A/N: This may be fairly long, apologies now! Thank you for all the reviews - you have certainly sped me on to writing the second chapter! When the third will be up, I'm not sure as I have a trip after work tomorrow, taking some of my students to Stockport Air Raid Shelters. It will possibly be Tuesday, muse depending. Part of the chapter is set at New York University of Law. I have no idea what the uni looks like inside as I couldn't find any pictures, so the descriptions were based on Sheffield Uni instead! I've also never been to New York, so I have used some artistic licence there also! I left my 'Forensics for Dummies' book at home, so the first part of this chp may also have several holes in, although I have been researching!
If you want to know what Flack and Angell were doing before Mac found them then read my fic 'The Naming'. It is a one shot and bears no relation to the actual case, hence it stands alone.
Jessica - thank you for the review - here's the quote that lets you know Mac's been informed of the name... it's not dead obvious, but I didn't want to repeat myself! "Been somewhere nice?" she said after filling them in on the name of the deceased, noticing that both looked on the darker side of happy.
Morgan - I can't reply directly, but I'd just like to say thank you for all your lovely reviews!
Usual disclaimer applies.
Chapter 2 – A Little Darker
The cool calm of the autopsy room soothed only the nerves of those who were accustomed to dealing with the silence of the dead. Cold steel shone under dim lights; pristinely clean surfaces glimmered, the secrets of the dead bared under their stare. Outside noise, when heard, gave a glimpse into the lives left behind. The daily strife and toils lost as soon as the body bags came and laid down in the halfway house between heaven and hell; the final chance to let the world know the stories of the once-alive.
Sid stood, looking at the back and neck of Brian Goddard, a green sheet covering him from the waist down. Some autopsies were quicker than others, and this looked like the hundred metre sprint of them. Sam, the morgue assistant, had helped him weigh the man, then they had turned him over, exposing the gun shot wound to the back of the neck. Goddard's body was awkward; cadaveric spasm made it difficult to manipulate joints and position the corpse so that it was accessible, but Sam was a superb assistant and hadn't needed the instructions a less experienced member of his team would have, knowing exactly what to do. Sometimes Sid thought that he was the assistant.
He manoeuvred the camera over the wound, focusing on the screen to see a close up of where the bullet had entered. He had been shot from mid-range; he could tell by the pattern the bullet had made upon entering, the skin torn enough to tell him that the shooter was probably about six feet away and had fired at a downward angle. Brian Goddard had already been on the floor when he was shot. Sid pushed the camera away and peered at the wound. Something wasn't right.
Sam brought the equipment used to scan bodies and set it up without being asked, his face inquisitive. Sid watched, knowing what he was going to find, and marvelling at it. He disagreed with killing people, most of the time anyway; there were certain people – rapists, paedophiles, people who dealt drugs to children – who he thought should be humanely put down. But he still bore a fascination and admiration for those whom humanity was a far-fetched idea and the intriguing ways in which they could end life, thinking they had gotten away with it. And the murderer of Brian Goddard appeared to be one of those people.
Sid watched as the images came up on the screen; seeing the outlines of organs and veins. He studied the pictures closely as he slowed the scanner around the entry site of the bullet.
"What can you see?" Sam asked.
Sid smiled. He liked the young man's keenness, his enthusiasm for knowledge. "The bullet has been removed," he said, announcing the fact with triumph. "Whoever did this knew that ballistics can be used as evidence, so they removed the evidence. They did quite a good job of it too. Whoever did it did a very good job. Bullets can fragment- they can be very hard to remove depending on the type of gun used. Either the gun and ammunition was chosen carefully so that it would not fragment, or someone has had the dexterity to make sure that every shard was taken out properly." Sid took his scalpel and cut into the skin, making the hole large enough to inspect a little deeper. "I would say it was the latter. The entry into the flesh is smaller in diameter than the wound below the skin, as if someone has tried scooping out the bullet." He turned around to see Mac stood there, listening intently. "I am sure, Detective Taylor," Sid said. "That you are indeed some sort of spectre given the way you sneak up on unsuspecting people."
