Chapter 3
At ten minutes to twelve on Monday morning, Sean walked into the Dare County Sheriff’s Department, located in Manteo, wearing a gray sports jacket over a black T-shirt and a pair of jeans.
His weapon, holstered on his hip, was hidden by the jacket.
He hadn’t planned on working for another few weeks, so his suits, along with most of his personal possessions, were in a storage unit he’d rented while waiting for his apartment to be ready.
He’d have to stop by and grab a few of them if he was going to be officially working the case.
He held his identification up to the bulletproof glass for the deputy at the front desk and was told Sheriff Griffin was already in his office waiting for him.
The deputy slid a visitor’s tag through a slot in the window and pressed a hidden button under the desk.
A buzzing noise sounded, and he gestured for Sean to proceed through a wood and glass door a few feet to his left, which had been unlocked electronically.
Halfway down the hallway on the left-hand side was the department’s detective bureau, and at this time of the day, the room was brimming with activity.
Some of the dozen or so detectives were at their desks, either going through reports or talking on the phone.
Three others were sitting at a conference table in the middle of the room, leisurely eating a lunch of deli sandwiches while discussing some case.
It looked like almost every other detective bullpen Sean had ever walked into.
He strode past the unit and entered the next door on his right. The lettering on the tinted glass read Sheriff Matthew C. Griffin. The secretary’s desk was empty, so he approached the door to Griffin’s office and knocked. A deep “come in” was the immediate response.
Sean opened the door and found a ragged-looking Griffin, wearing his navy blue uniform and gold shield, sitting behind a large oak desk burdened with files, paperwork, and a desktop computer.
The office was large and comfortable. In addition to the desk and two upholstered guest chairs, there was a conference table surrounded by eight straight-backed chairs.
Beyond the table were three six-foot-tall bookcases overflowing with law enforcement manuals and pictures of the sheriff with various dignitaries, deputies, and family members.
Scattered amid all that were a variety of trophies and plaques won by, or presented to, Griffin over the years.
A large flat-screen TV on the same wall as the door completed the décor.
“Welcome to my nightmare,” the sheriff said wryly.
Sean stepped into the room but didn’t sit. “Didn’t get much sleep, did you?”
Stifling a yawn, Griffin didn’t verbally answer but nodded his head.
“Neither did I.”
The older man stood and stretched his back.
“I spoke to your boss about an hour ago, and he said if you didn’t mind taking the case, he was okay with it.
Told me they’re actually short-staffed at the moment, so he’s glad you could help out.
Also said to call him if you need more help, but for now, you’re it.
I’m forming a task force and contacted the State PD.
They’ll be sending two detectives over later for a two o’clock meeting.
Lynch will be the lead on this when he gets back tomorrow morning. ”
Sean nodded. His SAC had called him right after hanging up with the sheriff and relayed the same information about him helping out on the case.
It was also common for the State Bureau of Investigations to get involved in cases like this—they had more resources than the local guys.
“Okay, where do you want to go from here? Reports or autopsy?”
Grabbing a navy blue windbreaker from a hook on the wall behind him, Griffin pulled it on. “The morgue. Pete’s holding the post ’til we get there. He’s got a busy day and wasn’t too happy about waiting.”
“Lead the way.”
Twenty minutes later, they were signing into the county morgue located about five miles from Griffin’s office.
Matt took a container of medicated vapor rub from his pocket, applied a small amount to his upper lip, and offered some to Sean.
Most experienced members of law enforcement used the trick to lessen the stench of death and make it a little more tolerable.
Unfortunately, there were many times, depending on the body’s decomposition, when even that didn’t work.
Sean had never lost his stomach at a postmortem but had come close a few times.
Over the years, he had seen many agents and police officers run for a trash can—even the ones who thought they were too tough to toss their cookies. It was a humbling experience for most.
A middle-aged female receptionist told them Dr. Hansen was in the autopsy suite #3.
When they entered the cool, sterile examination room, they found he was just beginning the examination of their victim.
