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Authors: Christopher Valen
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his chest where Anderson’s bullet had struck him had drawn together after the bullet passed through the skin. Santana could see the distinct contusion ring around the entrance caused by the bullet scraping off the external layer of epithelial cells. The contusion ring was round; indicating Anderson’s bullet had struck Córdova squarely, though no smudge ring was evident because the bullet had first passed through clothing.
Santana walked to the counter and took Córdova’s clothing out of the paper bags. Before undressing Córdova, Santana knew Tanabe had carefully examined his clothes for trace evidence. She had then placed his bloody clothing onto clean wrapping paper to let it air-dry before putting it into paper bags. Each item of clothing had been packaged separately and had not been cut. He could see the .40 caliber hole Anderson’s bullet had made in Córdova’s flannel shirt before it penetrated his body.
“John, can you help me out here?” Tanabe pointed at a clipboard on the counter.
Santana picked it up and returned to the autopsy table.
Having finished her external examination, she used a scalpel to make a U-shaped incision that began at Pérez’s left shoulder and continued under his nipples over to the right shoulder. The cut opened Pérez’s skin as if the ME were unzipping a coat. She then turned the U into a Y by cutting downward below the sternum to the abdomen. With no heart beating, there was no pressure and very little blood. She called out the weight and measurement of each organ to Santana who wrote them down on a sheet attached to the clipboard. She worked methodically, talking into the microphone as she removed each organ.
When she began work on Pérez’s skull, Canfield looked at Santana and said, “You want a cup of coffee?”
“Hot chocolate if you can find some.”
“Oh, that’s right,” he said. “You’re the one Colombian in the world who doesn’t like coffee. I’ll see what I can do.” He turned, slid his mask to the top of his head and hurried out of the room.
Tanabe made a deep incision starting just in front of one of Pérez’s ear, over the top of his skull, to the other ear. This allowed her to pull the scalp down over the front of Pérez’s face. Specks of white dust flew from the circular saw she then used to cut around Pérez’s head.
Santana watched calmly as she put down the saw and used a twisting device that looked like a screwdriver to pop open Pérez’s skull, as if she were removing a cap from a bottle of beer.
It took awhile before she finally found the .22 caliber bullet. Often it was so misshapen that it could not be used for ballistic comparisons, but this time the wait was worth it.
Santana went back to the counter and discarded his mask. He placed the bullet in an evidence envelope and initialed it. The envelope had to be labeled with the initials of the individual collecting the evidence and each person who subsequently had custody of it, along with the date the item was collected and transferred, the case number, type of crime, victim or suspect’s name, and a brief description of the item. If someone was ever brought to trial for Pérez’s murder, Santana didn’t want the evidence thrown out on a technicality.
When Canfield returned with a cup of coffee and no hot chocolate, Santana said, “Any idea when you’ll complete the preliminary investigation on Rick Anderson?”
Canfield took a sip of coffee and wrinkled his nose in disgust. “You know I can’t discuss the investigation with you, John. But I don’t want it to drag on any longer than you do. If the shooting was justified, that’s what the report will say.”
“Okay. I’ll let you know if ballistics matches the bullet Reiko took out of Pérez with the gun we found on Córdova.”
“If Córdova is guilty of a double homicide, I sure as hell won’t object.”
“I won’t cut corners, Pete.”
Canfield’s face darkened, and he stared at Santana with his clear,
Santana walked to the counter and took Córdova’s clothing out of the paper bags. Before undressing Córdova, Santana knew Tanabe had carefully examined his clothes for trace evidence. She had then placed his bloody clothing onto clean wrapping paper to let it air-dry before putting it into paper bags. Each item of clothing had been packaged separately and had not been cut. He could see the .40 caliber hole Anderson’s bullet had made in Córdova’s flannel shirt before it penetrated his body.
“John, can you help me out here?” Tanabe pointed at a clipboard on the counter.
Santana picked it up and returned to the autopsy table.
Having finished her external examination, she used a scalpel to make a U-shaped incision that began at Pérez’s left shoulder and continued under his nipples over to the right shoulder. The cut opened Pérez’s skin as if the ME were unzipping a coat. She then turned the U into a Y by cutting downward below the sternum to the abdomen. With no heart beating, there was no pressure and very little blood. She called out the weight and measurement of each organ to Santana who wrote them down on a sheet attached to the clipboard. She worked methodically, talking into the microphone as she removed each organ.
When she began work on Pérez’s skull, Canfield looked at Santana and said, “You want a cup of coffee?”
“Hot chocolate if you can find some.”
“Oh, that’s right,” he said. “You’re the one Colombian in the world who doesn’t like coffee. I’ll see what I can do.” He turned, slid his mask to the top of his head and hurried out of the room.
Tanabe made a deep incision starting just in front of one of Pérez’s ear, over the top of his skull, to the other ear. This allowed her to pull the scalp down over the front of Pérez’s face. Specks of white dust flew from the circular saw she then used to cut around Pérez’s head.
Santana watched calmly as she put down the saw and used a twisting device that looked like a screwdriver to pop open Pérez’s skull, as if she were removing a cap from a bottle of beer.
It took awhile before she finally found the .22 caliber bullet. Often it was so misshapen that it could not be used for ballistic comparisons, but this time the wait was worth it.
Santana went back to the counter and discarded his mask. He placed the bullet in an evidence envelope and initialed it. The envelope had to be labeled with the initials of the individual collecting the evidence and each person who subsequently had custody of it, along with the date the item was collected and transferred, the case number, type of crime, victim or suspect’s name, and a brief description of the item. If someone was ever brought to trial for Pérez’s murder, Santana didn’t want the evidence thrown out on a technicality.
When Canfield returned with a cup of coffee and no hot chocolate, Santana said, “Any idea when you’ll complete the preliminary investigation on Rick Anderson?”
Canfield took a sip of coffee and wrinkled his nose in disgust. “You know I can’t discuss the investigation with you, John. But I don’t want it to drag on any longer than you do. If the shooting was justified, that’s what the report will say.”
“Okay. I’ll let you know if ballistics matches the bullet Reiko took out of Pérez with the gun we found on Córdova.”
“If Córdova is guilty of a double homicide, I sure as hell won’t object.”
“I won’t cut corners, Pete.”
Canfield’s face darkened, and he stared at Santana with his clear,
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