Title: Presumption of Guilt - 3 Author: hisgoodgirl Disclaimer: All belongs to Joss. I got nada but my imagination. Characters: Crew, omc, ofc. Warning: PG for graphic violence, profanity and other grownup things. Setting: In the town of Silverton, on Santo, immediately prior to “The Train Job”. Words: 2,556

A/N: As a kid, my two favorite TV genres were westerns and detective shows. I finally decided to tackle both in a mix I’ve thought of as “Firefly CSI”. You can click on my name to find links to previous chapters and lots of my other fics. Remember, feedback is what writers (and muses) live for. It’s all helpful, dear readers.

X - posted from my LiveJournal.

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Presumption of Guilt Chapter Three

As Simon Tam walked purposefully down Boyd Street, he reflected on just how different life on the Rim was from what he had previously known on his homeworld of Osiris. Santo was what might be best described as “rustic” whereas Osiris was a world of order and refinement. He recalled his work as a trauma surgeon in Capitol City, the affluence and prestige he had enjoyed there, all abandoned to rescue his sister from her horrific abuse at the hands of a government he had once respected and admired.

Now they were fugitives, running from the law with a band of petty criminals on a battered junker of a transport ship. To be honest, Simon felt pretty useless, apart from his efforts to find a way to help River. It was true that he’d saved Kaylee from a potentially fatal gunshot wound and patched up a few minor injuries among the ship’s crew, but for the most part, his considerable skills as a physician were pretty much wasted in his current life.

Before booking passage for himself and River on Serenity, he’d never had occasion to rub shoulders with anyone like Jayne Cobb. The man was a thug, crude and untrustworthy, and Simon found himself constantly on guard, cringing whenever the hulking mercenary was near. To be honest, Simon couldn’t understand why Captain Reynolds put up with the man – surely he could find someone capable of handling cargo and a gun who fulfilled his job in a less offensive manner.

He’d seen enough of Jayne’s capacity for violence that he had little doubt the man was guilty as charged. Still, Mal had told him to call on Sam Bailey, the town’s sole physician and Coroner. The very idea of one man fulfilling both jobs was absurd, but then, as Simon was beginning to learn, many aspects of life on the Rim were driven by necessity.

At the door to Doc Bailey’s office, Simon stopped to smooth back his dark hair and slap the worst of the dust off his trousers. He straightened his waistcoat, then rapped smartly on the door.

“Just a minute!” a muffled male voice called from within and shortly the door swung open, revealing a stout man of late middle age, his street clothes covered by a clean white physicians’ smock. He peered up at Simon through the wire-rimmed spectacles perched on bridge of his nose. “Can I help you?”

“I hope so, sir.” Simon extended his hand. “I am Doctor Simon Tam and I assume you to be Doctor Bailey. It’s my understanding that you are the Township Coroner, sir.”

Doc Bailey took the proffered hand and smiled at Simon. “Yep, I guess I’m kinda the all-purpose guy to go to around here, whether you need a bone set, a baby delivered, a tooth pulled or a cause of death certified. You look healthy, so I’m assumin’ you’re not in need of my professional services.” Bailey gestured to a plain oak chair next to his small desk and took a seat in its twin. “What can I do for you, doctor?”

“To be honest, I’d like to talk with you about the unfortunate late Mrs. Murchison.”

Bailey raised an eyebrow in surprise. “A bad business, that. Nellie Murchison was a good woman, and I was saddened that she met such a fate. What, may I ask, is your interest in the case?”

“The man accused with Mrs. Murchison’s rape and murder is a crewman on the transport ship Serenity and I am that vessel’s physician. Our captain has asked me to discuss the case with you in an effort to clarify the pertinent details. This crewman has been in his employ for some time and the Captain feels there is substantial reason to question his guilt.” Simon crossed his ankle over his other knee and interlaced his fingers over the flat of his stomach, candidly meeting Doc Bailey’s curious look. It had been a long time since he’d had the opportunity to interact with another member of his profession and he found he was unaccountably pleased by the prospect. “Would you be willing to discuss your findings with me?” he asked.

Bailey sat silently for a moment, considering Simon’s request. Finally he sighed deeply and nodded. “Ambrose Murchison may well end my career for cooperating with you, Doctor, but so be it. I’m tired of that man and his bullying ways. The Undertaker’s men haven’t come for the body yet, and I think it’s only fair you have the opportunity to reach your own conclusions about the manner of Nellie Murchison’s death. Give me a moment to lock the front door and I’ll take you back to the holding room.”