Mac laughed quietly, more taken with the body than any attempt at making light conversation. "So there's no bullet inside. We're looking for someone with at least a rudimentary knowledge of anatomy?"
Sid nodded, pointing to the screen. "The bullet entered the back of the neck and through the spine at a downward trajectory, resulting in a C2-3 injury…"
"Which would cause instant paralysis," Mac said. "Any injury to the spinal cord at that height would mean paraplegia. A bullet wound would result in immense bleed out."
Sid nodded, pleased with Mac's knowledge. "From looking at the scan and the body ,the bullet did not exit. The fragmentation of the spine suggests that the bullet cut through the spinal cord and into the C2 and C3 vertebrae, but then became lodged in the bone and tissue. Someone, has then very neatly, gone it through the lesion left by the bullet and managed to remove it. There is scratching on the nearby bones," Sid pointed to an area on the screen. "That suggests tweezers were used. See these indents on the bone here."
Mac nodded. "Do you think we'll be able to match the markings in the bones with a particular type of tool?"
Sid shrugged. "I really don't know. One thing, you can be sure that the markings are not caused by the autopsy. If you get someone for this, then I imagine they will be hoping that the marks left will be put down to instruments used at the post-mortem. I would put my life on the person that did this had some medical knowledge. Although I don't think they were well up on ballistics, otherwise they would have made sure the shot was a through and through."
"We can only speculate about the weapon used, but as it didn't exit then it could potentially have been faulty," Mac said. Sid was certain he could hear Mac's brain processing, a whirr of noise, never pausing.
"Maybe our shooter didn't check the weapon first," Sid said, his eyes returning to the screen, leaving speculation for Mac.
"Which suggests that it may not have been that well planned. What else can you tell us about the vic?" Mac said. Sid saw Mac's eyes trail across the bare back of Brian Goddard, and wondered what he read there.
"He was in fairly good condition for his age. There are signs of bruising on his left hand side, and his skull had a slight fracture just above the left temple. This suggests that he hit the floor, and I would say that this was before he was shot as the bullet definitely came from a downward angle. There are no signs of struggle – his fingernails are spotless and his skin has definitely been wiped down with a light disinfectant. I can also tell you that Goddard was a practising homosexual," Sid said. "But there are no signs of any trauma or semen – so no clues there."
"But if he was wiped clean before being brought here," Mac said. "Couldn't any traces have been washed away?"
"Not unless they were very thorough, and physical signs of rape would still be apparent. I say they as it would have taken two people to carry him in and out of any vehicle. Mr Goddard was a heavy man – 225 pounds. He would have been awkward to move," Sid said, taking a rather strange looking piece of equipment out of a drawer.
"The hand," Mac said, gesturing to the closed hand, unwilling to give up its secrets even in death.
Sid nodded, using the instrument to prise open the fingers. He heard a crack of bone and then a finger released its death-grip, a key emerging. Sid's gloved hand passed it into Mac's. "Maybe that will help," he said. "I suppose you would like a clearer time of death?"
"That will help – what've you got?"
"I haven't analysed stomach contents yet, but at the moment I would place TOD between twenty-four and forty-eight hours ago. I'm afraid I can't be any more specific on that, as I don't know where the body has been kept with regard to temperature etcetera. Stomach contents will help, and I'll let you know as soon as I have details of those," Sid said. "It's a strange case – why bring the body of a middle-aged professor here?"
"A good question, Sid. But unfortunately, that's one question Mr Goddard can't answer," Mac said, looking anxious to go, always moving. "Call me if you get any more."
Sid nodded, unclipping his glasses and letting them hang around his neck, his eyes swiftly moving across the body, as if scanning it himself. "What more do you have to tell me?" he said out loud, causing Sam to look over from where he was working. Sid was unaware of his curious look, immersed in seeing what else was left for Brian Goddard to say.
