Except there was no laceration along the hat brim line.
Tean checked again, more slowly.Making sure.
“What’s wrong?”Jem asked.
Tean shook his head.He returned to the blood-stiff hair, continuing his search up the scalp.
And there it was: the jagged edges of torn flesh.But not on the hat brim line.This was high on the parietal bone, almost on the crown of the head.
“What?”Jem asked, voice taut.“What is it?”
“I don’t think he fell,” Tean said slowly.“I think someone hit him.”
9
Jem wasn’t sure he’d understood.The words didn’t make sense.
“Someone hit him?”he asked.“What do you mean?”But before Tean could answer, he said, “He didn’t fall?”
Tean drew a finger around Gerald’s head, kind of like he was following a line.“Head injuries from falls typically occur in a specific region.”He moved his finger up toward the wound on Gerald’s head.“The location of this injury isn’t consistent with a fall.”
Larsen hadn’t said anything.He folded his arms across his chest.
“Whatisit consistent with?”Jem asked.He didn’t mean to sound like he was copying the doc; the words just came out of him.
“Blunt-force trauma.”Tean made a gesture to the wound.“A laceration occurs when the skin splits from trauma.There are distinctive edges to the wound.That’s what I see here.”
“And you think somebody did this to him,” Jem said.But finally his brain was catching up with him, and he said, “Of course somebody did.I mean, if he didn’t fall, then somebody hit him.”He let go of Gerald’s leg long enough to rub snowmelt from his beard.“You’re saying somebody killed him.”
Tean didn’t answer; he raised his head toward Larsen.
The cop—ex-cop—was still standing there, arms folded across his chest.Nothing showed on his face.“That’s a pretty big conclusion to draw for a wildlife veterinarian.”
“Tean’s the smartest person you’re ever going to meet,” Jem said.“If he says Gerald was murdered, then Gerald was murdered.”
“All I’m saying is that this injury isn’t consistent with a fall,” Tean said evenly.“If I were conducting a necropsy, I’d also note the absence of debris in the wound.”
“The snow—” Larsen began.
“Fuck the snow,” Jem said.“Somebody hit him on the back of the head.”And then—finally—his brain sparked.“Where’s his cane?”
Larsen glanced around, as though maybe he’d forgotten about the cane.
“You found his stuff,” Jem said.“His wallet.I bet you’ve got his phone.But where’s his cane?”
“I’m not sure about the cane,” Larsen said slowly.“We’d need to check the site of the—we’d need to see where he was found.But we didn’t find a phone.”He plucked a plastic bag from a shelf and passed it over.“The wallet.”
Cash, credit cards, driver’s license.Jem pulled out the room key and sealed the plastic bag.Then he set it on the shelf again.
Tean was shivering harder than ever, huddled next to the cart.“Mr.Larsen, I understand that you need the medical examiner to determine the cause and manner of death.But if I’m correct—”
“Then this is a homicide investigation,” Larsen said, and the fatigue was even more obvious in his voice now.“And there’s evidence we need to preserve.”
“Can you make sure no one else accesses this building?”
Larsen huffed a breath.“With weather like this, I don’t even want my people going outside.But yeah, I’ll lock up and tell them this building is off-limits.”
“We need to see where you found him,” Jem said.
