Yellow River Pledge

By Lisa Colodny

Imagine being Dr Jordan Chamberlain, a successful, beautiful, young medical examiner with the perfect husband, the perfect life, and perfect friends. Somewhat of a whiz, kid, she’s younger than most Medical Examiner’s and enjoys a bit of glamor whenever forensic data is sent to trial.

To an outside observer, she has it all, unt

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kingston Publishing Company
• Release date: Jan 9, 2019
• ISBN: 9781970068467

Book preview

TABLE OF CONTENTS

COPYRIGHT

TABLE OF CONTENTS

DEDICATION

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

DEDICATION

To Mom,

Nothing is the same without you. Miss you more than my words can say.

Hot fries and chocolate shakes will never be the same.

CHAPTER ONE

It wasn’t an ordinary Monday. It felt more like a Friday with residual memories of the weekend scattered randomly, like a freckle. If only it were so easy to cover the scars. Dr. Jordan Chamberlain checked her makeup in the mirror before sliding into her lab coat, grateful her appearance didn’t reflect how little sleep she'd had the night before. She yawned into her hand before flipping the switch to activate the lights in the lab until the large, sterile room was ablaze like white fire.

At first, his call yesterday had caught her off guard. Jason wasn’t the kind of husband who'd interacted a lot while at work. He’d called just as she and her technician, Robert, were returning from the Los Olas crime scene. 

Hi, honey, she'd said without waiting for his greeting. Don’t worry about the party tonight. I’ll be home in plenty of time to help.

Jordan, his voice was hoarse, awkward, as if just waking up. She knew that wasn’t the case, that he’d been up for hours. I think we should cancel tonight. His sentence came out quickly, so precise, she knew it was something he’d been rehearsing, although he hadn't meant for it to sound that way. She stopped abruptly with the phone still to her ear and pointed for Robert and the gurney to go to the morgue.

Jason, what’s wrong? She braced herself for unpleasant news. When none was forthcoming, she paused just outside the door of the laboratory.

We need to talk privately.

Okay. She nodded as if he could see her. I’ll be home as soon as I can. Her mind spun as she slid the phone into her pocket. She took a moment before pushing through the heavy, stainless steel doors just as Robert finished wiping the examination table clean.  She ran a nervous hand through her blonde hair, pulling it away from her face until it fell backward atop itself. I have an emergency at home.

Anything I can do?

She disappeared toward the back of the room and out of his sight before reappearing without the lab coat. All I know is that Jason wants to cancel the party tonight.

You want me to wait for you? Robert asked, transcribing on the paper log.

That’s okay, she said, not looking up from the computer. I’ve got my keys. I can lock up.

He pushed at her chair. Go and change clothes; it’s a big, empty building on Super Bowl Sunday, and you shouldn’t be roaming around alone. He tried to hide his smile, but his fair complexion gave way to a myriad of light red freckles. If she hadn’t known his age and that he was married with three children, she would’ve thought him to be about seventeen years old.

Robert motioned toward the ladies' locker room. What’s with the larger than life scrubs lately?

She tugged at the hem of her shirt which hung just above her knees. It’s some kind of mix-up with the laundry service.

I’m sure Sophia's working on it, he said, guiding her to the door. She’s trying to convince Richmond she’s capable of more than just answering the phones.

She has the skill, for sure, Jordan agreed as they stopped near her car. There are plenty of things that could be delegated to her. The workload's more than doubled since I joined the medical examiner’s office. With Richmond’s appointment at the state level and Maria’s promotion to senior ME, it’s only going to get busier.

Jordan was on autopilot. Over the years she’d worked as a medical examiner, her life had been inundated with emergency calls at all hours of the day and night. Fortunately for her, that day was no exception. Her mind was spinning, scientifically assessing what might have prompted her to be summoned home. Although Jason had assured her everyone was safe, she couldn’t help but fear he wasn’t being truthful and her life was about to change drastically.

What do you mean you don’t want to be married anymore? she asked, watching helplessly as he collected a few belongings from their bedroom. One, two, three trips down the steps, she counted, before he stopped near the front door and dropped his bag.

I’ll come back later for the rest. It sounded more like a question than a statement, but she was more than aware he wasn’t asking for permission to leave. His mind was made up.

The worn and weathered black couch in their living room was usually very comfortable but that night it was hard and cold. It was all she could do to sit.

Jason, she begged, please, let’s talk about this.

He shook his head before she finished speaking. There’s nothing to say. I’m sorry, Jordan.  Without another word, he collected his bag and stepped through the door, pausing momentarily before turning back to her to add, I’ll call you later.  She didn’t respond, knowing it was pointless.  He was a man on a mission to start a new life.

