“Brett had an esophageal perforation.”
From my training, I knew this term. Mammals, but particularly dogs, swallow inedible material all the time: bones, sticks, or even kids’ toys. If an object slices the esophagus on the way down, there’s a decent chance it will slice parts of the colon, although Brett’s death had been so sudden, that likely wouldn’t have been the case.
“Was anything in his small intestines?” I asked.
“No, but there was something inside of him.” Charlie’s eyes narrowed as if he couldn’t quite figure out how to explain what he’d learned. “It was an object, a jagged-edged diamond about this big.” He used his thumb and forefinger to make the shape of a circle about an inch in diameter.
After the revelations in Mr. Froble’s office about Brett and the Rose Diamond, the detail landed hard. “What color was it?”
“Here,” he said, opening up his phone and passing it to me. On the screen was a light pink gem in what I guessed was the outstretched, gloved hand of the coroner. The stone was far less polished than the version of it I’d seen on Savilla’s phone that morning, but I recognized it immediately.
“That’s…” I bit my lip.
Charlie read my expression. “What?”
“It’s the Rose Diamond,” I said, tilting the phone so he could see the demarcations that were supposed to be like petals on a rose. “See how it’s cut?”
I pictured Brett again, regularly practicing intermittent fasting, according to Presley. He’d ordered a drink from the bar, and she’d carried it to where he’d stood talking with Lacy in hushed tones at the edge of the Primrose Ballroom dance floor.
I filled Charlie in on my thinking, including what Savilla had told me less than an hour ago about the stone being missingsince the summer of 2023, but I didn’t yet mention the blackmail scheme. I wasn’t ready to give up Lacy’s secret quite yet. “But how would this stone go from being at the estate in 2023 to Brett’s stomach last night?” I mused.
“It wasn’t in his stomach,” Charlie said. “They found it lodged in his trachea.”
Charlie pulled out the report from the coroner and handed it to me.
At the top readOffice of the Medical Examinerand underneath was a sketch of a generic man’s outline with one single mark over the left side of the chest where the diamond had been found. Underneath was an explanation of the means of death, as well as additional observations. Inflammation in the trachea and lungs, facial edema, swollen tongue, and neck abrasions.
I read the smallest print in the bottom of the page aloud. “Means of death: obstruction of airway, causing asphyxiation. Signs of strangulation.”
“That’s what bothers me. Presley insists that Brett was strangled, even though he was obviously clawing at his own throat,” Charlie said.
I remembered well her strange intrusion upon our examination of the body shortly after Brett’s death. “By her great-grandmother’s magical curse,” I reminded him. “If she was guilty of trying to kill him and make it look like an accident, I would think that she would either keep her mouth shut or just attribute it to choking.”
“Right, but criminals sometimes overdo their lies as a kind of compensation for the truth.” Charlie sucked his teeth for a long moment. “Even if she did go to all that trouble, seems like it would’ve involved a lot of chance.”
“And why take a chance on murder? Why not ensure it?” I finished, trying to think like a killer but coming up short.Another concern came to mind, perhaps just as important. “How did Brett not notice the stone?”
“He was drunk,” Charlie said, pointing at the blood alcohol level. It was startlingly high. He’d obviously had even more alcohol than Presley had realized.
“You think maybe he assumed the diamond was an ice cube?” I asked, forming a theory. “Maybe he was drinking so fast that he somehow swallowed it.”
“Inhaled it, more like,” Charlie said.
“I suppose.” I tried to reason it out. “He hadn’t eaten all day, and according to Presley, he drank like a fish. Her cliché, not mine.”
“They didn’t find any food in his stomach,” Charlie mused. “And I guess he chugged it.”
“Presley would know how he took his drink. On the rocks, for example.”
“Do you think she could’ve found the diamond and slipped it into his drink in the hopes that it would get lodged in his throat?”
This seemed like a stretch to me, but we were brainstorming, which was what mattered. The Rose Diamond had been missing for more than two years, but even so, Mr. Finch had included it in his updated will, which meant that he must’ve expected it to reappear at some point.
These were the kinds of moments when Charlie and I meshed well, completing one another’s sentences, our thoughts an extension of the other’s. I loved it.
“If we assume that Presley was trying to kill him—then why?” Charlie asked. “Why would she want her boyfriend dead?”
“She doesn’t need money,” I said, before correcting myself. “At least, I don’t think so.” I would’ve assumed the same about the Finch estate until a couple of hours ago.
