Cover-up Read Free Page B

what the forensic evidence said about this murder. It took her less than five minutes to come to some important conclusions. A couple of questions leaped out at her regarding the position of Suzanne Shepard’s corpse, questions she needed to pursue further by speaking to the deputy ME who’d examined the body.
    Melanie found Grace Deng and an orderly on the paved path above the ravine, readying a stretcher and body bag to transport the corpse to their refrigerated van, and introduced herself. Grace had sharp features and a dramatic, angular haircut. They traded pleasantries about cases they’d worked with each other’s office and took a moment to exclaim over the brutal and disgusting nature of the crime. Then Melanie cut to the chase.
    “I understand you conducted a thorough examination of the body,” she said. “A couple of things are bothering me about how and where she was found, but to figure out if I’m right, I need a time-of-death estimate.”
    “I can give you one, but you understand it’s just an estimate, right? I base TOD on average rates of rigor mortis and decomposition applied to this corpse. It’s an educated guess at best.”
    “Understood,” Melanie said.
    “Okay, I got here shortly after nine-thirty, which put me at the scene about twenty minutes after the police arrived. At that point, the body was still warm and rigor was not established. The neck and jaw had slightly reduced range of motion, which suggested rigor was beginning to progress. But her limbs as well as her fingers and toes were still mobile.”
    “Mobile, meaning…?”

    “I could wiggle them. She hadn’t been dead for long. One to two hours, max.”
    “And this was at nine-thirty?”
    “Yes.”
    “So that would put the time of death no earlier than seven-thirty.”
    “Don’t hold me to it, but yes, that’s my hypothesis.”
    “Thanks, you’ve been really helpful.” They exchanged business cards, and Grace promised to notify Melanie when the autopsy was completed.
    Melanie sat down on a nearby bench to make notes about time of death and the weather.
    At seven-thirty, the earliest moment at which Suzanne Shepard could have been attacked, Melanie had been doing her makeup and laying out her clothes for her date when rain suddenly spattered against her bedroom window. Melanie knew Dan would be coming up the FDR, which flooded in heavy rain, and she wondered whether he’d hit traffic. It was unusually dark outside for that hour in June, dark enough that she couldn’t see out because of the reflected light, so she walked over and leaned against the glass in order to see the street. It was pouring.
    What did that tell her? Suzanne Shepard had ventured into the wilds of the Ramble on a dark, rainy night. The Ramble might be situated smack in the middle of Manhattan Island with its two million inhabitants, but it felt like wilderness. Any sane woman would have required a damn good reason to be there. Figuring out what had called Suzanne to that location was a top investigative priority.
    But Melanie had spotted an even bigger red flag: the body wasn’t visible from the path above. Suzanne Shepard had been thrown into the ravine and covered by the underbrush. At seven-thirty and later, given how dark and rainy it was outside Melanie’s eighth-floor window, it had to’ve been pitch-black down in the ravine. Butch Brennanad told her that the body was discovered by a male citizen who’d called 911. The caller had refused to give his name or stick around till the police arrived. How did he know the body was down there, lying under the dark leaves?
    Melanie spotted Dan O’Reilly over near the police barricades where they’d first come in. He was deep in conversation with a tall, handsome African-American guy who wore his hair in long braids.
    “Hey, Melanie, meet Detective Julian Hay, my counterpart from Manhattan North Homicide,” Dan said as she approached.
    Melanie and Julian shook hands.
    “My boy Dan here was just