Known Dead_ A Novel - Donald Harstad [117]
Of course. Shock wave.
According to Dr. Peters, the second round came blasting through from a little steeper angle, and going almost straight on. The entrance wound was just about two inches above the first hole. This one struck the heart, pretty well disintegrating it, then hit the spine head-on, split, with a part that skidded to the left and down and exited Rumsford after passing through his liver and intestines, furrowing the inside of his right pelvis, and blowing out through his bladder. In the front, out the front. The other half continued on completely through the spine, and lodged in the muscles of his back.
‘‘This is a powerful weapon here,’’ said Dr. Peters.
No shit.
‘‘You might be looking for a rather longish barrel.’’
Thank you.
‘‘Oh,’’ he added. ‘‘Did you hear these shots?’’
‘‘Oh, yeah,’’ I said, ‘‘I heard ’em.’’
‘‘How far from them were you?’’
‘‘Oh, probably twenty yards.’’
‘‘Were they loud?’’
‘‘Very. I felt the first one, as much as I heard it.’’
‘‘That’s quite strange,’’ said Dr. Peters. ‘‘You know, we examined the half round that lodged in the reporter’s back. It had those strange brushed marks that look like it was fired through a silencer . . .’’
‘‘Boy, I don’t think so, Doc,’’ I said. ‘‘Sounded very loud to me . . .’’
‘‘Strange,’’ he said. ‘‘Very strange . . . oh, well . . .’’
‘‘Same shooter?’’ I asked. ‘‘Rumsford, I mean.’’
‘‘Not sure,’’ he said. ‘‘Could have been, if he was prone for one shot and kneeling for the second. Or it could have been two men using the same ammunition type . . .’’
That made a lot of sense. The shooter, from a prone position, smacks Rumsford, who just stands there. The shooter rises slightly for a better angle, kneeling. Smacks him again, and sees him topple. Couple of seconds separate the shots.
I’d only been off the phone for an hour when I got a call from Harry over in Conception County, WI. He had preliminaries on the body of Johnny Marks.
Marks had been strangled with a leather belt. Markings from the stitching on the edges of the belt were visible within the main ligature mark, and indicated it had been machine-stitched. Cool. The massive chest wound was, in fact, two holes. It appeared that they had driven the spike through him the first time, just about perpendicular to the beam, and it had pulled out when they propped the beam up. Tearing, front and back, so they had driven it through him a second time, at more of an angle. Spoke volumes for their determination. All that had been post-mortem as well. The damage to his face and other parts, which had appeared to me to be incidental and possibly from a beating, turned out to have been inflicted post-mortem too, likely by the fall from the beam.
‘‘Wanna hear the best part?’’ asked Harry.
‘‘Sure.’’
Chuckle. ‘‘He had splinters in his butt, also post-mortem. From sliding down the beam when the first spike pulled out.’’
Oh, that was the best, all right.
‘‘Oh,’’ he said, laughing so hard to himself that he had difficulty getting it out. ‘‘One more bit . . .’’
‘‘Sure.’’
‘‘When they were driving the spike, they apparently used a maul. Missed the spike a couple of times.’’ He started to break up again. ‘‘And I get mad when, when I, when I, I hit my thumb . . .’’
Harry cracks me up too.
Harry still had no solid information for us on a suspect, other than probably a gang member. He did have one fascinating thing. Time of death. ‘‘Been dead about three days,’’ he said. ‘‘Probably done sometime on the 24th.’’
‘‘Any ideas yet as to why?’’ I asked.
‘‘I was hoping you had some.’’
All Harry could tell was that it was probably done to ‘‘set an example for others.’’
Hmmm. The time of death had him being done in on the same day as Rumsford. Significance? Unknown.
I spent the rest of the day eating antacid tablets, drinking coffee, and worrying.
Monday, July 29th, was the date of Rumsford’s funeral in Canada. Fittingly, it was also the day we discovered