-&-
The night was warm, and the only suit Flack had had in the locker room was one far more suited to winter. He shrugged off the jacket and rolled up his sleeves, hoping that at some point they could stop off at his apartment and he could change. Jess had fared better; linen trousers and a short sleeved shirt had been hanging in her locker from a shopping trip she had never gone on after a case had grown hairy, requiring her to stay past the end of shift.
"I'll drive," Angell said, holding up the car keys to one of the unmarked police cars. "It's parked just outside." He glared at her slightly, hating being a passenger. The smile she returned almost annoyed him even more. "The food was delivered while you were speaking to Mac." Jess pointed over to his desk. "I suggest you grab the dim sums and we eat those while I drive. We can heat the rest up later."
Flack eyed the little packages on his desk and suddenly the world seemed a better place. "We got a positive ID on the vic," he said, quickly picking up the boxes of dim sums and piling them into a bag. "Mac brought Goddard's profile up from the university website and it's definitely him."
"So we head over to Vanderbilt Hall," Angell said, ushering out of the room.
"You're familiar with NYU Law?" Flack said, slightly surprised. He knew New York, of course, but had had little to do with the University of Law and for some reason had assumed that Jess would be as ignorant as him.
"I had a boyfriend who was studying there," she said. "That's why I'm driving – I know where to park."
He shrugged, pulling a box out of the bag and opening it up, finding prawn toast.
The university was like the rest of New York and did not sleep. Vanderbilt Hall contained the auditorium and most of the classrooms, as well as sharing the library with neighbouring Furman Hall, part of which ran underneath Sullivan Street. A large number of the faculty had their offices in the building, which looked stately and imposing, fronted with a grassy area. Lights were switched on in many of the rooms, their dim beam letting the world know that the occupants were awake; whatever amusements they were engaging themselves in. Music could be heard coming from the first floor, the faint beat of a rhythm filtering its way down through the air. Nowhere spoke of an untimely death, and Flack wondered what shocks were about to be delivered.
They made their way up the steps to the reception where a woman of not more then twenty stood, with long dark brown hair drifting past her shoulders and wearing a pair of thick rimmed spectacles.She looked at them, appearing annoyed with the interruption, putting down a thick book which Flack noticed to be about environmental law. Flack flashed her his badge, noticing Angell doing the same thing. "I need to know where I can find the dean of the university," he said. There had been nothing about Goddard's person to suggest he had family, so the next point of contact was his employer.
"Is this a joke?" she said. "Some sort of sorority or frat prank?" She looked at them, regarding them through sharp eyes. "You look too old to be in a society though – and you don't look like NYPD, not dressed like that." Flack felt his evening getting worse.
"We are in charm mode tonight, aren't we?" he held his badge up once more. "We need to know where we can contact the Dean." His voice was firm, taking no prisoners.
The brunette glared at him once more, clearly annoyed at having to put down her book. Flack felt glad that he'd missed college if this was what the girls were like there. "Professor Reyes is currently in a meeting and doesn't want to be disturbed," she said. "Can I take a message and have him get back to you?"
Angell stepped forward and Flack saw her eyes dancing, her lips turned up at the corners in a soft smile. "And you are who? His PA? I'm guessing Professor Reyes doesn't brief whoever's on desk duty of his wants and needs. Cut the crap and tell us where we can find him, otherwise I'll have you in handcuff and how will you explain that to your future employers?"
The girl looked sulkily at them, her bottom lip pushed forwards. Flack figured she had a lust for power that was not easily satiated, and Angell had just stopped her getting her latest fix. "He's in lecture room five on the first floor, and he is in a meeting. I wouldn't know that, but I need to hand in an assignment to someone who's with him. He will be pissed if you interrupt him," she said without expression.
"And he'll be even more pissed when he hears what we've got to tell him, Miss Lebowitz," he saw her badge on the desk next to her book. Clearly she had wanted to be identity free. She smiled, and he wondered if he hadn't credited her with enough smarts; the badge was probably someone else's.
Flack followed Angell as she walked toward the rather grand staircase. He looked about him; a few college kids mulled around, some carrying books, others chatting into cell phones, a few looking tired and stressed. "It's exam time," Angell said. "Although somewhere like this is always exam time. Every year this place gets over seven thousand applicants for less than five hundred places."