He was speaking into a dictating microphone as he visually inspected the body.
Switching off the recorder momentarily, he turned to the newcomers with narrowed eyes.
“You’re late. All the x-rays, photos, and external evidence collection are complete. ”
He nodded toward his female assistant. “Tess Bingham, this is Sean Malone, and you already know the sheriff.”
She smiled at both of them before putting on a mask with a clear plastic shield that would protect her face from any splatter of bodily fluids. The medical examiner eyed the men. “We’re just about ready to open her. Any questions?”
The two lawmen stood about five feet away from the corpse since neither had donned any covering that would protect their clothing. Sean eyed the red slashes on the victim’s torso. “Any idea what he’s using to carve the lettering?”
“I’m pretty sure he’s simply using a sharp utility knife such as a Leatherman or Swiss Army. It’s not precise enough to be a scalpel or crude enough for anything jagged like a steak knife.”
Hansen raised his eyebrows as if to ask if there were any other questions.
When Sean shook his head slightly, the coroner turned the recorder back on and put on his own protective mask.
Picking up a scalpel from a nearby tray, he proceeded to make a “Y” incision from the victim’s collarbones to her sternum and straight down her abdomen, exposing the inner workings of the human body.
Neither Sean nor Matt visibly reacted to the invasive procedure since they had both watched their fair share of autopsies, but it didn’t mean they weren’t affected by it.
No one should have to suffer the indignity of being naked on a cold slab as their insides were exposed and examined to determine their cause of death.
The worst part came when Tess started up the bone saw and began to cut through the ribs so they could be temporarily removed from the upper torso.
This was done so they could remove the lungs and heart to be weighed and given a thorough examination.
Small cross-sections of the organs would also be taken for further analysis if needed.
The rest would be placed back inside the chest cavity for the victim’s burial.
The same saw would then be used on the victim’s skull to expose the brain, and the process repeated for that organ. Sean thought the grinding noise was a hundred times worse than a dentist’s drill and always found it very unsettling.
At the end of the extensive autopsy, the results were what they had expected and then some.
Death by ligature strangulation. The killer had slowly drained the victim’s life from her body…
several times. Hansen reported, “It appears, this time, the killer choked her until she was no longer breathing, then revived her in order to do it again and again. He’s evolving—fine-tuning his craft as he goes, which I would expect from a serial. ”
Griffin grimaced and murmured, “Bastard.”
Sean asked, “Can you tell how many times?”
“My guess is three or four. Some of the ligature marks overlap, so it’s difficult to tell, but no more than five times.
As with the other two vics, there’s no trace evidence of what he used, but my guess is a scarf or something similar.
Some marks look like they came from creases in the fabric.
” He pointed to the victim’s limbs. “There are also ligature marks on her wrists and ankles, so she was tied up too. The empty stomach and acid irritation in the esophagus indicate she vomited at some point, but I don’t know if that was before or during the attack.
The drug toxicology reports will take several days, but her blood alcohol level was point-three-oh percent. ”
“Jeez. That’s almost four times the legal driving limit.” Sean stared at the body on the table. “She was drunk as a skunk.”
Griffin shook his head. “Hopefully, she was passed out for most of the attack.”
“Oh, by the way,” the pathologist added. “We managed to get a skin-cell sample from under two of her fingernails. Looks like she might have scratched the guy.”
The sheriff’s eyes widened. This had been an unexpected lead. “Really?”
“Yup. Sent it upstairs to the lab already.”
After thanking Hansen for waiting for them, Matt and Sean took the elevator two floors up from the morgue to where all the physical evidence found at the scene and on the body was being scrutinized by trained technicians.
The head of the county’s criminal investigation lab, Hank Cunningham, stood just inside the department’s door, reading through a file when they walked in.
His eyes lit up upon seeing the sheriff.
“Oh, good, you’re here. I was just about to call you. ”
After introducing the man to Sean, Matt asked, “You got something for us?”
“Yup. Managed to get a print off the penny this time. Ran it through AFIS and got a hit.”