CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER SEVEN
Several hours later, Matt suited up in protective gear and followed Bree into the autopsy suite at the medical examiner’s office. The smell of formalin combated the putrid scent of decay in a nauseating blend. Neither the chilly temperature nor the suite’s air filtration could conceal the most recent body’s stage of decomposition.
He worked not to gag. “I’m grateful we didn’t take time for lunch.”
Bree made an indistinct but unpleasant sound as they crossed the tile. “Same.”
Across the room, Dr. Jones studied an X-ray. She turned and greeted them with a curt nod. “Let’s start with the most recent body and work from there.” The remains occupied three stainless-steel tables.
“I’ve mostly finished the autopsies.” She gestured toward the first table, where the body lay on its back. A block under the corpse’s neck tilted the head back. The neck was flayed open, and the mouth yawned in a silent, horrific scream. Dry, the hair was dirty blonde, long, and mostly straight. “First of all, we had luck with her fingerprints. Her name is Ally Swanson, age nineteen.” Dr. Jones looked at Bree. “Do you want to do the death notification?”
“No, but yes,” Bree said.
Behind her face shield, Dr. Jones’s eyes softened with understanding. “It’s always a difficult task.”
“We need to interview the next of kin anyway,” Bree said.
Delivering the news to a victim’s family was one of the worst tasks, but investigators needed to see the reactions of close family members. Everyone was a potential suspect.
“Cause of death?” Matt asked.
The ME gestured toward the corpse’s neck. “Superficial and deep injuries confirm she died by manual strangulation. Other elements of note: there’s bruising around the wrists. Ligature marks indicate the victim had been restrained.”
Matt leaned in to examine the marks. “Didn’t break the skin, so probably not handcuffs or zip ties.” Victims tended to resist. Metal and stiff plastic restraints often left bruising or cuts. The marks around Ally’s wrists were wide and faint.
“No,” Dr. Jones agreed. “We found black nylon fibers embedded in the skin. Forensics is attempting to identify the source of those fibers.”
“Anything else?”
“The body was washed. We found traces of a surfactant, possibly dish soap.” The ME moved to the foot of the table. “The bottoms of her feet have injuries. Some began to heal. Others have not.”
“She was tortured.” Bree’s voice was flat. “The healing would suggest he held her for a while.”
“Yes,” Dr. Jones said.
“Was she sexually assaulted?” Matt asked.
Dr. Jones said, “Findings are inconclusive. There are no obvious internal or external injuries to indicate sexual assault. We found no semen in or on the body. Nor did we find any trace of lubricant or other sign that he used a condom.” She shrugged. “But we all know that lack of evidence proving rape occurred doesn’t mean that it did not happen.”
“Any other significant findings?” Bree asked.
“Yes,” Dr. Jones said. “She was approximately three months pregnant.”
“At three months, that wouldn’t have been obvious?” Matt asked.
“No. It’s unlikely she was showing yet,” Dr. Jones confirmed.
“Is there fetal DNA?” Matt thought of the baby’s father, also a potential suspect.
“Yes.” Dr. Jones nodded.
“Good,” Bree said. “We’ll be able to determine the father, if we have a sample to compare. Anything else?”
“Not on this one.” Dr. Jones peeled off her gloves and tossed them in the trash. “Postmortem interval remains at seven to fourteen days. I’ll let you know if the entomologist can narrow that window. Forensics is processing the tarps and other trace evidence.”
“What about the other remains?” Matt glanced at the other tables.
The ME pointed to the second table. “We are not able to identify victim number two at this time. Fingerprints are obviously not possible.” She moved toward a light box and gestured toward an X-ray of the victim’s jaw. “Two wisdom teeth have erupted. This process typically occurs around age eighteen, so I’ll age her at approximately sixteen to twenty years of age. She has several fillings and one capped tooth. So, she likely has dental records somewhere to compare. She was small, approximately sixty-one inches tall.”
Small women would be easier to control.
Easier to kill.
“Could you determine cause of death?” Bree asked.
“Not at this time.” Dr. Jones pointed to the victim’s left eye socket on the X-ray. “She had an orbital fracture.”
Bree shifted and propped a hand on her hip. “He beat her up.”
“And he’s right-handed,” added Matt. “There’s no chance this happened to the skull after death?”
“No.” The ME traced the fracture line on the X-ray. “Postmortem fractures tend to be jagged because the bone becomes dry, and there’s some healing, so the break definitely occurred prior to death.”
A large man beating a small woman. Coward, Matt thought.
Matt studied the X-ray. “Can you tell how long before death it happened?”
Dr. Jones tilted her head. “Bones heal by forming callus. It begins soft, becomes hard, then remodels into true bone. Callus begins to appear at seven to ten days.” She jabbed a forefinger at the X-ray. “You can see it beginning to form here. So, the break occurred a week or two prior to death.”
“He could have punched her in the face when he abducted her.” Anger and disgust burned in Matt’s chest.
Bree jerked a thumb at the first victim. “Ally Swanson was kept long enough for injuries to her feet to have begun to heal.”
