Free When Shadows Fall by J. T. Ellison Page B

She sliced down the other side, meeting the cut just above his groin, and stepped back to allow any gases to escape. After a few moments, she set to the task of autopsy. The rib shears made quick work of the breastplate, making little crunching noises that echoed in the quiet space, and when Regina lifted it out of place, Sam’s first view of the lungs brought her to a halt again.
    They were perfect.
    She was looking at the lungs of a healthy man, in his prime, who’d clearly never smoked or lived in an industrial, polluted area. Nor did they show any sign of irritation, or inflammation. No frothy blood, no edema.
    “Son of a bitch.” The words were muffled behind her mask.
    “What is it?”
    Sam looked up at Regina. “Timothy Savage did not die from hydrogen sulfide poisoning.”

Chapter
14
    SAM TOOK HER time going through the rest of the post. Savage’s body had a tale to tell, and she was listening.
    His heart was normal size for a man of his age, with a nominal buildup of cholesterol plaque. The lungs: both upper and lower lobes, when dissected, proved to be clear of any indication of a chemical irritant. Liver, kidneys, stomach, intestinal tract, all were normal. He hadn’t had a recent meal before his death, though she found traces of blood he must have swallowed antemortem, and he was in decent shape.
    In the examination of his throat, she found what she was looking for. Timothy Savage’s trachea had clearly been crushed. He’d been strangled, just as the bruising foretold, but by the very strong hands of another, with a towel or something soft to minimize the surface bruising. Sam had seen this sort of neck injury often, in accidental autoerotic deaths, but this was clearly murder—in those cases, the padded ropes or other devices were left in place. And in this case, the killer had been facing his victim.
    With that knowledge in mind, she stepped back, looked at the body from a slightly different perspective. There was some slight internal bruising just below Savage’s lower ribs. Someone had put a knee on the man’s chest to hold him down. They’d very purposefully strangled the man, then set about making his death appear to be suicide.
    Sam felt both vindicated and frightened. Savage had been correct. He had been murdered. And now she was into his case up to her eyeballs, and there was no going back.
    She went through the final steps of the post. His brain was the last piece of the puzzle, and when they got his skull open, even that showed nothing irregular, just the typical undulating coils of gray matter, perhaps slightly looser than they would have been if he were younger.
    Two things were bothering her. First, that Savage himself had known he was in mortal danger and had written to her directly instead of going to the police. It made her distrust June Davidson, someone she needed on her side. And two, that the law firm representing Savage’s estate had ordered him cremated without a proper autopsy. Three things, if she counted Benedict’s murder.
    As she washed up and watched Regina craft beautiful stitches to close the Y-incision, Sam decided there and then to bring all the blood and tissue samples she’d taken back to D.C. for analysis. She didn’t trust anyone in Lynchburg, not now.
    Used to sending samples out for analysis, Regina produced a small cooler that housed everything perfectly. She didn’t raise an eyebrow when Sam said, “I’ll drop these directly at the lab so you don’t have to make a special trip.”
    “Should we go ahead with the cremation now?”
    “If you have the room, why don’t you hold on to him for another day? I’ll call you tomorrow and release the body.”
    “Sure thing, Dr. Owens. Thank you, so much, for allowing me to assist. It was fascinating watching you work.”
    “You have a great touch. Remember the trick I showed you about how to cut the lung tissue so you can always identify it if you need to revisit your samples.”
    “Triangles for upper,