Instead, I discovered that what Waddell had considered “extremely confidential” and had wanted buried with him were cash register receipts. Inexplicably, five were for tolls; three others were for meals, including a fried chicken dinner ordered at a Shoney’s two weeks earlier.
2
Detective Joe Trent would have looked quite youthful were it not for a beard and receding blond hair that was turning gray. He was trim and tall, a crisp trench coat belted tightly around his waist, his shoes perfectly shined. He blinked nervously as we shook hands and introduced ourselves on the sidewalk in front of Henrico Doctor’s Emergency Center. I could tell he was upset by Eddie Heath’s case.
“You don’t mind if we talk out here a minute,” he said, his breath turning white. “For privacy reasons.”
Shivering, I tucked my elbows close to my sides as a Medflight helicopter made a terrific noise taking off from the helipad on a grassy rise not far from where we stood. The moon was a shaving of ice melting in the slate-gray sky, cars in the parking lots dirty from road salt and frigid winter rains. The early morning was stark and without color, the wind sharp like a slap, and I observed all this more keenly because of the nature of my business here. Had the temperature suddenly risen forty degrees and the sun begun to blaze I do not think I could have felt warm.
“What we got here is real bad, Dr. Scarpetta.”
He blinked. “I think you’ll agree we don’t want the details getting out.”
“What can you tell me about this boy?” I asked.
“I’ve talked to his family and several other people who know him. As best I can ascertain, Eddie Heath is just your average kid – likes sports and has a paper route, has never gotten into any trouble with the police. His father works for the phone company and his mother sews for people out of the home. Apparently, last night, Mrs. Heath needed a can of cream of mushroom soup for a casserole she was fixing for dinner and asked Eddie to run over to the Lucky Convenience Store to get it.’
“The store is how far from their house?” I asked.
“A couple of blocks, and Eddies been there any number of times. The people working the counter know him by name.”
“He was last seen at what time?”
“Around five-thirty P.M. He was in the store a few minutes and left.”
“It would have been dark out,” I said.
“Yes, it was.”
Trent stared off at the helicopter transfigured by distance into a white dragonfly softly thudding through clouds. “At approximately eight-thirty, an officer on routine patrol was checking the back of buildings along Pattersom and saw the kid propped up against the Dumpster.”
“Do you have photographs?”
“No, ma’am. When the officer realized the boy was alive, his first priority was getting help. We don’t have pictures. But I’ve got a pretty detailed description based on the officer’s observations. The boy was nude, and he was propped up, with his legs straight out and arms by his sides and head bent forward. His clothing was in a moderately neat pile on the pavement, along with a small bag containing a can of cream of mushroom soup and a Snickers bar. It was twenty-eight degrees out. We’re thinking he may have been left there anywhere from minutes to half an hour before he was found.”
An ambulance halted near us. Doors slammed and metal grated as attendants quickly lowered the legs of a stretcher to the ground and wheeled an old man through opening glass doors. We followed and in silence walked through a bright, antiseptic corridor busy with medical personnel and patients dazed by the misfortunes that had brought them here. As we rode the elevator up to the third floor, I wondered what trace evidence had been scrubbed away and tossed in the trash.
“What about his clothes? Was a bullet recovered?” I asked Trent as the elevator doors parted.
“I’ve got his clothes in my car and will drop them and his PERK off at the lab this afternoon. The bullet’s still in his brain. They haven’t gone in there yet. I hope like hell they swabbed him good.”