Page 23 of Go Under

Which wasn’t to say she was completely unaffected. It was sad to think that this man had only a few days ago been a breathing, living human with a life, with likes, dislikes, knowledge, and experiences. Perhaps at his age, hopes and dreams had given way to memories and regrets, but he was alive to reminisce and consider those. Someone had decided that he didn’t deserve that. Someone had taken that from him, then, when he was no longer present to have any effect on the world of the living, they had sewn his mouth shut and carved encrypted Akkadian into his table to send the message they wanted.

“I can confirm that the sutures were chromic catgut,” the medical examiner, a short, wiry man with profoundly hairy arms and profoundly thinning hair informed them in a voice that seemed too resonant for his thin chest. “Pretty interesting stuff. It was a Greek physician who first recorded the use of fiber from the lining of sheep’s intestines to suture wounds. That would be Galen, an icon in the medical world.”

He smiled to let them know that he knew he was rambling about something they didn’t care about and to thank them for their indulgence. Then he looked down at their victim.

“You can get catgut just about anywhere except for a hospital in the United States. It’s common in the third world, but here it’s a niche item usually purchased by survivalists or conspiracy theorists who believe the healthcare industry is an arm of the deep state or a tool of the Devil or both.”

“Why wouldn’t survivalists just buy normal surgical thread?” Marcus asked.

“Well, treated catgut is actually very easy to store. Very stable, very sterile, and not as sensitive to harsh environments. That’s another reason it’s preferred in a lot of first world countries. Personally, I think survivalists just like pretending that they’re using only things they can find, hunt, or harvest.”

He moved on, placing two fingers to the left of the wound in Gerald’s chest and pulling it open slightly. “As you can see, this wound is circular and rather narrow in diameter. He was stabbed through the heart, but not with a knife.”

“Screwdriver?” Marcus asked.

“No, although that’s a good guess. No, our friend here was stabbed with an awl.”

Kate’s brow furrowed. “That’s a leather-working tool, right?”

“Sometimes. It’s more commonly used for sewing and woodworking. Clothiers will use it to stitch materials like thick canvas together while woodworkers will punch holes with it, sometimes for decorative purposes, sometimes to fit pegs, and sometimes to create a hook on which they can hang an item.” He flipped his hand. “Well, you guys can Google it.”

Marcus looked at Kate. “Any religious significance to an awl?”

Kate shook her head. “Nothing that I know about.” She looked at the ME. “What about defensive wounds?”

The ME shrugged. “Well, not precisely.”

He moved to Gerald’s left foot and lifted it off the table, gingerly grasping the dead man’s big toe. The movement revealed a large purple bruise just above Gerald’s ankle.

“He received this backing into an object in his haste to flee. The injury to his forehead and right shoulder were received when he fell unconscious.”

“But that’s it? No skin or hair under his fingernails? No fibers that don’t belong to his clothing?”

“I’m afraid not,” the ME replied. “Based on his injuries, I’d say he was stabbed too quickly to realize what was going on. He stumbled backwards, hit his calf, then turned around and ran for his phone. He fell dead before he could reach it.”

Kate nodded and tried not to let her disappointment show. The awl was an interesting angle, but if it was the tool she was thinking of, then it sold for four-ninety-nine at any hardware store or fourteen-ninety-nine if you bought the fancy one from an arts and crafts store. It wasn’t unique, and it wouldn’t lead them to their killer.

“Thank you for your time, doctor.”

“Of course,” the ME replied, offering them each a firm handshake. “I’m sorry I couldn’t hand you your smoking gun.”

“If only it were that easy,” Marcus replied, giving the doctor a smile on their way out.

Darnell called them with more bad news as they exited the building. “I just confirmed that Donna Frick was never seen by any Philadelphia court or contacted by any Philadelphia law enforcement officer. It appears that Carol was telling the truth. Our two victims never met each other.”

“What about Daniel Avery?” Kate asked. “Did she know Daniel Avery?”

“Doesn’t look like it,” Darnell said. “Mr. Avery never lived in Wilmington, and none of his relatives ever attended the school Donna taught at. I’m afraid this also appears to be a dead end.”

Kate sighed irritably. Had they been wrong to make the connection to Daniel Avery?

No, they hadn’t. Gerald Mace had undoubtedly born false witness in the Daniel Avery case. Perhaps Donna Frick hadn’t, but she had spoken poison into willing ears and called it truth.

Now they needed to figure out exactly what that meant.

“Keep digging into their past, Darnell. Look for anything that might suggest a connection between them. I’m not ready to give up the Daniel Avery angle yet.”

“I’ll keep looking, Kate, but it’s time to accept the possibility that I was wrong and there’s something behind this other than Daniel Avery’s wrongful conviction.”