.

     The little guinea pig was still crying softly as Andrews left the room. 

© 2001 Jean Keating All Rights Reserved Reserved. For more information about this book readers may contact Jean Keating via email or click on Specialized Markets

© 2000 Jean Keating All Rights Reserved. 
To contact Jean Keating via email jkeating@chesapeakestyle.com