by Malone, Cara
“That’s what the physical evidence is telling me,” Amelia answered. “How tall is the husband again?”
“Six-two,” Tom said. “Would that put him at the right height to cause this injury?”
“Well, I’m not Dexter, but it’s possible,” Amelia said. “Are you sure he doesn’t know our Jane Doe?”
“I’ll have to talk to him again,” Tom said. He let out a frustrated breath. “If he doesn’t, identifying her is going to be one hell of a job. I’ll need a copy of her dental X-rays.”
Amelia nodded. “I haven’t noticed any distinguishing marks—tattoos, birth marks, scars—but maybe we’ll get lucky on the internal examination and find a surgical implant.”
She knew the likelihood was slim. The girl was young, not more than twenty by the looks of it, and Amelia hadn’t noticed any incision scars. But Tom was looking pretty dejected and she didn’t want to squash his hopes.
The rest of the autopsy was fairly unremarkable. Jane Doe appeared to be in good health, with no implants or other identifiers to be found.
“Is it possible that the impact from the gunshot could have caused her to fall backward, if she were shot at the top of the stairs?” Tom asked.
“I doubt it. Because she was shot on the left side of her body, we likely would have seen some twisting, causing her to fall sideways or even front-first,” Amelia said. “A backwards fall is more consistent with the effects of the high winds, or a shove.”
When she got to the girl’s head, which she always left until the end of an autopsy, Tom grimaced. “No matter how many of these I see, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to watching you peel that skin flap down over the face. That’s the only part that bugs me.”
Amelia had already cut into the skull, careful to preserve the area that had been fractured. She removed the skull cap in order to examine the brain, explaining, “It’s the easiest way to gain entry without compromising the face. Her family can still have an open-casket viewing if they desire, once you find them.”
“Yeah, I get it…” he said, purposely avoiding looking at Jane Doe’s partially obscured face. “Still creeps me out.”
“I think it’s kinda cool,” Jordan chimed in. “You can pretend she’s a cyborg in need of a tune-up if that helps.”
Tom gave her a bewildered look. Amelia continued her exam without commenting on Jordan’s contribution.
She observed, “There’s evidence of traumatic brain injury on the occipital lobe, consistent with a backward fall.” She examined the fractured bone and pointed out a faint beveling at the point of impact. “As I suspected, this looks like the type of injury sustained when a person’s head comes in contact with a stair tread.”
“Is it the cause of death?” Tom asked.
“I’ll need to see the toxicology and histology reports,” Amelia said. “But barring any surprises, yes, I would say so.”
“And the manner?” Tom pressed. He was asking Amelia to tell him if this was accidental, a fall down the stairs due to the high winds of the tornado, or if someone did this to Jane Doe.
“I can’t make a ruling at this time,” Amelia said.
Sometimes cases were open and shut and detectives walked out happy to have one more thing checked off their never-ending to-do lists. More often than not, they got an answer like this one. From the evidence, all Amelia could say was that Jane Doe number eight died as a result of falling down the stairs. She couldn’t say whether it was accidental or a homicide, or how the gunshot fit into the narrative.
Figuring that out was Tom’s job.
11
Noah
Noah Thomas had been discharged from the hospital about thirty-six hours after he arrived. His friend, Braden, wasn’t so lucky. At the beginning of the second week, he was still there, recovering from surgery after his head injury had turned into life-threatening swelling in his brain.
Noah counted himself lucky, especially with two of his friends—and that girl—dead. But after a few days at his aunt’s crowded little house, being relentlessly fussed over by his mom, he was all too eager to get out of there. So when David, one of the other survivors, called to suggest they go visit Braden, Noah jumped at the opportunity.
“He’s gotta be going out of his mind in that hospital bed,” David said.
Noah agreed. “I’m going out of my mind in this house.”
“Sounds like a no-brainer, then. Need a lift?”
“Yeah,” Noah said. “My Cruze got crunched, and I can’t drive with this bum leg anyway.”
He’d received twenty stitches in his right calf, and was still changing the bandage a couple times a day. It hurt, but not as much as knowing that some of his closest friends were dead, his house was gone, and on top of all that, the car he’d just gotten for his sixteenth birthday was totaled.
He hadn’t actually seen it, but his dad had been by the house with an insurance assessor the previous week and brought back the news that neither Noah’s nor his mom’s car had survived the tornado. Noah felt guilty every time he found himself mourning the loss of his wheels.
“I’ll pick you up in five,” David said.
“Thanks, man.”
No sooner had Noah ended the call than his mother whipped around the corner from the kitchen, asking, “Are you going somewhere?”
This was what Noah hated about staying at his aunt’s place. It was tiny as hell and the walls were paper-thin. Everybody knew everyone else’s business, and his mom hadn’t stopped hovering around him since they got home from the hospital. He knew she was just worried about him, but that didn’t make it any less annoying.
“Yeah, to the hospital,” Noah said. “David wants to visit Braden.”
“Well, that’s sweet,” his mom answered. “Let me get my purse, I’ll borrow your Aunt Trudy’s car.”
“No,” he said, probably a little too harshly. God, he needed some air, and a little distance.