* * *

Opening the heavy door, Doc Bailey switched on the pair of lamps illuminating the small space. The room smelled of disinfectant and the faint cloying aroma of death. “You might want these.” He held out a spare smock and latex gloves.

Simon nodded and shrugged the garment on over his street clothes, then pulled on the examining gloves, the gesture so familiar as to be automatic. “Thank you, Doctor. For these and for your willingness to stand your ground.” He thought of his sister and what had been done to her in the service of the Great Alliance. “There are far too many individuals who abuse their power.”

In the center of the room stood a metal table bearing the sheet-draped corpse. Doc Bailey respectfully turned back the cover to expose the pale, still body of Nellie Murchison before stepping aside to make room for Simon. The young doctor stood silently for some time, carefully examining the victim. The dead woman’s arms and torso were mottled with numerous bruises, some fresh, some fading, and a prominent and clearly lethal stab wound pierced the medial aspect of her left breast. The classic Y-incision had been skillfully sutured shut, and Simon found himself admiring the care that Doc Bailey had given this task.

With the elder physician’s assistance, Simon gently turned the corpse to examine her back and found additional bruising. As his skilled hands ran lightly over her cold limbs and skimmed across the dead woman’s ribs, Simon looked up at Doc Bailey sharply. “This woman was being systematically abused, and over a prolonged period of time! She has numerous broken bones that have healed, and the nature of this bruising – why, it’s classic and appalling.”

Doc Bailey bowed his head. “I know. I was her doctor. Believe me – I tried repeatedly to encourage Nellie to leave her husband. Ambrose was a good forty years her senior and suffers from vascular issues, which made it virtually impossible for him to perform…”

“Ah,” Simon nodded, suddenly understanding. “He was impotent.”

“Just so. In some twisted way I suppose he felt humiliated and blamed Nellie. While I couldn’t overtly sanction her affairs, I certainly understood her need for intimacy. But then, things became more complicated. There was a child, a daughter…”

“Not his, I assume.”

“Correct.” Bailey hesitated, then shook his head sadly. “Her murder is so ironic, actually. You see, she had stopped in not two days ago to tell me that she had finally asked her husband for a divorce.”

Simon’s eyes widened in surprise with this disclosure. At the very least, it sounded like Ambrose Murchison was as likely a suspect as Jayne Cobb. Perhaps the nature of the lethal wound would offer more insight. The young doctor studied the deep puncture in the dead woman’s chest. “What was the murder weapon?”

“It was a large knife, buried to the hilt.” He took out a set of keys and unlocked a metal cabinet, withdrawing a plastic-sealed blade that Simon immediately recognized as the huge Bowie knife Jayne always wore on his hip. “The blade itself is close to a foot long and I’m surprised it didn’t pierce right through her. The shape of the puncture and the imprint of the knife’s bolster around it indicate that she had been stabbed with great force.” Bailey pointed to the elongated bruising around the puncture.

“Was the insertion perpendicular to the victim?” Simon continued to study the body.

“No,” Bailey said wearily. “It slanted from right to left, severing her aorta. From the angle, the killer had to have held the blade left-handedly, and he drove it in with one forceful stroke. No hesitation marks.”

“So I noticed. May I examine the knife?” Simon knew that Jayne was right-handed, and while he’d seen the mercenary use both hands in fighting, it seemed unlikely that he would have stabbed the woman backhandedly.

Doc Bailey passed the weapon to him and Simon held it under one of the lamps to better see the weapon. Blood had dried on it in blotches and a partial handprint was visible on the polished horn handle. “I don’t suppose you have access to the Alliance Universal Database, by any chance. Or a print scanner?” Simon looked at Bailey doubtfully.

“I can see you were Core trained, son, “ Bailey responded, “but out here, I’m lucky to have anesthesia and antibiotics. While I am the Coroner, this is certainly no crime lab. I’m afraid the best I can offer you would be copies of the captures I took when I did the autopsy and my official report, the contents of which will not endear either of us to Ambrose Murchison.”

“I understand.” Simon looked at Bailey steadfastly. “Shall we continue?”

* * *

Wash perched on the next to lowest step on the fore stairway, watching with great amusement as Kaylee and River attempted a one-on-one hoopball game. River spun and ducked, scoring goal after goal, all the while chattering nonsensically to herself, until at last the little mechanic threw up her hands in defeat.

“I’m plumb wore out, River, and there ain't no point in continuing when I know you’re just gonna whip my pigu.” Kaylee combed her hand back through the tangle of her hair and re-twisted the sweaty mass, skewering it with a chopstick.