The tap at the door startled her, although she wasn’t sure why. Jordan knew her friends would be there for her as soon as she called. Maria pushed through the door, dropping her keys and wallet in almost the same place Jason had put his bags down earlier. She ran her hand through her thick, dark hair and adjusted her shirt comfortably over her large breasts before walking around the banister toward Jordan. What’s going on?

I told you on the phone: Jason left me. She inhaled as if she couldn’t get enough air into her lungs.

Why? Maria asked, opening the bottle of white wine and filling the three wine glasses on the coffee table.

With a sweeping action, Jordan collected the closest glass and sipped greedily, swallowing around the knot in her throat, remembering his words. He loves me, but he’s not in love with me anymore. Her voice was hardly recognizable as her own. Does that make any sense? We’ve been married for over ten years.

He’s having a mid-life crisis, Jordan, Maria explained in cadence as if they were at work and had a body on the table. It might have been business as usual if not for the nearly empty wine glass in her hand. He’ll call in a week or so and beg for forgiveness, asking you to let him come home.

I can’t believe this is happening, Jordan cried. She closed her eyes as if she were able to hide.

He loves you; he’ll be back, Maria reminded her in a thick, Latin accent as she made her way back to the front door and pulled it open so abruptly, Jordan thought she was angry. Maria held the door open, motioning the newcomer inside.

Aimee was tall and thin. She had a runner’s body with little to no curves anywhere. Her hair was light brown and curly, making her look like an adult Shirley Temple. Thin wire glasses perched atop her nose made her face look crowded so that her eyes were barely noticeable. Marc’s going to watch the game at Rick’s. She fell into the empty place next to Jordan and sipped from Jordan’s glass. I’m yours for the night. She held up the partially empty glass to signal to Maria it required refilling. What’s going on with Jason?

He moved out tonight.

Aimee reclined on the sofa as if she were in therapy. He’ll call in a day or two and ask to come home.  She drank more of the wine. Been there; done that. She hesitated. Is this about a baby again?

He doesn’t want to start a family. Jordan paused, thinking back to her discussion with him the week before, the month before, and the year before. He had no plans of having children…ever.

His words earlier that evening had been haunting: Find someone who can give you the life you deserve. Have a bunch of kids and have a great life.

Although she’d heard his words over and over in her head, they sounded different each time. Perhaps the wine had clouded her comprehension. What could have possibly happened for him to consider she’d choose to want a family over a life with him?

Aimee explained, Jason loves you. He’s not going to just walk out of your life because you want a baby and he doesn’t.  She tried to get comfortable on the sofa. Is there another woman?

No, Jordan mumbled, her throat narrowing, at least, I don’t think so. He wants a better life for me with a husband who’s emotionally present, someone who wants to father my child.

Maria asked, Why’s he so against having kids?

Jordan didn’t answer; she couldn’t. Instead, she buried her face into Aimee’s shoulder and cried until the tears wouldn’t fall anymore.

Jordan hadn't remembered climbing the stairs or falling into the queen-sized bed. The sun poured through the window, aligning directly with her eyes. She’d made it through the night.

She turned to the blanket-covered figure next to her. Oxygen rushed into her lungs and blood gushed toward her brain. It was a nightmare, she comforted herself. That’s all—a nightmare. Jason, she mumbled, pushing at his hip, I had a terrible dream.

The figure sat up abruptly, the blanket falling away. What? Maria said, trying to form the words without laughing.

Jordan was disappointed. Never mind, she said, pushing to her feet, careful not to tumble back into bed when the room spun.  God, I knew last night wasn’t a good idea. I’ve got to get to work.

Maria yanked the blanket completely away from her body, piling it on the floor almost under the bed. Haven’t drank that much since college.

I’ve got to call my boss. Jordan checked her watch. Tell her I’m running late. Jordan yanked the blanket from the floor and tossed it onto the bed.

Maria pointed to the bed. One of the perks of sleeping with the boss.

Senior Medical Examiner, Jordan corrected, making her way towards the shower and pulling the door closed.

Technically, that's correct, Maria mumbled as she staggered down the hall toward the guest room. But when Richmond retires next year, it’s all me, baby.

Jordan wasn’t surprised to discover she was alone in the house once she emerged from the bathroom.  She didn’t need to inquire about their abrupt departure, sure they’d heard her crying in the shower despite her best attempt to control her tears. 

Her footsteps echoed on the stairs as she made her way down to the first floor and collected her briefcase for work. Jordan was intimately aware of how lonely the house seemed. She knew it had to all be in her mind. Jason traveled frequently, and she’d been home alone hundreds of times, though she couldn't recall a time when she ever felt more isolated.