“Can you tell if she was strangled?” Matt asked.
“No.” The ME turned up a gloved palm. “The hyoid bone is intact, but we only see a fracture in about one-third of cases of manual strangulation. If she had bruises, we have no way of knowing. Soft tissue has mostly decomposed. Sometimes we see broken cartilage in the neck in manual strangulation, but that’s not always the case. Remaining cartilage in her neck is intact. I can’t say she was strangled, but I can’t say she wasn’t. Tox screens are pending.”
Not much info.
Dr. Jones consulted a laptop mounted on a rolling cart. “After reviewing temperature fluctuations over the past several months, I estimate her PMI at six to twelve weeks. I’ll let you know when the entomologist issues his report.”
Which could take months. Matt wouldn’t hold his breath.
“Moving on to victim three.” The ME stepped to the head of the third table, where recovered bones were laid out in the shape of a skeleton. “As you can see, the remains were heavily scavenged. We only found about sixty percent of the bones. The skull indicates the remains belong to a female. Measurements of the femur suggest she was around five feet tall, give or take an inch or two either way.”
“Any clues as to her identity?” Bree asked.
“Not yet,” Dr. Jones said. “We recovered the skull, jawbones, and about half of the teeth, but I see no obvious dental work. In fact, several of the molars have unfilled cavities, suggesting she didn’t receive the best dental care.”
“Age?”
The ME sighed. “Approximately sixteen to twenty.”
“Any idea how long she’s been dead?” Bree asked.
The ME tilted her head. “Since late summer, at least. We’ll send her to the forensic anthropologist at the university for a more specific time frame. There are some new techniques that might prove useful.”
“Cause of death?” Matt asked.
“Undetermined at this time. I found no obvious injuries to the bones that would suggest specific trauma. There’s no soft tissue remaining to analyze. We should be able to extract DNA for a match.”
Again, experts took time. Too many deaths. Too few resources. Everyone had a backlog. By the time most of the additional reports came back, the case would either be solved or cold as an ice pack.
Fifteen minutes later, Matt stepped into the parking lot and took a deep breath of cool, damp air. “All I smell is decomp.”
Bree lifted her arm and sniffed her uniform sleeve. “Same. We can’t do a death notification or press conference smelling like this. We need to stop at home.”
The house was empty midday, with the kids at school and Dana running errands. They left their boots on the boot tray just inside the kitchen door. The last time Matt left his boots outside, a field mouse had invaded one. The dogs greeted them with wags and snuffles. Brody gave him a suspicious sniff. Having been a police K-9, the shepherd knew the smell of decomp. Ladybug rubbed against Bree’s legs. The former stray considered roadkill second breakfast. The smell didn’t bother her at all.
Matt felt eyes on him and turned in a circle until he spotted Vader staring at him from the top of the refrigerator. “Your cat hates me.”
“He doesn’t hate you. He’s just not happy to have another male living on his turf. He’ll adjust.” Bree reached up and scratched behind the cat’s ear. Vader purred and rubbed against her hand. But he continued to glare at Matt.
They stripped in the laundry room and stuffed their clothing into the washer. Matt added generous doses of detergent and white vinegar and started the machine on the heavy cycle. He left a note for Dana, asking her to transfer everything to the dryer. As a former homicide cop, she’d know why and would probably double wash everything.
Upstairs, they showered. Matt used Bree’s herbal-scented shampoo to infuse his nostrils with anything other than the smell of a rotting corpse. Dressed in clean clothes, they returned to the kitchen.
Matt sat on a chair and reached for his boots. A foul scent hit his nostrils. “What is that smell?” He lifted a boot. The smell intensified. He spotted something inside. Something wet. “Argh. Puke.”
She took his boot from him, peered inside, and wrinkled her nose. “Hairball.”
“You puked in my boot.” Matt turned to Vader, who returned his gaze without blinking. The cat looked smug. He was definitely not sorry.
Bree’s mouth twitched. “Sorry about that.”
“You want to laugh.”
“I’m sorry. I do.” She pressed a knuckle to her mouth and cleared her throat. “I’ll try to clean them.”
“Hard pass. I’ll order a new pair,” Matt said. Vomit had soaked the insoles and the leather interior. “They’re old anyway. We need a closet with a door.”
Bree grabbed her jacket and stepped into her own boots. Slipping into a pair of sneakers, Matt left the house, tossed his disgusting boots in the garbage, and went to his Suburban for his spare pair. He changed shoes, then met Bree in her SUV. “Death notification?”
She nodded. “If the family is available. I’d like to talk to them before the press conference.”
He used the dashboard computer to look up the victim’s address. He cross-referenced real estate tax data. “Ally Swanson lived right here in Grey’s Hollow. The house is owned by Heath Swanson.”
“I know the neighborhood, typical suburbia. She probably lived with her parents. Criminal record?”
“Yes.” Matt scrolled. “Drug possession. A prostitution charge was dropped.”
“Was a missing person report filed on her?”
Matt checked. “No.” He plugged the address into the GPS and braced himself to inform Ally’s parents that their child was dead.