Free In the Clearing by Robert Dugoni

remaining smaller counties had an individual designated as the prosecuting attorney/coroner. Those counties usually contracted autopsies to a local pathologist because they didn’t have their own dedicated facilities or staff. Tracy doubted it had been different in 1976. For those reasons, without even reading the report, she was already suspect of the findings.
    The coroner’s report appeared to be a copy, which made sense; the prosecuting attorney’s office would have maintained the original. Tracy deduced from the poor quality of the copy that the original had been typed on onionskin paper, or something equivalent, and had been generated from microfiche. The type was so small it was hard on the eyes, especially late at night after a long weekend, but Tracy pushed on.
    The external examination indicated that photographs had been taken for identification purposes and to document the condition of the body. Tracy found them in Buzz Almond’s file, and they weren’t pretty. She skimmed the general examination report just enough to get the basics—female, five foot seven, 125 pounds, black hair and eyes. The pathologist noted contusions, abrasions, scrapes, and cuts of various lengths and severity over much of the body, including the forearms, legs, and face. Kimi’s right tibia was fractured, and her chest showed signs of blunt-force trauma. She also had bruising over much of her back and upper right shoulder. The pathologist concluded that the external injuries were “consistent with the expected impact of the body being thrown up against and dragged over boulders and rocks and submerged debris in a rushing current.” The coroner also noted the aspiration of fluid into Kimi’s air passages, including her lungs, which he concluded was consistent with someone being suddenly immersed in cold water. “The deceased inhaled water due to the reflex from stimulation of the skin.” Kimi had also vomited and aspirated some gastric contents, also consistent with someone who “inhaled water,” which he said “causes coughing and drives large volumes of air out of the lungs, leading to a disturbance of the breathing and vomiting.”
    Tracy flipped another page, but the report abruptly ended with the pathologist’s signature just beneath his opinion.
    “This woman came to her death as a result of multiple traumas to the head, chest, and extremities.”
    Donald W. Frick, MD
    She flipped through the remainder of the file, which included photocopies of two invoices from a company called Columbia Windshield and Glass, one stamped “Paid” in faded red ink for $68, and a second receipt for $659 from Columbia Auto Repair. Neither receipt noted what the payment was for, the name of the owner, the type of vehicle, or the license plate number. She reconsidered the photographs of Moore’s truck. The windshield had a crack.
    “No doubt now,” she said. Roger lifted his head from the table. “Tommy Moore was suspect number one.”
    Running out of steam, she shut the file. “Come on, Roger, bedtime.”
    Roger stood and stretched. Tracy carried him to the bedroom, her mind still going over the file. Putting aside for a second the indisputable fact that a deputy sheriff was conducting an unauthorized investigation, and abiding by the adage that nothing in an investigative file was irrelevant, Tracy had to assume Buzz Almond had included everything for a reason, but she was a long way from knowing those reasons.

CHAPTER 7
    Wednesday, November 10, 1976
    B uzz Almond hugged and kissed his wife, Anne, at the front door. “Love you,” he said.
    “Love you,” she said.
    “Take care of my girls.”
    “Take care of my Buzz.”
    It was their routine, and Buzz knew it eased Anne’s concern to hear the words. She worried each day he left for work. And with two little girls at home and a third child on the way—maybe that boy Buzz silently hoped for—Anne had every right to worry. Her parents were well-off and would take care of her