“I don’t know anything you don’t,” I said, probably honestly. Surely Franco was well aware the Basanelli boys had thrown their dad out that night.
As if reading my mind, the sheriff nodded. “Yeah, rumor has it Nick and the twins were pretty bruised up, as well, but I didn’t see them until a week after Richard took off. Didn’t even start investigating until then.”
“It was football season,” I said easily. “I believe they were doing double days back then and could’ve easily explained away any bruises, anyway.”
He nodded. “Yeah, that was my understanding, as well.”
“Any sightings of Richard or Imogen after they left the Pig’s Tavern?”
“Nope,” Franco said. “They drove off in his truck, and that was the last anybody heard of them. I only opened an investigation because Imogen’s husband insisted upon it a week later. Plus, it seemed like the right thing to do. When folks just up and leave, you’ve got to at least make an effort. Though, honestly, Anna, their intent was to leave for good, so I didn’t think anybody killed them.”
Yeah, that made sense. “Haven’t you wondered over the years?”
He shrugged. “Not really. Richard wasn’t a family man, and Imogen didn’t seem to like her husband much, so it made sense they never returned. Not in a million years did I think they were dead over in Timber City.”
I looked at an official lighter blue folder off to the side. “What’s that?”
He glanced at it. “That’s the autopsy report.”
My heart started to thrum. “No kidding. Can I see it?”
He stared at me for several moments. “There’s no legal reason I can’t let you see the file since it isn’t my case. The murder’s over in Elk County, and my investigation of their disappearance didn’t lead to anything against any of your clients.” He seemed to be talking himself into showing me the file folder.
I glanced at his now empty plate. “You know, there are more cookies out there right now, and they’ll go fast.”
He stared at me somberly for several moments.
I stared back and started to blush.
Finally, he rolled his eyes, “Oh, all right. You don’t need to protect me, you know.”
“No, but would you grab me a cookie? I wasn’t really hungry when I left the box out there, but I wouldn’t mind one now—and coffee.” I could use a hit.
He snorted. “Sure. I’ll be back in a few moments.”
I really hadn’t eaten a cookie. Sugar hadn’t been appealing earlier, but after watching him devour the two heart-shaped treats I’d brought him, now my mouth watered.
The second he cleared the door, I took a deep breath and stared out the wide window behind his desk that framed another February snowstorm on Main Street. Other than that, pictures of his grandkids, his softball teams, and the Seattle Seahawks covered all the walls around us.
I reached for the file folder and flipped it open to see the official autopsy report from Boise. The first paragraph noted that the body was that of a male in his late thirties, which hit me instantly. I barely remembered Richard Basanelli since I’d been so young when he disappeared, but he’d seemed old. Of course, everybody in their thirties had seemed old at that time. How odd. Even in my mind now, I considered him an older man, not somebody under forty.
I continued to read that there had been no skull fractures, but there were multiple stab wounds in the neck with some intersecting and angled, suggesting an assailant facing the victim. That sounded about right. I took a deep breath.
The report listed extensive stab wounds to the chest area, primarily concentrated around the heart and lungs. There was some mummification, most likely from the body decomposing in the cement room.
I continued to read, not finding any huge surprises, and then looked closer at a notation that the stab wounds resulted in notched and fractured ribs, particularly three through seven on the left side, consistent with deep penetrating trauma, suggesting a frenzied attack. There were defensive wounds on his forearms and hands, including sliced tendons, based on bone markings.
Nausea roiled in my stomach. The heart was unidentifiable due to advanced mummification, and the lungs were desiccated with several wounds corresponding to the chest injuries. I shivered. It sounded like a very violent attack.
Reading more, I found the opinion of the forensic pathologist and the cause of death, which was listed as multiple stab wounds to the neck and chest with significant skeletal trauma. Defensive wounds indicated a struggle prior to death.
Of course, mummification and environmental conditions correlated with a postmortem interval of approximately fifteen years. So, Richard had died shortly after leaving town. The manner of death was listed as homicide.
I flipped through the pages to find Imogen Wilson’s postmortem. Imogen’s autopsy was different in that there were numerous fractures to her facial bones, particularly around the jaw and cheeks, evidence of blunt-force trauma, as well as several deep stab wounds to the neck, which would’ve severed the trachea and major blood vessels. Her manner of death was also classified as a homicide, and the condition of her body also suggested a postmortem interval of approximately fifteen years. It looked like they had died together.
Sheriff Franco returned and handed me a cookie on a paper towel and a cup of coffee. “Don’t know where the plates went.”
I shrugged. “Thanks. Can I get a copy of this?”
