13
Noelle attended the autopsy with only Max at her side.
Evan had been called back to the sheriff’s department to deal with the media that had started to gather.
He’d asked Noelle if she preferred to handle the media, and he would attend the autopsy.
She’d had to think about it. She had no patience for members of the media.
Everyone was calling themselves a journalist these days and believed every little detail should be available to the public.
They repeated “right to know” over and over, but Noelle suspected they mainly wanted details to attract more clicks and likes.
It was a competition that translated to money in their pockets.
She chose the autopsy.
Noelle and Max put on their protective gowns, gloves, booties, shields, and masks.
Inside the autopsy suite, she was surprised to see Dr. Natasha Lockhart instead of Dr. Ruiz, who’d been at the burial site.
That explained why Radiohead’s “Creep” was playing over the speakers; the doctor was a known nineties rock fan.
The petite ME stood on her custom platform that surrounded most of the metal exam table; she was too short to do an autopsy without it. She’d already done her Y incision and was lifting out a blob of an organ that Noelle couldn’t recognize.
Pancreas?
Noelle searched her memory for the assistant’s name as the woman weighed the organ. Marina.
Dr. Lockhart fastened her gaze on Max and Noelle. “I let Dr. Ruiz go home,” she told them. “He has a two-month-old, and his wife threatened to leave him if he worked late tonight. I think it’d been a rough day for her. He said something about multiple blowouts.”
“What’s that?” asked Max, glancing from the doctor to Noelle.
“Liquidy poop shoots out of the diaper down their legs and up their back, soaking their clothes and whatever they’re lying on,” said the assistant, Marina. “It’s the worst.”
“Sounds like it,” said Max.
Noelle eyed the open torso on the table, weighing the assistant’s comment about what the woman considered to be the worst. “Do you have anything to share yet, Dr. Lockhart?” Noelle stayed several steps back from the table and tried not to look at Sydney’s face.
The woman wasn’t recognizable as the person she’d seen in photos.
We need to find her daughter.
A sense of impending doom swamped her every time she thought about the little girl.
“I understand she’s already been identified by her breast implants,” said Dr. Lockhart.
“The decomposition is what I would expect for being underground for about a week in the current forest temperatures. Lab work will tell us more. My external exam didn’t turn up anything of note yet.
We scraped fingernails. Combed through her hair. Took swabs.”
Noelle swayed slightly, and Max took her elbow.
“I’m fine,” she whispered. She actually was feeling okay. Her brain was spinning with information from Dr. Peres and Dr. Lockhart, trying to sort out what would be helpful in finding their killer.
It could be as simple as DNA found under her fingernails.
If the killer was already in the system for a previous crime.
She wondered about the time gap amid the five sets of remains. They didn’t have official information yet, but she suspected there’d been a few years of inactivity between the skeletal remains and the other three. It was possible their killer had been in prison during that time.
Or had lived somewhere else for a while.
“The primary finding—so far—is the bullet hole in her head,” said Dr. Lockhart, removing another organ. “The bullet is still inside. There isn’t an exit wound.”
Noelle nodded. “Dr. Peres’s two victims were also shot in the head. If the killer had used something with more power, there’s a good chance we wouldn’t have any of the bullets.”
“Agreed,” the doctor said grimly. “When I saw this one, I took a quick look at just the heads of the victims I plan to autopsy tomorrow. They also have entrance wounds. No exits.” She looked hard at the two of them. “I’d say you have a serial killer. Correct?”
“Yes. And possibly has been in the area for a number of years,” said Max. “Dr. Peres thinks her victims could have been in the ground for five years or more.”
“I think my other two victims will have been in the ground less than a month or two.” She met Noelle’s gaze. “Don’t quote me yet. All I did was peek.”
“We won’t,” said Noelle.
She and Max stayed quiet as Dr. Lockhart swiftly did her job. The doctor moved to the head and made a slice in the scalp from ear to ear. Noelle closed her eyes, knowing the skin would be folded down over Sydney’s face. This was about where she’d had to leave last time.
I’ll stick it out.
She’d noticed her anxiety was much better than during the last autopsy she’d attended. It was still there, bubbling under the surface, but she kept it buried. She felt a bit robotic, as if she’d disconnected from her body and emotions.
If that’s what it takes.
She opened her eyes and numbly watched Dr. Lockhart continue.
When the bone saw started, she ignored the high whine and bone dust. The doctor removed the skullcap, and Marina handed her a long probe.
Noelle realized it was for the doctor to follow the bullet’s trajectory to help her find the bullet.
Sydney had been shot through the top of her head.
Was she kneeling? An assassination?
They needed to dig deeper into the woman’s background.
“Got it,” mumbled the doctor. She swapped the probe for what looked like very long tweezers. A moment later Marina had the bullet.
“We’ll take that,” said Max. Down the hall, Dr. Peres had put the two bullets she’d found in evidence envelopes and given them to Max.
“Of course,” said Dr. Lockhart. She lifted the entire brain out of the skull cavity.
Noelle’s knees became water, and she dimly felt Max grab her as the ground rushed up.
I tried.