Jordan had only been in the lab for a few minutes, returning with her coffee to find Dr. Jonathan Richmond waiting patiently inside. I need you to work with the Orange County coroner on those remains we pulled from the dump, he said. He didn’t wait for a response. Might be connected to a cold case of theirs. He seldom began his day with any kind of a greeting or pleasantry, and that day was no exception.

Jordan grabbed a clean set of scrubs from her bag. You mean remotely?

No, he answered, inhaling deeply of the lab’s fragrance, they’re expecting you in person.

Dr. Richmond, there’s a lot going on at home right now. Can you send someone else to Orlando? she asked as he turned to exit.

Your personal life should be just that, Dr. Chamberlain: personal, he said, admonishing her as if she were a child that had broken curfew. The feds are meeting you and the Orange County coroner in regards to a case near Boston. All three cases have certain similarities to those cold cases you’ve been working on.

Can’t you send Maria or Hamilton? she asked defensively.

Richmond exhaled an impatient breath before turning again to face her. Chamberlain, what’s this about? I’m accustomed to negotiating with Sanchez and Hamilton, but you usually perform as instructed.

Jason and I are in the middle of a separation. She hesitated. It’s not a good time to be away.

He closed the distance between them and held his hand out toward her. For a minute she feared he was going to embrace her, and she stepped backward in response.  Instead, he took her at the wrist, holding it gently in a soothing gesture. I’m sorry to hear about the situation between you and your husband, but I need you in Orange County tomorrow by noon.

CHAPTER TWO

Dr. Thomas Potter ran an immaculate laboratory with wall-to-wall stainless-steel cabinets and white counters that looked as if they were new. Jordan glanced down at her navy skirt and jacket, hoping the meeting with the Feds would be later in the day. She wanted nothing more than a hot bath and a cold drink, preferably an alcoholic one and not necessarily in that order.

Potter spun around to face her as if she’d startled him. For a moment, she thought she’d disturbed him. Dr. Potter? She smiled, hoping to dissipate his anger.

Yes? Can I help you?

Jordan Chamberlain, she reminded him, holding out her hand in introduction. I’m with the Broward County Coroner’s office?

He gazed at her from head-to-toe. I was expecting someone older. And with a penis?

She frowned, her hands moving nervously around her hips. Sorry to disappoint.

Potter coughed. Jordan thought he'd faked it to cover a smile. Just funning with you, Dr. Chamberlain. He motioned her inside. I’m familiar with your work.

She nodded. Is it just us? I thought we were expecting the Suffolk County Medical Examiner.

I don’t think the other coroner's coming. The FBI folks stopped by a little while ago. He pointed toward a large, worn, brown file folder, bound by thick, green, rubber bands. The suits dropped it off; be back after checking into the hotel. They’re holding a room for you. Potter summarized as he led her towards the table, We’ve got three possibly related homicides, two here, in Florida and one in Massachusetts.

She opened the folder she’d brought with her, flipped through the first several pages, and waited for him to open the Feds' folder. All three of these women had trace amounts of mescaline in the system, she advised, pointing to the documents.

He shook his head. Mescaline poisoning can’t be the cause of death. It doesn’t cause respiratory depression or have any extreme sedative effects.

Mescaline wasn’t the cause of death. All of the women were strangled. Jordan pointed towards the coffee maker. May I?

Potter nodded. Jordan continued to speak as she helped herself to some coffee. My point is that these women were under the hallucinogenic effects of mescaline when they were killed. She handed him a cup of coffee and kept one for herself. All three of these women were young and pretty with similar body sizes.

Nice to see we’re getting a jump start, called a voice from the hallway.

Before either could respond, two middle-aged, good-looking agents entered the lab, hands extended. One was taller, his dark hair combed slick above his ears, wearing an expensive suit that hung loosely on his taut frame; a runner, Jordan thought.

The other agent was bulkier, the end result of many gym hours, she considered. What little hair he had on his head had been shaved close against his skull. This one must be the rebel, Jordan deduced, given his tight, black, knit shirt and army-issue cargo pants.

The rebel spoke first, passing his credentials to her for inspection. Agent Michaels, he said. Nice to meet you, Dr. Chamberlain.

As if she were on autopilot, she moved to the next extended hand, reading the identification he held on display for her. Agent Conley. I didn’t realize the Behavioral Analysis Unit was working this case.

Conley pointed toward the table on which the file folders lay open. Boston PD asked for assistance. Once the cases in Florida were tied to theirs, it became a federal case. Let’s get started on what we know. We’re hoping to deliver a profile of the suspect soon.

