FIVE
Being without answers wasn’t just frustrating, it was like being adrift in the ocean. A person was at the mercy of the waves, not able to act, just to react. Amanda preferred being proactive, and she hoped this morning Rideout would provide some direction.
She and Trent were heading through the morgue doors at eight fifty, caffeinated and ready to go.
Rideout was standing next to a steel gurney where Alicia Gordon’s body was covered with a white sheet. He was already in his smock and gloved up, and they wished each other good morning.
She envied how Rideout never let the darkness of his job stain his energy or his mood. He was comfortable around the dead, a benefit for someone who spent so much time with them. She could compartmentalize and detach, though it was harder with children. Today, it was the wife of a man she knew well. She had to squeeze out thoughts of Tony and not take on his grief. She’d just focus on the job and bring him closure if possible. “So, what can you tell us?” She gestured toward the cadaver.
“I received her medical records. She only had one prescription which was birth control. She’d really been in fine health until…” Rideout waved a hand over the sheet. “So what caused her to drop dead, as you put it, Detective Stenson? I have drawn blood to send to the lab for toxicology testing to see if it shows any poisons, drugs or toxins in her system. I’m also hoping to learn something when I open her up.”
“Murder,” Trent said in a low voice.
“Possible, but not necessarily,” Rideout said. “She could have come into contact with something unknowingly… or knowingly, for that matter.” He looked at Amanda.
“We don’t have reason to believe death was by suicide. Not yet.” She and Trent had talked about what he’d found out last night on the way here. Those with suicidal thoughts exhibited many signs, and these differed for each person. They had to explore that angle more, and that meant another conversation with Tony.
“I’ll leave manner of death to you to figure out,” Rideout said.
“You mentioned drugs. Do you have any specific ones in mind?” Amanda asked.
“Until I know cause of death, it would be premature to even guess.”
“The woman who rented Alicia Gordon the cabin described her as being sort of dazed,” Amanda put that out there, appreciating it might not steer Rideout toward one specific drug.
“As I said, I need to determine COD first. But she’ll tell us, I’m sure.” Rideout nudged his head toward the body. “Are you sticking around?”
“For a while, yeah.” She wanted answers and hoped some would present themselves before she and Trent had to leave.
Rideout got to work and opened Alicia up. He paused on her lungs and examined them closer.
“You have something?” Amanda felt like she was breathing down his neck. Maybe because she was.
“The lungs show petechial hemorrhaging, and there is some frothy fluid in her bronchi.” He looked at her, then Trent. “This tells me she had labored breathing.”
“Does it tell you what might have caused it?” Amanda realized she was being stubbornly persistent, but the desire for answers was strong.
“No.” Rideout smiled before going back into Alicia’s body cavity with two hands. He came out with her liver. “You don’t have to stay for all of this. It might be a while before I could give you anything definitive anyway.”
They might be best to leave and see if they could pin down manner of death. “You’ll keep us posted?”
“Don’t I always?” Rideout’s tone was far too light to jibe with him holding a person’s organ in his hands.
Amanda and Trent loaded into the car and headed back to Woodbridge. Amanda updated Malone on the way.
“Continue treating it as a homicide,” he told them.
“Thought you’d feel that way. Thinking we’ll stop by New Belle next.” She glanced at Trent in the driver’s seat, and he nodded. She continued. “We’ll take a look around, see if we can talk to Harold Armstrong who recommended the cabin.” She’d included his name in the briefing they’d given Malone last night.
“Keep me posted.” With that, Malone hung up.
“To New Belle.” Trent headed in the direction of the cosmetics company. “Armstrong might be able to let us know his thoughts on Alicia too. Whether she showed signs of suicidal impulses or…” He stopped speaking, but the tension in the car had Amanda looking over at him.
“Just say it,” she dared him.
“Maybe we should talk to Bishop again first and discuss the possibility of suicide more.”
“We’ll talk to him again, but he’s grieving. Let’s give him some space and get an outside perspective first.”
“All right. Armstrong might be willing to share his thoughts on their marriage too, whether there were any issues.”
“Tony had nothing to do with her death.” Her conviction surprised her. She really owed Tony nothing after all these years, but the man she had known would never have killed anyone. Then again, she should know from life experience that anyone—even those you least expected—was capable of murder.
“I know Tony’s your friend.”
“He was my friend.” And in some ways, that felt like so very long ago. “Regardless, every case deserves an open mind. We can’t convict him for the same reason we can’t release him from suspicion, but you’re right, the marriage might not have been as solid as he sold it to us. One thing niggling at me is where she died. What was she really doing there? Maybe it was for the reason Tony mentioned—to sit with her decision to sell New Belle. But that doesn’t exactly gel for me. She wants to sell her business to have more time for family, but her son is there on spring break and she leaves? And how does a woman who spent her entire adult life building a business just up and let it all go?”
“You think someone was squeezing her out?”
“Well, they might have got their way. She is out.” The latter part of her response was short and clipped, and she felt horrible for that the second it left her mouth. She rushed to try and bury her snappy comeback. “If she was murdered, which we are going to assume from this point unless told otherwise, that doesn’t happen to people without enemies. That means Alicia had skeletons in her closet. We need to find out what those were.”
“Agreed. I am allowed to agree?”
“Why wouldn’t you be?”
He raised his brows.
“Sorry for being a little short.” She wasn’t doing very well at the “pushing him away” thing. It came in spurts. The truth was the guy was just so damn nice to her—and loyal, a trait she highly respected and admired.
“As for being short, you can’t help how tall you are.” He put it out there drily, and it took her a few beats to stitch together his meaning. His smirk helped.
“Hey, I’ll have you know I’m taller than the average height for a woman. Five foot nine.”
“Uh-huh, short stuff.”