19
Noelle tried to look very busy with her cell phone as she stalled outside the autopsy suite. Dr. Lockhart had started the autopsy of the second victim from the burial ground and planned to do the third victim’s immediately after.
I don’t want to go in.
But I should.
She sighed. Max wasn’t there to catch her if she fainted, and she was hesitant to ask for a chair to watch the autopsies. So she procrastinated, answering emails and sending texts.
Since Emma had left, Lacey had been in and out of the autopsy suite, taking full sets of dental films on the other two more recent bodies.
She had used a handheld device that shot the films and then uploaded them to her computer.
Noelle had considered hovering over Lacey’s shoulder as she reviewed the films but knew the dentist would work faster without a distraction.
The odontologist had a stack of missing files and dental charts to compare to the more recent remains and the older skeletonized remains.
The suite’s door swung open, and Dr. Lockhart’s assistant, Marina, stuck her head out. “I’ve removed the clothing and jewelry from one of the women. Want to look through them?”
Noelle hesitated.
“I’ve put them in a separate exam room.” Marina raised a brow.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Follow me.”
The assistant held the door open farther and Noelle slipped inside, automatically holding her breath so she could avoid the smells.
She waved at Dr. Lockhart and tried not to look at the body on the table.
She knew it was the woman who’d been in the ground the longest—not counting the skeletal remains that Dr. Peres had examined.
Marina led Noelle to a door on the far side of the suite.
Inside the small room was a plastic bin holding some dirty clothing on a stainless-steel table.
Marina pointed at a camera in the corner of the room. “Everything you do is being recorded.”
“Good.” Noelle didn’t want someone to claim she’d altered evidence.
“Gloves and masks are behind you. You also might want a gown.”
“Ah. Okay.”
Marina left the room, and Noelle grabbed a gown. The last thing she wanted was some sort of decaying tissue transferred to her suit. She also double-masked—the smell from the clothing was very strong—and slipped on gloves.
Okay. It’s just clothes.
She opened the bin and lifted out a pair of short brown cowboy boots with pink and white stitching.
They were the type to wear line dancing, not actually horseback riding.
She looked at the well-worn sole of one.
Size 8. She set them on the table, toes pointing toward her as if they were in a store.
Next out of the bin were stained gray socks that had been cut to remove them from the feet.
Remnants of decaying skin tissue covered 80 percent of the socks.
Maybe they weren’t gray.
Noelle gingerly set them next to the boots and picked up a denim skirt with a short red ruffle at the hem. Noelle estimated that it would hit mid-thigh, but it depended on the height of the victim. She looked from the skirt to the boots. It was the start of a cute outfit.
Was the victim on a girls’ night out? A date?
A white off-the-shoulder peasant blouse was next.
I think it was white.
It’d absorbed fluids from the decaying body and soil from the grave.
There were darker areas along the neckline that led to one sleeve.
Blood. Noelle could imagine how the shot through the skull had caused blood to stain the blouse.
A strapless bra and lacy thong were also in the bin.
Noelle stared at the stained underclothes for a long moment, then gingerly lifted out both pieces.
They were a matched set from Victoria’s Secret.
Again she wondered if the woman had been on a date.
Bastard.
Marina had set the jewelry in a metal bowl in the tub.
Noelle counted thirteen delicate gold rings.
The type to be worn stacked. Some had little gemstones but were crusted with dirt.
There were also three sets of hoop earrings in different sizes and two chunky bracelets.
Except for the rings, the jewelry had started to corrode.
Noelle figured the rings were probably real gold and wondered whether this was all everyday jewelry for the woman or she’d accessorized to go out.
Marina opened the door. “Dr. Lockhart wanted you to know the woman is five four.”
“I’ll text that to Lacey,” said Noelle. “That’ll help prioritize which files she compares to the films she took.” The woman vanished, and Noelle removed her gloves and sent the text.
Lacey immediately texted back: I’d just found her. Height fits too. Her name is Layla Holder.
Noelle stripped off her masks and gown and stepped into the autopsy suite. “Dr. Lockhart, your victim’s name is Layla Holder. Dr. Harper just made the identification.”
“Thank you.” Dr. Lockhart paused, and she looked down at the remains for a long moment. “Layla,” she said softly.
Noelle passed through the suite and strode down the hall to the room where she and Emma had joined Lacey earlier. The dentist was typing notes on her computer. An open file lay beside her.
“I passed her name on to Dr. Lockhart,” said Noelle.
“Thank you.”
Noelle spotted Layla’s name on the chart and carefully flipped through it.
She lingered on a photo of an attractive blonde woman and noticed she wore the same three sets of hoop earrings she’d just seen. Layla Holder was thirty-two. She’d been reported missing three months ago by a friend in Boise, Idaho.
“Her parents live in Bend,” said Noelle in surprise as she read. “I wonder if she was visiting them. But they aren’t the ones who said she was missing.”
“Look at the police report,” said Lacey, her tone grim.
Noelle looked. After Layla was reported missing, the Boise police had contacted her parents, who said they were estranged from their daughter and hadn’t heard from or seen her in six years.
They told the officer she would turn up at some point and that she’d been taking off for months at a time since she was nineteen.
“But they hadn’t heard from her in six years,” Noelle muttered. “For all they knew she could have been dead all that time.”
The rest of the report was minimal. There had been no sign of a problem at the woman’s apartment.
Her car was still in the lot, but her cell phone and purse had not been found.
The girlfriend who reported her missing hadn’t heard from her in a week, which wasn’t unusual, but when Layla didn’t respond to texts, the woman had stopped by the apartment.
When she saw Layla’s car was there, she called the police, worried her friend was inside and hurt.
Layla Holder’s employer, a local car dealership where she was a receptionist, said she’d had inconsistent attendance at work. When she stopped showing up and didn’t return calls, they assumed she’d moved on, essentially ghosting them. She hadn’t been at the job very long.
Noelle flipped pages to find out when the woman had lived in Bend. She scanned the list of local schools and employers, and her gaze snagged on the last one, where she’d worked about a year ago. Sherman Plumbing.
Why do I recognize that business name . . . oh no.
Hayden Hall worked for Sherman Plumbing.
Sydney Beason’s ex-boyfriend.