Time flew. Jordan glanced awkwardly at the assortment of empty paper cups and discarded food containers. Her body was still sore from the drive up, her mind numb from the hours of data sorting, and now her stomach was uncomfortable from all of the coffee and junk food. She checked her watch out of habit, knowing it was still early and the sun would be rising in just a few hours.

Agent Conley checked his notes. We’ve got three young, blonde, single women, all in their thirties, and fairly successful. All three were asphyxiated with a thin line or cord and sexually assaulted.

Jordan added, The sexual trauma in the Suffolk County case was more severe than the other two. The genital damage and abrasions on the inner thigh and abdomen were significant. Maybe she fought harder than the other two?

Maybe. Conley added, Or she could have been his first and he hadn’t perfected his skill yet.

Dr. Chamberlain, Michaels interjected, how’d you connect the cases? I read the report, but I want to hear it in your own words.

Jordan finished the cold coffee in her Styrofoam cup. Finding mescaline in her blood was unique; I’d never seen that before. On a hunch, I searched through other cases to determine if any other coroners had identified mescaline at autopsy.  She stifled a yawn. I wasn’t surprised to discover there were others.

Why mescaline? Potter asked, rubbing his chin. Why not GHB or some other date rape drug?

Forgive me, Doctors, Conley pointed out, I’m not familiar with mescaline.

There’s no medicinal use commercially, Jordan answered. It’s from a Mexican cactus called peyote. Highly hallucinogenic. Probably made the women less combative and easier to subdue.

Conley added, It’s a part of this unsub’s ritual. It’s what makes him different from other killers.

She smiled. Unsub?

Unknown suspect, Michaels advised.

Jordan nodded. What’s he doing between killings?

There’re two choices, Conley added. Either he was incarcerated during that period of time or there are other cases we haven’t associated with him yet. He turned toward Michaels. Get our analyst to see if there are other cases. Michaels waved to Jordan and Potter as he exited the room.

Conley collected his suit jacket and slid it over his wrinkled, Oxford shirt. We really appreciate your assistance on this case. You’ve given us an invaluable amount of insight into the motives and skill-set of the killer. He shook hands firmly with Potter before addressing Jordan. Get some rest before you start the long drive home. There’s a room waiting for you at the hotel down the street.

By the time she'd walked to the hotel, she’d decided the return trip to her empty house could wait until the next day; a visit to the cold case crime scene was in order. No doubt, any forensic evidence from the crime had disappeared after so many years. The only thing she hoped to gather by visiting the scene was an insight into the event. 

Dr. Potter? she asked, slipping her hand over the phone’s receiver so her lunch conversation might be more private. She nodded to the server to indicate she was ready for the check. I was wondering if you’d be able to meet me this afternoon, at the scene of the Orange County cold case?... Court, all day? I know exactly how that is, she said, nodding as if he could see her. There’s no need for an escort. I’m sure I’ll be fine, but thank you anyway. She signed the credit card receipt. "I hope to see you again soon, Dr. Potter. It was a pleasure.

Excuse me, she said, pointing at an address scribbled at the top of the worn file folder she was holding to the busboy that was clearing her table, "can you tell me how far this address is from here?’

About thirty blocks, toward downtown. You could walk, but not in those shoes, he flirted, still wiping furiously at the table. Besides, it’s not in a good part of town. You shouldn’t go alone.

I’ll be extra careful, she mused, hurrying towards the taxi line building at the front of the hotel.

You sure this is where you want to go? the taxi driver enquired.

She handed him a crumpled piece of paper upon which she’d transcribed the address from the file. Is this the right place?

He nodded but didn’t respond.

Then this is where I want to go. Thanks, she answered, before handing him several bills to cover the fare.

It's not so bad, she thought to herself as she looked around. From the way Dr. Potter and the server at the hotel had described it, she'd been expecting much worse. 

The buildings were old, charming, in a 1900s kind of way. There was evidence they’d undergone safety renovations over the past years. Luckily, the upgrade had managed to preserve the character and charm of the original facade. The storefront of the business was the most ornate, with dark, red bricks and grey grout lines so small, they were barely detectable from where she was standing.

Jordan flipped the folder open and turned the large, black and white, crime scene photos so that her perspective matched that of the photographer. She walked thoughtfully around the corner of the building into the alley where the body had been discovered. The circular, cross-like designs delineating the first level from the second caught her eye, and she stepped closer for a better look.

Dr. Chamberlain? a voice said, startling her.

She turned anxiously, hoping she wouldn’t regret going alone, after all, to find an older, heavy-set man standing at the alley’s entrance.

