city. The victim was stabbed, cut, and incised 56 times. There was
evidence of cadaver spasm, trauma, and aero-embolism. There was
significant exsanguination from stab wounds. The throat wound, which
nearly decapitated Balfour, caused aero-embolism, which usually results
in instantaneous death. Wounds in her hands and arms indicate a
struggle before she was killed.'
St Claire looked up for a moment. 'Beginning to sound a little
familiar, Marty?'
'Where are you taking this, Harve?'
'Okay, now listen to this. It's from the ME's testimony in
Stampler's trial.'
He read excerpts from William Danielson's description of the wounds
that had killed Archbishop Richard Rushman ten years before:
'DANIELSON: Body trauma,
aeroembolism, cadaveric spasm,
exsanguination, that's loss of blood. All could have caused death
Twenty
The St Louis Homicide Division was almost devoid of people when
Flaherty arrived at the downtown office, a stuffy room jammed with
desks, telephones, file cabinets, and computers. Only two detectives
were in the room: Oscar Gilanti, captain of the division, who was
heading the investigation, and Sgt. Ed Nicholson, an old-timer who had
the dignified demeanour and conservative look of an FBI agent.
The two detectives were more pleasant than Flaherty had expected.
The captain was a short box of a man, bald except for a fringe of
jet-black hair that curled around his ears. He had deep circles under
his eyes, his cheeks were dark with the shadows of a two-day beard, and
his suit looked like he had slept in it, which he probably had. His
deep voice was raspy from lack of sleep.
'I gotta get back out to the scene,' he growled to Flaherty. I'm
giving you Sergeant Nicholson here fer the day. Knows as much as
anybody else about this mess. What was yer name again?'
'Dermott Flaherty.'
'Okay, Dermott, you wanna go anywhere, see anything, Nick'll drive
yuh. I pulled a package for yuh - pictures, preliminary reports, all
that shit. Autopsy won't be up probably till tomorra. We can fax it to
yuh, yuh need it.'
'I can't thank you enough, Captain.'
'Hell, you know anything, we'd appreciate it. We can use all the
help we can get on this one. Fuckin' nightmare.'
'I can imagine.'
'I'll be out at the scene, Nick. If Dermott here wants to come out,
bring him along.'
'Right.'
The sergeant, obviously a man of habit, asked pleasantly if he had a
weapon.
Flaherty smiled. I'm an assistant DA, Sergeant,' he said. 'Things
haven't got
that
bad yet.'
The cop chuckled. He was an old pro, tall, very straight-standing,
with a tanned and leathery face, gentle, alert eyes, and blondish hair
turning grey. Nicholson unlocked his desk drawer and took out his 9mm
H&K and slipped it into a holster on his belt. He also wore his
badge pinned to his belt like an old western sheriff. He slid a thick
file folder across the desk to Flaherty.
'You might take a look at this picture first, give you a point of
reference. Hilltown's about thirty miles down the pike, off to the
northeast of US 44. The Spier place is a couple miles out of town,
little frame house, one storey, two bedrooms, kitchen, den, and big
bathroom, that's about it. Sets back in the trees.'
He had picked out an aerial photo showing the house at the end of a
quarter mile of dirt road that wound through scrub pines and saw grass.
Behind it, the road connected with another country road that ended at a
lake.
'Calvin Spier and his wife - they own the place - are out in Las
Vegas. Weren't due back until the middle of next week, but they're
coming back now.'
'Do the Spiers know him?' Flaherty asked.
'Spier says no. Want to go out to the scene? It's a thirty-minute
drive' - he winked - 'if I put on the flasher.'
Flaherty nodded and said, 'You're the boss.'
The drive was pleasant despite a misting rain. Nicholson, a social
creature, spoke in a quiet, authoritative voice, filling Flaherty in on
the prologue to the killing while the young prosecutor made a cursory
examination of the