"You know, I used to wonder if I missed out by not going to college. I hear Messer talking about it, and Lindsay, and they really seemed to have had a good time," Flack said. "Then I come to places like this and I'm glad I saved my parents the money."
"Why didn't you go?" Jess asked. "Your GPA not high enough?" Her tone was teasing and light. He smiled. He knew he wasn't academic, as in he didn't enjoy studying particularly, but he had always worked hard.
"It was 3.4," he said, enjoying her silence. "What was yours?"
"3.2," she said. "I got a D in French that dropped my average." Their conversation was ceased by the door to lecture room five becoming visible as they turned a corner. No voices could be heard from inside the room, and for a moment Flack wondered if reception girl had fed them the wrong information. If she had, he would have no problem in arresting her.
Angell knocked on the door and pushed it open. Three men and a woman sat around a circular table, clearly used for groups much larger than four. All eight eyes trailed Flack and Angell as they approached.
"NYPD," Flack said, again showing his badge.
"You don't look like it," the woman said, her eyes assessing his attire. He felt releif once more at having avoided institutions such as this one.
"We like to blend in," he said, taking a position where he could see all four faces. Angell stood next to him and he knew that she would be memorising detail. Not much seemed to get passed her, something he'd noticed since they'd been partnered. "Detective Flack and Detective Angell," he gestured, introducing them, needing the names of the four professors, at least he assumed they were professors.
"I'm Professor Richard Reyes, Dean of the University of Law. This is Angela Warrick, Vice Dean; Paul Murphy, Vice Dean and Henry Almedegas, Professor of Law. We are conducting a rather important meeting. I appreciate this must be important, detectives, but would it be possible to reschedule?" Professor Reyes said, his eyes trailing over Angell. Flack raised his eyebrows at him and waited for Reyes to realise he had been caught. The older man showed no embarrassment; instead a slight smugness to the lips appeared.
"I think you would be as well to reschedule this meeting, professors," Flack pulled out the photograph of Brian Goddard in the elevator that Stella had printed for him just before they had left, and placed it down on the table. The eight eyes glued themselves to the image; the pastry-like skin, the eyes half closed and the bluish tinge would steal their way into their dreams.
"Brian," Reyes said, his eyes finally lifting from the photograph. "That's why he hasn't returned my calls." Flack felt sadness pass through the room which was now still. He hated this part, the telling of relatives and friends, but it frequently led to key observations and clues, giving information that would otherwise remain unsaid.
Angela Warrick pulled out a handkerchief from her purse and dabbed at her eyes, smearing her mascara. Her sadness seemed genuine. "Was he in hospital? We didn't know he was sick – he kept himself to himself. Even with the students he was professional, a brilliant lecturer, but wouldn't mix with them." Her eyes were red-rimmed and she seemed to be struggling to compose herself.
"He was murdered and his body dumped in an elevator at the precinct," Flack said, not mincing his words. He had noticed that both Murphy and Reyes were looking rather pale, while Almedegas simply looked shocked. "Is there anything you would like to say?"
Reyes shook his head. "I honestly can't think of anyone who would do such a thing. Brian was inoffensive. When did this happen?"
"A post-mortem is being conducted at present – we'll know more after that. All we can say at present is that it was at least eight hours ago. When was the last time any of you saw Goddard?" Flack said. He could see Angell watching the woman closely and he wondered what she had noticed that had tweaked her interest.
"Brian gave a lecture three days ago. It was one of the last of the semester. He had spoken about going to Denver to visit a friend – I assumed it was a boyfriend as he was very excited about – you are aware that Brian was gay?" Reyes waited for Flack's nod, which was given, although it was new information. "He said he anticipated leaving at the weekend as we have several meetings for the rest of the week, all to do with certain elements of the syllabus we teach, particular students and colleagues. Brian had worked here for twenty years and used to be a Vice Dean; his opinion was of importance. I've tried to contact him several times since Tuesday, but he hasn't returned any calls or emails."
