If I Should Die_ A Novel of Suspense - Allison Brennan [137]
Lucy glanced at her watch. 5:24 P.M. Vanessa had died roughly between 2:30 and 4:30 in the afternoon. Lucy was confident that she’d been dead longer than an hour, but three hours was a guess, so she pushed her window to 1:30 P.M. Patrick had been an e-crimes cop and never liked forensics, but he might have more insight.
Lucy studied her surroundings, imagining the likely scenario that had led to Vanessa’s death. Shower. Bathrobe. Pills. Lucy had a degree in criminal psychology, but had studied a variety of mental illnesses, including depression. Identifying a suicide was difficult, but there were reliable indicators. Lucy hadn’t seen any of the standard signs of depression in Vanessa Russell-Marsh, though many clinically depressed people didn’t show outward signs, especially if they were on meds. Vanessa had been the quietest at dinner, but introverts were uncomfortable in groups of strangers and, like Lucy and Patrick, the Marshes had arrived yesterday afternoon. Vanessa seemed to have had a quiet affection for her more extroverted husband, and had been polite if a bit standoffish.
Suicides sometimes made themselves attractive prior to killing themselves—showering, putting on makeup, dressing in their nicest clothes—so that their loved ones would see them at “their best.” The shower itself didn’t throw Lucy off—it was that Vanessa had showered but not dressed or made herself up.
Yet if it was an accident, why would she take sleeping pills in the middle of the day? Especially Seconal. It made no sense, and made it appear more like a suicide than an accident. Still, just because the bottle was there didn’t mean Vanessa had ingested the pills. The bottle was half-filled and closed. But if she hadn’t overdosed on sleeping pills, what had killed her?
Lucy continued her visual examination of the body. Vanessa’s fingernails and toes were painted dark red, and the polish appeared fresh—no chips. Lucy couldn’t remember if Vanessa had painted nails last night, or what color they were.
Her engagement ring was a huge marquise-cut diamond. Too ostentatious for Lucy, but it fit Vanessa and she could see Trevor giving it to her. Her wedding band, however, looked like an antique: a thin, unpolished gold band with seven tiny diamonds embedded in an intricate pattern. Though dwarfed by the engagement ring, Lucy thought it was the more interesting and attractive piece of jewelry.
What a waste, she thought. Vanessa was a beautiful woman, newly married to a man who appeared to adore her, and she was dead.
Always look from the inside out. Husbands, boyfriends, exes—nine times out of ten, when a woman is found murdered, it’s someone she knows.
Lucy frowned. Murder was a far cry from an accident or suicide. But the idea stuck in Lucy’s head that Vanessa hadn’t died naturally or by her own hand. Lucy looked at the scene like a cop.
“It could be natural causes. She could have had an embolism or an aneurysm,” she whispered to herself.
Lucy had some medical training and a few human biology classes that enabled her to land the internship at the morgue, but she was more interested in the process than in actual autopsies, despite her assistant pathologist certification. She had no idea how to inspect the body for signs of such natural causes of death, but it would be clear in an autopsy.
Maybe she was too suspicious. Did Lucy really expect the worst in every situation? She didn’t want to think that she was such a negative person, but when she worked on a body in the morgue, she was most interested to learn the cause of death—natural, accident, or murder? At the Sheriff’s Department, she’d worked closely with