What She Found (Tracy Crosswhite #9)(59)
She spoke about the young girl in her dreams, but never much beyond a feeling that she knew the little girl and felt an emotional attachment to her. Wexell explored this and concluded the girl was likely Childs in her youth, a memory that had not been completely erased.
After a year, Childs declined further treatment. She didn’t see the point of continuing. With her permission, Wexell wrote an article, referring to Childs as Patient X, that appeared in the New England Journal of Medicine to some acclaim. He presented her case study a dozen or so times throughout the country.
Unfortunately, Wexell had passed away and would not be a resource for Tracy. She switched gears and called the University of Washington’s Memory and Brain Wellness Center, which specialized in Alzheimer’s and dementia research. They directed her to Dr. Kavya Laghari, a memory and amnesia specialist. Over the phone, Tracy provided Laghari with a Reader’s Digest version of the events surrounding Lisa Childress. Laghari, soft spoken, with an Indian accent, sounded skeptical but asked Tracy to send over Childs’s medical records to review, and then they could set up a mutually convenient time to speak.
Upon hanging up the phone, Tracy received a call from Kelly Rosa on her personal cell phone. “I looked at the medical examiner’s report for David Slocum,” Rosa said.
Tracy had almost forgotten she’d asked Rosa to review the report. “And . . .”
“It’s not clear cut.”
“Tell me why not.”
“Slocum was left-handed, but a lot of left-handed people are not left-hand dominant. So that doesn’t mean a lot. Besides, if he was left-hand dominant, then the wound to the left temple makes sense.”
“And the angle of the bullet and lack of GSR residue on his left hand?”
“In the vast majority of suicides with a pistol, the bullet angle is tilted slightly up. However, in this instance, Slocum was in his car. He didn’t have a lot of room. He could have shifted in his seat to move away from the door and window and make room for the gun, in which case the trajectory of the bullet would have been at a downward angle. You with me?”
“I’m with you,” Tracy said.
“And if he was leaning, it could also explain why he was found slumped so far to the right, as well as why the gun also fell in that direction.”
“What about the lack of GSR?”
“Inconclusive. The medical examiner noted gunshot residue on Slocum’s temple and the left side of his clothing, which is to be expected. Gunshot residue can travel over three to five feet.
However, recent studies have found that even in known suicides, GSR is positive on the hand in only fifty percent of the cases.”
“That low?”
“That low. Gunpowder residue is the consistency of flour and typically only stays on the hands four to six hours. Slocum was found at five a.m., with a time of death estimated to have been between two and three in the morning. His hands were not bagged by the medical examiner at the scene. Therefore, it is possible that, even if GSR had been initially present on his left hand, it could have worn off.”
“You’re telling me the entire medical examiner’s report is inconclusive.”
“If I was called to testify, that’s what I would be compelled to conclude.”
“I appreciate you taking a look.”
“Not a problem. How’s that baby of yours?”
“Growing like a weed.”
“Tell me about it. I have one still in college and a second about to graduate high school. Stay healthy. Be safe.”
“You too.”
Tracy hung up the phone and let out a breath. She was about to call Melton and nudge him on the DNA cases she’d sent over to keep Chief Weber happy when her computer pinged. She hadn’t checked her emails that morning. She had made a commitment many years ago that she would resist the Pavlovian reflex to look to the computer screen or pick up the phone with every buzz, chirp, ping, or chime.
She decided she would review her emails, then visit Melton.
He’d know Tracy was nudging him, but she’d bribe him. She scanned the emails, and her gaze fixated on one in particular midway down the list.
Noreply@gueril amail.com
“You weren’t much help, whoever you are,” Tracy said. She opened the email.
Fol ow the money trail like a rol ing stone.
Tracy looked at the last two words. “A rolling stone gathers no moss,” she said.
Moss Gunderson.
She thought of the marina, of the raid that clearly happened, but for which she found no record. The raid on a boat with a substantial amount of cocaine, according to its captain. The money. Was the anonymous emailer telling her that Moss was paid off?
She was tempted to call Del and have a sit-down, but she decided it best to do so with something solid. If Tracy went to Del with what she currently had, and insinuated some guilt, she could ruin a friendship. She thought again of calling Moss and asking him more specific questions, then gauge how he reacted, but given what she’d witnessed at the golf course, he’d likely be adept at deflecting her questions.
The golf course.
She recalled standing outside the clubhouse with the pushcarts and golf carts. Moss had seemingly known everyone. I’ve been a member twenty-five years, play five days a week, and eat here a couple times a week.
There it was. Twenty-five years. She could easily find out a detective’s salary in the early nineties, but she had no idea what a country club membership might cost. She looked up Glendale online, found a number for the clubhouse, called and asked to speak to the general manager. Minutes later she had her answer. A golf membership at that time was $43,000, with monthly dues of roughly $220, not to mention miscellaneous costs like new clubs, clothing, lessons, and food and beverages. It wasn’t a fortune, but it was a considerable chunk of change, especially on a police officer’s salary that long ago. The average salary of a Seattle police officer, at present, was roughly $60,000 a year; it was nowhere near that amount in the nineties. Tracy’s educated guess was a policeman’s starting base salary back then was likely between $25,000 and $30,000, not including overtime compensation. Even as a detective, Moss likely wasn’t making $50,000 in base salary.