"I saw him Tuesday evening in the library," Almedegas said, his voice quiet and sombre. "He was returning some books. We exchanged pleasantries and carried out our business. This time of year is particularly busy. We tend to catch up once the examinations have been marked." Flack nodded, looking at the two other professors for their responses. Neither spoke.
"Did either of you see Goddard after Tuesday evening?" he said. Angela Warrick shook her head, speech now beyond her.
Paul Murphy looked thoughtful, biting his lip before he spoke. "I thought I saw him Wednesday morning at Larry's coffee shop, speaking with a man whom I did not recognise. I was on my way out when I saw him, and as he hadn't seen me and I was in a rush, I didn't make myself known. I can probably describe the man he was with."
"What time would that have been?" Flack said. Something niggled him about Murphy and he couldn't put his finger on it.
"Around nine-thirty. I had a meeting with a student at ten and needed to prepare myself for it. It was a tough meeting as I was giving her an official warning for plagiarism," Murphy said, meeting Flack's eyes as if daring him to contradict or ask for more details.
Flack nodded. He would certainly be checking up Murphy's sighting. "I have no more questions for you at present – just some information we will need. Perhaps Professor Reyes could show us to Brian Goddard's study and inform us for a few details. We will be in touch further," he said. The three professors who weren't needed stood, Paul Murphy putting an arm around Angela Warrick's shoulders and escorting her out of the room, giving a brief nod to Flack and Angell. Almedegas thanked them before leaving, his age apparent in the way he moved, slowly, using a stick to carry some of his weight.
Reyes remained seated, his composure calm. "There isn't much for me to tell you about Brian Goddard, Detectives," he said, looking mainly at Angell. "He worked here a long time, did some excellent research, wrote some outstanding academic pieces and was a superb teacher. His private life was kept private. The trip to Denver was the first clue he had given about having a life outside of work."
"If he said so little about his life outside of the university how did you know he was homosexual?" Flack asked.
Reyes sighed, looking away. "About fifteen years ago, Brian had an affair with a student which turned nasty. The student, Michael Reeves, was failing. He tried to blackmail Brian into passing him somehow, otherwise he would 'out' him. Brian reported the matter to the Dean at the time and the issue was resolved. Brian handled it well."
"Should he have been dating one of his students?" Angell said, pushing an errant lock of hair behind her ear. Flack noticed the movement and for a second became engrossed with it, the evening they had just missed out on flashing before his eyes.
Reyes shook his head. "No, but it is something that happens. My wife is a former student of mine. It certainly isn't encouraged, and there have been times when relationships have been requested to be ended, but as long as no one is abusing their power then people fall for who they fall for, detectives." He gave them a look which made Flack wonder if he and Angell had it written across them that they had been on a date that evening. "I'll show you Brian's study. He kept it immaculately tidy; nothing like mine."
The corridors were long and wide, a handful of students passing them along the way. Reyes' pace was quick, his long legs covering the ground with ease. He took them up two flights of stairs, bringing them onto a narrow corridor, the doors either side of it oak and traditional in style, the way Flack had imagined they would be.
"This is Brian's office," he took a set of keys from his pocket and inserted one into the door. "I have a skeleton key – I haven't used it since I took my position, not for opening someone else's rooms anyhow." His nerves showed as he unlocked it and Flack knew that the realities of his colleague's death were now hitting him.
As the door swung open Flack saw a sea of books floating on the carpet. The desk had been turned over, scattering papers everywhere. Bookshelves had been emptied and drawers pulled open. It was a scene that spoke of utter chaos, or disruption and of violence. A room whose happy memories had been felled with one swing on the axe. Flack pulled out his gun, Angell mirroring his actions and they entered the room, Reyes ordered to stand back. In the corner, near a coffee table, lay a man, his torso stripped naked and a book placed on his abdomen. Angell bent down next to him and checked for a pulse, shaking her head. Flack heard Reyes being sick, managing to make it onto the corridor. The night had just got a little darker.
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