Chapter 7
The cracker-jack coroner for Monroe County did the autopsy herself. Flashes of brown and pink floated over the body as she moved her skillful and well-practiced hands through the reverent ritual of a post-mortem autopsy. Trooper Jonas stood near her, intently listening with every sense organ, including his sixth sense, and observing even the smallest movement of the doctor. This was without a doubt not his favorite pastime; there was so much he could be doing elsewhere. He knew, however, that every single detail, every little fragment of vital evidence, was crucial in solving a case. The Pennsylvania state trooper also understood that the sooner one follows up on information, the more likely one is to solve the crime. The trail gets closed very easily and very quickly. He and his colleagues were now in the midst of a marathon. Every minute counted.
After the autopsy was complete, Dr. Swift verbally summarized her findings. Much of them had been dictated in bits and pieces into a recorder through a microphone hanging from the ceiling throughout the course of the procedure. “We have here, Trooper Jonas, a young Caucasian woman, probably in her mid-twenties. She has been shot through the heart. I’ll leave it up to your ballistics people to assess and confirm the type of firearm, but it was obviously a rifle that could easily kill a person. Average height and weight, no remarkable scars from trauma or surgery. Medium length brown hair. Brown eyes. There are no defense wounds or signs that she tried to defend herself in any way. It looks as if the shooting was a complete surprise to her. No signs of struggle. The victim had no jewelry on other than what appears to be an engagement ring. I’m sorry to say there was no identification of any type in her clothing.”
“Thank you for your help, Dr. Swift. Your clear and crisp information is always a big help. We are grateful. I know you will send in a formal report later and I will study that as well. In the meantime, I will alert the media and see if we can find out who this poor girl was. I’ll keep in touch.”
“Sounds good, Trooper Jonas. By the way, that’s quite an interesting crowd you’ve gotten yourself involved with this time—the folks at the monastery I mean. You know, I sometimes have Catholic leanings.” The pathologist took on a wistful smile. “When we were growing up, my sisters and brothers and I used to say that there was just too much sweatin’, clappin’, and jumpin’ around for us at church. But now that I am a little older, I know that I would miss it very much if that form of worship were denied me. There sure isn’t much of that sort of action around the morgue, I’ll tell you that! Forgive me. That digression was just a little reality check to help me keep my feet on the ground. I knew it would be okay with you”
“I can well understand, Doctor Swift,” said the smiling trooper. He imagined this bright and attractive lady as a young girl trying to behave in church, maybe helping to keep her brothers in line. Am I a chauvinist? Why wouldn’t she try to keep her sisters in line too? “We both see some pretty horrible things in our work. It’s good to keep a sense of humor and to share a few good memories once in a while. By the way,” he continued with an outright laugh at this point, “there’s not much sweatin’, clappin’, and jumpin’ around at the Salesian Monastery either!” They gave one another a gentle and supportive momentary glance, and Trooper Jonas took his leave.
The evening news contained the breaking story, as did the early and late editions of the local newspapers the next day. The state police barracks was flooded with phone calls, telephones blinking and beeping throughout the day. Some of the calls were simply crank calls while others, sadly, were from people who had lost loved ones and were desperately trying to find them. The serious callers were greatly conflicted, wanting closure for their missing loved ones but not wanting them to be found dead.
One call was from a man who had just returned from Divine Liturgy at the Byzantine Catholic Church with his family and was not certain where his daughter was at present. She was a student at DeSales University in Center Valley, Pennsylvania and had her own life. Maybe the young woman was out enjoying herself and visiting a friend, but he couldn’t get in contact with her on the phone and the media stories unsettled him. Family came first for him; he would do anything for his family members.
The father of the college girl felt a little uneasy placing the call but thought he would be better safe than sorry, so he contacted the police with his concerns. They asked him to fax or to drop off a picture of his daughter and said that they would be in touch with him. The caller was tired and had muscle aches because he had been out late the night before doing some heavy-duty work with a friend. He didn’t want to alarm his wife about the slim possibility of their daughter being missing, so he merely mentioned that he was going out for a few hours of hiking in the woods and would be back later. On his way to the old farmhouse he dropped off a photo of his daughter Christi at the state police barracks.