“Sore loser,” River pronounced. “Would rather ride on Jayne.” Her tone was smug and taunting.

Wash chortled, quickly covering his mouth with the back of his hand.

Kaylee blushed furiously. “Now that ain't so, River. I just do that so’s I have a better chance of gettin’ the ball through the hoop. I’d rather play with Simon but he…”

River giggled and interrupted her. “I know – won’t play. Too proper to have played for a long, long time.” The lithe girl suddenly stopped and looked off into space, as if lost in a memory. “There were dinosaurs and all our troops were captured…”

Kaylee leaned close to Wash and whispered sidelong to him. “What’s she talkin’ about?”

“I dunno,” the pilot replied. “Maybe she’s been playing with my dinos or something. Now I’m tired just from watching you two.” He stood and turned to head up the stairs to the bridge. “Call me if anything interesting happens. In the mean time, I’m gonna snag a nap…”

* * *

Simon and Doc Bailey returned to the doctor’s office and sat quietly for a moment, each man struggling with the emotions and revelations triggered by their study of Nellie Murchison’s body. Finally Simon spoke. “To review your findings, the deceased had a long history of victimization by her husband, as evidenced by both old and new injuries, and had recently asked him for a divorce. Her death was the result of a left-handed stab wound, accomplished with Jayne’s knife, which severed the victim’s aorta, causing her to exsanguinate. While Mrs. Murchison’s body showed signs of recent vigorous sexual activity, there was none of the vaginal lacerations or bruising one would expect to see with non-consensual sex, so the charge of rape is clearly false.”

“That is exactly what my report states. The claim of rape is clearly part of Murchison’s efforts to demonize your shipmate.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Simon said. ”Jayne Cobb is no angel. He’s a rough, brutish man, capable of considerable violence. I was initially confident that he was, in fact, responsible for Mrs. Murchison’s death, but having examined the evidence, I have to say that I believe the man has been framed. The question, then, is why and by whom?” Simon braced his fingertips together and looked intently at Doc Bailey.

“What can you tell me about the extended Murchison family? Who would have cause to do this and why?”

* * *

Zoe bent low over her sleeping husband and smiled at the child-like openness of his face. It was one of the things she loved about him. Wash snored softly. He was slumped in the pilot’s chair on Serenity’s bridge, his legs extended and his booted feet resting on the edge of the console as his head lay cradled on one shoulder.

She crouched beside him and threaded her dark, strong fingers through the red-gold curls of his hair, then pressed a warm, lingering kiss to his lips. “Wake up, sleepyhead. Nap time’s over.”

Wash’s eyes fluttered open as he startled, then a suggestive grin formed on his freckled face. “Do that again. Best alarm clock I know of.”

“Mmmm. I tend to agree with you.” Zoe kissed him again, then stood up, and rested her backside against the edge of the console. “Captain’s still playing detective, but he cut the Preacher and I loose.”

The pilot scooted himself into a seated position and discretely adjusted the suddenly tight crotch of his overalls. “What do you think, Zo? I mean, Jayne’s no Prince Charming and I trust his motives about as far as I can throw him, which is not at all. Still, I have to agree with Mal. Jayne just doesn’t strike me as a cold-blooded killer and he appreciates women too much to rape one.”

Zoe crossed her arms over her breasts and considered her husband’s remark thoughtfully. “I’d agree with your assessment. And by the way, the Preacher makes a very convincing lawyer. He managed to get us into the hotel room so we could examine it for ourselves, and a few things were very clear.”

“I have to admit I’ve never met a man of the cloth with Book’s skill set. So what did you find?”

“The room was thoroughly trashed, but that looked to be mostly the result of Jayne struggling with the lawmen who were trying to arrest him. The captain noticed that the woman hadn’t been stabbed through the covers, meanin’ whoever did it turned ‘em back. Shepherd said that indicated this wasn’t done in the heat of passion. I guess the most important thing we found was a bloody handprint on the wall near the door. No way it was Jayne’s.”

“Why not?” Wash asked.

“Too small, with a big ol’ scar right across the palm.” Zoe shook her head. “No – somebody else did for that poor woman and counted on bein’ able to hang it on Jayne. I sure hope Simon and the Captain are able to uncover more information. As annoying as Jayne can be, I don’t look forward to seeing the man hung for a crime he’s innocent of."

Wash reached out and pulled his wife onto his lap. “That’s my woman. Defender of the Muscle-bound and the Not Very Bright. Now… about that kissing thing…”

To be continued…