Sins and Needles by Monica Ferris Read Free Book Online Page A

illness. Now…this was really, really scary. She needed to talk to someone levelheaded about this, someone whose nickname described what she also needed from him. Her dear, patient, kind, strong husband.

Five
    S ERGEANT Mitchell Rice didn’t like autopsies. Like many police detectives, he was tall and burly, with dark hair, very thin on top, and an unstylish tie worn so tight it looked as if it were strangling him.
    An autopsy is sort of like an operation, only a little rougher, and without the anesthesiologist. And the surgeon takes photos of his progress, which Mitch was pretty sure didn’t happen in an operating room. Normally there are no non-medical people in the operating room; but if an autopsy is for the purpose of collecting evidence for a criminal investigation, a representative from the police department must be present.
    Finally, autopsies are a grim reminder of mortality, something Mitch didn’t need; and while he tried to be professional and distance himself from the process, he couldn’t get far enough away to remain undisturbed.
    Maybe if he went to more of them…now there was an ugly thought. He was not one of those cops who liked action. In fact, while he enjoyed his work, he was also grateful to be a cop in a community where murder was a very rare thing.
    He was startled back to the present by the sound of something metal falling into a little pan. The medical examiner gave a grunt of satisfaction, and Mitch said, “Got it?”
    â€œYes.” Using his tweezers, the ME poked at what he’d retrieved. “Looks like a piece of wire. Steel, maybe.” He picked it up, rinsed it in a jar of water, then held it out to Mitch, who reluctantly came closer. It was about two inches long, shiny and pointed at one end. The other end was snipped off, not smoothly.
    â€œThat’s not a piece of wire,” Mitch said.
    The ME lifted it up to his own eyes, squinting behind the clear plastic mask that covered his face. “You’re right.” He held it closer, then touched the pointed end with a rubber-gloved hand. “Dull point, but doesn’t seem from wear.”
    â€œWhat do you think?”
    â€œI couldn’t say for sure. It looks machined, not ground or cut, except at the other end. Shiny, so stainless steel? Maybe it’s a part off something.”
    Mitch, intrigued now, held out his hand for the tweezers. The piece of metal didn’t look cut or filed to its point, but polished or rolled. There were no scratches on its gleaming surface. It was very thin—thinner than most nails. He very gingerly felt the pointed end and agreed that it was not very sharp. The other end, when touched, felt rough on the tip of his finger.
    â€œWhich end was the end inside her head?” he asked.
    â€œThe pointed end, up to about the last eighth of an inch, barely visible to the naked eye. And something else,” the ME went on, “there are a couple of small puncture wounds very near where I found this. In my opinion, someone made several tries to insert this in order to cause the deceased’s death.”
    Mitch frowned. “That can’t be true. I have a report that the decedent was found in her bed under undisturbed blankets, as if she’d died peacefully in her sleep. If someone came into my bedroom and started poking me in the back of the head with something pointed, I’d kick up a fuss. Maybe the other injuries are because she was out in her yard with the mosquitoes.”
    â€œThey don’t look like mosquito bites to me,” said the ME, who had photographed them. “Unless it was a mosquito with one hell of a proboscis.”
    Mitch handed the piece of metal back. “So it’s your expert opinion that we’re talking homicide here?”
    â€œOh, I’d say so. I don’t see how she came by this injury any other way. This was done by an individual who knew where to insert this pin or whatever it is, but