Gun Games - Faye Kellerman [43]
“Depression?”
“Major. She was put on medication.”
“Is she still on medication?”
“I think so.”
“Did the medication help her?”
“I wouldn’t know. She was also seeing a psychiatrist.”
“Do you know the name?”
“My mom knows.”
“Had your sister ever made any suicide attempts in the past?”
“Yes. Right after my father’s death. She seemed to be getting better . . .” He threw up his hands.
Decker said, “She went to Bell and Wakefield?”
Eric nodded. “Scholarship. We both were scholarship students.”
“How was that for you?”
“For me?”
Decker nodded.
“It was okay. I got a good education.”
“Socially?”
“Not the warmest place, but I had my friends. I didn’t have problems.”
“What about your sister?”
Eric blew out air. “I don’t know. She never complained. I know that she has a few friends.”
“Do you know their names?”
“First names only. Heddy . . . Ramona . . .” He shrugged. “That’s as much as I can recall.”
“Has anything about your sister changed over the last couple of months?”
“Not that I noticed. But I wasn’t home a lot.”
“Did you see a deepening of her depression?”
“No . . . not really.”
“Do you know if your sister had any outside activities?”
“She painted and drew,” Eric said. “She was a great artist. I think she did some cartooning for the school paper.”
“Anything else?”
He exhaled. “She might have had other interests, but I don’t know. I’m not here most of the time. It was just a fluke that I . . .” His eyes watered. “I’m either at school or in the library. I also have an internship after school and on the weekends. Mostly, I just sleep here. I told my mother to switch beds with me—I don’t need my room anymore—but she’s stubborn. I guess you can see that.”
Decker heard voices from the other room. Marge peeked her head in. “The doctor’s here.”
“Good.” To Eric, Decker said, “Thank you very much for answering the questions. Again, I’m very sorry.”
Eric nodded and they returned to the living room.
Radcliff was in his fifties with gray hair. He was dressed in a sweater over an oxford shirt and jeans. He patted Eric’s shoulder. “We decided to meet up at the hospital.”
“Thank you very much,” Eric told him.
Marge got off her cell. “We’ve got two CIs downstairs. Maybe we should wait until Mrs. Gelb leaves for the hospital.”
Decker agreed as Udonis Gelb was helped onto a wheelchair. Dr. Radcliff said, “I’ll let you know what’s going on, Eric. Can I have your cell number?”
He gave it to him. “Thank you, Doctor.”
As soon as the mother left, the two coroner’s investigators—Jamaica Carmichael and Austin Bodine—came into the apartment.
Decker said to Eric, “I have to check out what happened. Lots of people coming in and out. You don’t have to stay.”
“I promised my mother.”
“You can wait in the living room.”
Eric nodded.
Marge led the CIs to the death scene. Decker took out his notebook. An average-looking bedroom—blue walls, white furniture, and a white silky cover splattered with blood. The gun—a .22 Taurus revolver—still rested atop the duvet, but the body was on the floor, crumpled at the foot of the bed. Her face lay sideways in a pool of congealing blood, a blackened hole dripping blood down her cheek and skull, clotting into her short, dark hair. Her right hand had a lot of stippling from powder burns. She’d been dressed in a gray T-shirt and dark jeans. Her feet were bare.
Decker said, “Did you take any trajectory measurements?”
“I took measurements from the gun to her hand and from the gun to her head, but she was on the floor when I came in. I’ve been looking around the room. I haven’t found a bullet.”
Coroner investigator Austin Bodine carefully turned the head. “You didn’t find any bullet because it’s still inside. No exit wound.”
Marge checked her notes. “To me, it appears that she was sitting on the edge of the bed when she did it. The gun shot back onto the bed, but she slid down to the floor. The comforter is satiny material . . . slippery.”
Decker said, “Are you sure it’s just one shot?”
“So far just the one to the head.” Jamaica