Can I help you? she asked curiously, reaching into her purse where she kept a small can of pepper spray.

He held his hand out toward her but kept his distance. Jasper Jenkins. Dr. Potter asked me to stop by and see if I could be of any assistance.

Are you a coroner, too? she asked, closing the distance to shake his hand.

No, ma’am, he answered in a thick, Southern accent. I was the detective who handled the case you’re re-opening. I’m retired now, but Doc Potter thought I might be able to help you.

That’s very kind of him…and you. She pointed to the alley where it was darker and handed him the file folder. Would you mind walking me through what you found at the scene?

Not at all. He licked his lips like an alcoholic being offered a drink. She was here. He pointed to an area about half-way into the alley. After flipping the photos around several times, he added, She was on her back, head facing north. Lela Morris. He rubbed awkwardly at his round stomach as if it were aching.

Pardon me? she asked, looking up from the file.

Her name was Lela Morris. She was twenty-seven and newly married, with her whole life ahead of her.

I’m sorry to dig all of this up for you again, Detective. I know it must be hard. She pointed back at the photo. I’ve read the forensic reports, but what’s not in the report? She flipped to another photo with a different perspective of the scene, one that had been taken from a farther distance. There are always things that aren’t in the record, something you know in your gut but couldn’t prove.

Detective Jenkins shifted uncomfortably in place, his boots scuffing the packed dirt of the alley. This case was responsible for my divorce. He took the file from Jordan and flipped almost angrily through the photos and documents. Even when it went cold, I couldn’t let it go, couldn’t give up on her. He rearranged the photos as if he wanted them in a particular order. I’d never seen such a violent case yield so little forensic data.

You think the coroner’s office made mistakes? she asked, looking at the photos.

Maybe, but it wasn't just the forensic data. Everything about this crime was whacked.

She shook her head. I’m not following.

Lela Morris died a painfully tragic death. It wasn’t quick; she was repeatedly assaulted before she died. There should've been forensic evidence everywhere, yet there wasn’t. We never officially interrogated anyone about the crime, not really.

Why was that? she asked, finding it odd that no one had been questioned, a fact that hadn't been mentioned in the file.

We never got anything forensically from the body except for a single pubic hair that wasn’t the victim’s, and it was misplaced.

He pointed back toward the alley, The crime scene was jeopardized. It was never secured. Nothing collected would have stood up in court because everyone tramped in and out while the body was still on site. None of her personal effects were ever recovered, and there were no official suspects.

What about unofficial ones?

He closed the file folder. You ever hear of Charles Carrington III? She shook her head as he went on. In the early 1970s, he was a well-known, well-liked, county judge from a prominent family. His family built the hospital and as well as several schools, many of them still being utilized.

You think he was the killer?

No. His grandson, Richard. The kid had a record a mile long and many of the offenses were sexual in nature. He pointed up the street. Lela Morris was an accountant for the fancy restaurant at the end of the block, an establishment the Carringtons, especially Richard, routinely frequented.

Let me buy you some coffee. Jenkins took her by the arm and continued as they walked. Inside the coffee shop, Jenkins said, We were never able to interrogate Richard, as he settled his back against the cushions of the booth. His expensive lawyer wouldn’t allow it.

What made you suspect him?

Richard was a spoiled kid who got what he wanted. There were other women who made complaints against him but their charges were later revoked. He sipped cautiously on the hot coffee. Most had been paid with Carrington money in exchange for their silence.

What about Lela Morris’s family?

She had no kids, her parents are dead, and the husband remarried. He looked awkwardly at Lela's photo, the one of her before she'd died, still smiling, happy, and alive.

You believe the data was manipulated and the evidence compromised so that Carrington couldn’t be questioned?

I believe Judge Carrington was powerful enough to call in favors and ensure any evidence was destroyed or suppressed.

Where's Richard Carrington now?

He died in the late eighties from complications as a result of HIV, Jenkins answered, looking out the café window.

Jordan reached across the table, taking his hand. I don’t believe Richard Carrington killed Lela Morris, Detective. I’m sorry.

Why? he looked up to her with watery eyes.

Because whoever murdered her is still very much alive.

CHAPTER THREE

Jordan was stuck at an intersection between a life she couldn’t let go of and one she couldn’t move toward. Was there a parallel universe where she and Jason were still together and happy? Was it just a point of locating the wormhole and reclaiming her life again? These were concepts she pondered every time her mind took a break from work. Luckily, her mind wasn’t idle very often.

She reclined in the worn office chair and glanced at the large framed painting over her desk. The winding river in the picture was as yellow as the sun, with surrounding terrain so thick and green, it was nearly blue. 

The Yellow River in China was one of