When Shadows Fall

FLETCHER KICKED THINGS off. “Timothy Savage. What can you tell us about him?”

“Other than the fool could have gotten my officers killed with his stupid stunt?”

Davidson pulled a file folder from his drawer and put it on the desk in front of Fletcher, draped his jacket on the back of his chair. “Detergent suicide. It’s worse than running up on a meth lab without your gear. At least he had the presence of mind to warn us so we didn’t blunder into the scene and lose men.”

“What do you mean, he warned you?” Sam asked.

“Look at the pics. I have them arranged chronologically.” Fletcher opened the file and scooted his chair closer to Sam’s so she could see the crime scene photos.

Savage had died in a small cabin surrounded by forest. There were a few shots of the cabin from afar, then close-ups of the windows and doors. Large white signs with hand-drawn biohazard symbols were taped in the two front windows, and the front door had a note on it with the words:

HYDROGEN SULFIDE

SUICIDE

POISON GAS

DO NOT OPEN

DANGER!!!

1 BREATH CAN KILL YOU

Sam raised an eyebrow. “You’d have to have a pretty high concentration to die from a single breath, something like seven hundred seventy parts per liter, but this stuff is toxic. Even a small concentration will cause all sorts of respiratory problems. What did he use?”

“Muriatic acid and lime sulfur. Bought it at the gardening center down the road from his place. More than enough to do the job. We had to get HAZMAT involved to come in and clear the place so my coroner could retrieve the body. Took a day to make it safe enough to get anyone near without a mask.”

“Who found him?”

Davidson’s brows pulled together. “Anonymous 911 call from a pay phone in front of a 7-Eleven on Rivermont. No working cameras there, so we couldn’t get a shot of the person who called. I can play you the tape, it’s quick. Male voice states the address, and requests police response to a dead body. That’s it.”

“Have you dealt with many of these before?”

“Not many, but it’s getting more and more common. Usually they do it in a car, in an out-of-the-way parking lot where they won’t be discovered and disturbed. You seeing this in D.C., too?”

Fletcher shook his head. “I’ve heard of it but haven’t worked one. They still like the traditional means up north. Guns, pills, hangings.”

“Well, some of these rural kids get pretty hopeless. This is a guaranteed death, without a lot of mess, and it’s cheap, and fast. The ingredients are readily available and mostly unregulated, too. They can do it with dandruff shampoo and toilet cleaner if they’re desperate enough. As long as there’s an acid and a sulfur, they’re in business.”

“But Timothy Savage used industrial-strength elements for his concoction?”

“That’s right. He wasn’t messing around. At least he warned us.”

Fletcher flipped through a couple more pictures and stopped. “Is this his suicide note?”

“It is. We found it right next to the body.”

Fletcher pulled a plastic sheet protector from the file and handed it to Sam. Inside was a handwritten note. She read it aloud quickly.

“‘I am sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused. This is best for everyone. Goodbye. T.S.’”

She set the letter down on the desk. “Fletch, the handwriting matches.”

“Handwriting matches what?” Davidson asked, suddenly wary.

Fletcher removed a folded sheet of paper from his jacket pocket. “This is a photocopy of a letter Dr. Owens received yesterday. Before she was called upon by Mr. Benedict regarding Savage’s will.”

Davidson read the letter, frowning the whole time. “May I keep this?”

“By all means. I have the original in D.C.”

“I don’t get it,” Davidson said. “Why would Savage kill himself but send a letter to Dr. Owens claiming to be murdered?”

“There’s more,” Fletcher said, and filled him in about Benedict, the will and the lawyer’s subsequent murder. Sam noticed he left out mentioning the angle of the garrote.

Davidson rubbed a meaty hand across his face. “Let me get this straight. Not only did he send you this letter, he made you executor of his estate, meager though it may be? And then Rolph Benedict is murdered after delivering the message? I don’t like this. I don’t like it at all. We better get in touch with Rolph’s partners, see what’s up.”

Sam finished flipping through the crime scene photos and a two-dimensional crime scene drawing. From what she could see, the Lynchburg P.D. had been thorough and careful. “Just so you know, the will stipulated I perform a secondary autopsy on Mr. Savage. I know he wasn’t sent to Richmond for posting, so he must still be here in town. I’d like to arrange it as soon as possible.”

Davidson stared at her for a heartbeat, then paled and grabbed the phone. He dialed a number from memory and breathed an audible sigh of relief when the call was answered.

“Roy? It’s June. You haven’t put Savage’s body through the furnace yet, have you? Oh, thank the Lord. All stop, right now. Yes. We’ll be down shortly. Bye.”

He turned to Sam. “Lady, you have the Devil’s own luck. Savage’s body was set to be cremated this morning. Roy came in late and hadn’t gotten to it yet. We caught him just in time—Savage is already in the retort, ready to go.”

“Who is giving the instructions regarding the body? Who decided he should be cremated?” Sam asked.

“Well, that’s where all this gets a little hinky. No one claimed the body— Savage is a loner, doesn’t have any family nearby to speak of. The orders came from Benedict’s law office. They’re footing the bill.”

Fletcher spoke up. “Cremation directly countermands the deceased’s request for an autopsy by Dr. Owens. What the hell, Davidson? What sort of law offices are these?”

“Well-respected ones. I honestly have no idea what’s going on here. No one mentioned the man had a will.”

Sam asked, “Does he have any family? Someone must have placed the obituary.”

“Honestly, Dr. Owens, that obituary is a bit of a mystery to me. Savage isn’t from around here. He showed up with his son a decade ago, kept to himself, homeschooled his boy, didn’t get into any sort of trouble. The boy’s name was Henry, if I remember correctly. I think he went to Randolph College, but we haven’t been able to locate him.”

“Henry Matcliff?” Sam asked. “Benedict told me he’s the primary heir to the estate, but they hadn’t had any luck finding him.”

“Matcliff? Never heard the name. Far as I knew, it was Henry Savage.”

“It seems very odd that Henry wouldn’t claim his father’s body and have a burial, or a memorial service. Is there bad blood between them?” Fletcher asked.

Davidson shook his head. “I don’t know. Like I said, this was so clearly a suicide we treated it as such.” He stood up. “We better get on over to the law firm, see what they have to say for themselves. Then we can get you together with Mr. Savage, face-to-face.”

Sam shook her head. “I want to do the autopsy first. Without the facts, nothing else matters.”

“What more do you need? The man killed himself and roped you into his scheme.”