“What can you tell me about Henry Anderson’s autopsy?”
Livia pushed crime scene photos across the desk.
Sidney looked at the awkward angles of the young man’s limbs as he lay on a dust-covered slab of granite, with shrubs partially covering his face. A dark circle of blood spread along the stone on which his body lay, haloing his head like a cherry sunrise. His eyes were half opened, like he was stuck between sleep and consciousness.
“He was estimated to have fallen fifty feet,” Livia said. “The scene investigators were able to track the marks in the side of the mountain where he likely made contact on the way down. Detectives were able to match his shoeprints to the edge of the bluff just above where his body was found. There were many other shoeprints. It was a popular trail and the only hiking route that offered access to the mountaintop café.”
Sidney turned another page to find the autopsy report and photos. She quickly tucked the images of Henry’s naked body splayed on the metal autopsy table underneath the report so they were out of sight.
“With such a long fall,” Livia continued, “interrupted intermittently by impact on the mountain face, there was quite a bit of internal organ damage. The cause of death was determined to be exsanguination due to aortic dissection, meaning the main blood vessel attached to the heart dislodged on impact and he bled to death internally.”
Livia pulled pages that she had kept off to the side. “I know you were interested in the Anderson boy’s skull fracture. Here’s what I found.”
Livia slid autopsy photos of Henry Anderson’s bare skull across the table.
“There were several fractures noted.” Livia pointed to the photo. “Including a large stellate fracture on the posterior right parietal bone.”
Sidney shook her head again. “Just like Julian Crist,” she said.
Livia nodded. “Not only in the type and location—they both were depressed stellate fractures to the back, right side of the head.” Livia slid another page of the report across the desk. “But I also compared the measurements of the fracture taken from Julian Crist’s autopsy to the ones taken from Henry Anderson’s.”
“And?” Sidney asked.
“They are close to identical.”
Sidney looked at Livia without blinking. “How close?”
“This is a photo from what you provided of Julian Crist’s case.” Livia slid another image toward Sidney so that it was next to the photo of Henry’s skull.
To Sidney’s untrained eyes, each of the young men’s shattered craniums looked the same. In fact, if Livia switched the pictures around, Sidney would have difficulty determining whose skull she was looking at.
“The measurements from Henry Anderson’s skull fracture were documented to be two and a half centimeters deep, and seven centimeters long. Nearly identical to what was documented in Julian Crist’s autopsy.”
Sidney ran a hand through her hair. “Jesus Christ.”
“There’s more,” Livia said. “The scalp lacerations are also similar, if not identical.”
Livia again arranged the photos from each autopsy next to each other for comparison. Sidney remembered Julian’s laceration reminding her of a split in a leather sofa. Henry Anderson’s looked the same.
“The measurements of the two lacerations are also the same,” Livia said as she sat back in her chair. “I’m not much for conspiracy theories, but if I were a betting woman, I’d say there’s a damn good chance these two injuries were caused by the same weapon.”
Sidney also sat back away from the photos that were spread across the desk, folded her arms in front of her. “Yeah, well, anold detective already offered that theory. And wagered a shot of whiskey that the same person was swinging that weapon.”
Livia shrugged. “I discovered one other thing that you’ll find interesting,” Livia said.
Sidney leaned forward. “What else?”
“Trace amounts of organza fibers were detected in Henry Anderson’s scalp wound.”
CHAPTER 49
Wednesday, July 19, 2017
SHE’D NOT EATEN ALL DAY. HER WHIRLWIND JOURNEY HAD TAKEN HERfrom Alcove Manor and her discussion with Gus Morelli early this morning, to Betty Anderson’s home in Sarasota Springs, to Livia Cutty’s office. It was 9:00 p.m. when she grabbed a taco from a street cart. Sidney ate while she walked. She promised to keep Detective Morelli abreast of any developments, and after a ten-minute walk, she found herself again in the lobby of Alcove Manor. She checked in at the front desk and found her way back to room 232, where her day had started.
Gus was sitting in the bedside chair, more put together tonight than he had been when he lay in his bed this morning. Sidney took a quick glance at the prosthetic leg that hung from his right hip and bent at the knee to reach the floor.
She knocked from the doorway. “Sorry. Is it too late?”