She shrank back, looking hurt. “How are you going to get there?”
“David’s picking me up,” he said. Then, because he felt bad for being a dick, he added, “I’ll be fine, Mom.”
She nodded like she didn’t entirely believe him. She’d been acting like he was made of glass ever since they got out of the hospital. He wasn’t sure if it was because he’d had to receive a pint of blood and twenty stitches, or because two of his friends were dead. Or because their house was a pile of rubble, and all their earthly possessions were destroyed. Or because there had been a mysterious dead girl in their house and a homicide detective kept calling and coming around to ask questions.
Fuck, there were a lot of things to be upset about these days. And that wasn’t even taking into account the fact that his mom had always been a bit of a helicopter parent.
“Are you okay, Mom?” he asked. He was pretty much the worst son ever because it had taken him this long to ask her.
Just then, a car horn blared outside—David had made good time.
“I’m okay,” Noah’s mom said, giving him a smile that wasn’t quite convincing. “Go, have fun with your friends.”
He rolled his eyes. “We’re going to the hospital, not having fun.”
“Right. Well, tell Braden I hope he’s doing better. Will you be back for dinner?”
Noah glanced at the clock on his phone. It was only two in the afternoon. He was going to get a summer job this year to pay for the gas and insurance on the Cruze. He should have been filling out applications by now, or maybe even flipping burgers or something. All that was uncertain now, and he didn’t exactly need the money anymore. It would be nice to have an excuse to regularly leave his aunt’s house, though, as soon as his leg healed.
“I’m not sure,” he said. “I’ll text you.”
He hefted himself off the sofa, using a walking stick that used to belong to his grandfather before he passed. Sixteen years old and yet every time he sat down, the part of his calf where the stitches were stiffened up and he felt like his grandpa.
&n
bsp; “Okay, just keep me in the loop,” his mom said. She opened her arms for a hug and Noah figured it was the least he could do to let her have it.
Then he said goodbye and hobbled outside to David’s hand-me-down Monte Carlo.
“Could you drive anything lower to the ground?” he asked as he sank awkwardly into the passenger seat.
“What are you, eighty?” David asked. Then he revved the engine, turned up the radio, and they took off down the quiet street. For just a minute, they were a couple of normal teenagers again, careless and free for the summer.
Wouldn’t that be nice.
12
Amelia
It was Tuesday evening, more than a week since the tornado touched down, and Amelia still felt like she was drowning in case files, investigations and mass disaster protocols.
They’d been able to release another dozen bodies to various funeral homes around the county and were now down to just one refrigerated truck in the parking lot. Jane Doe number eight was among the bodies still here, still waiting for identification—a real name, a family who must be missing her. But Amelia had so much paperwork she’d barely been able to think of Jane Doe since the autopsy.
Right now, she was working her way through a big stack of toxicology and histology reports from her lab scientists, Dylan and Elise. The whole staff had been working their asses off and Amelia was proud and grateful.
She’d been serious about that pizza party idea when she’d pitched it to Simone last week, and deep down she had to admit that it didn’t hurt that the party would be an excuse to see the sexy firefighter again. She just had to wait until they’d all gotten sufficiently caught up that they could afford to take a break.
Midway through her paperwork, there was a knock on her doorframe. Because she’d just been thinking of Simone, for a split second Amelia hoped to see her standing there.
Instead, it was Reese. “Bad time?”
Amelia shook her head. “Not at all, come in.”
She set aside the toxicology report she’d been looking at—or more like staring glassy-eyed at. She’d been here since seven that morning and she could hear everyone else in the office who worked the day shift preparing to go home. Amelia didn’t feel like she could do the same—every time she worked on processing the bodies, paperwork piled up. And the time she spent doing paperwork meant that families had to wait longer for their deceased loved ones to be released.
Besides, other than that fancy new coffee maker, Amelia didn’t have a whole lot to go home to. She might as well stay and work.
“What can I do for you?” she asked Reese.
“I just wanted to see how you’re doing.” Reese was in her early twenties and usually seemed more interested in office gossip than anything else. She caught Amelia off guard tonight.
“Really? That’s nice of you.”
“I feel bad,” Reese explained, still lingering in the door with one shoulder against the molding. “Everybody else is working so hard, and all I can do is keep answering the phones. I wish I could be more helpful.”
“You’re plenty helpful,” Amelia assured her. “Handling inquiries from family members and the media is very important at a time like this.”
Amelia had to hand it to Reese. Despite all the gossiping she did, her work never suffered for it. Same with Jordan, the queen of pranks. When the time came to buckle down, they both did what Amelia needed them to.
“Well, I’m headed home,” Reese said. “I mostly came back here to give you this.”
She moved away from the doorframe, and Amelia noticed she had a to-go coffee cup in one hand and a takeout bag looped over her wrist. Amelia sat up a little taller, surprised.
“Did you buy me food? I didn’t order anything.”
In fact, she’d been intending to—ever since lunch. She just hadn’t gotten around to it, and without even knowing what was in the bag, her mouth began to water. She’d had no idea how hungry she was until food had suddenly become a real possibility.
“It’s not from me,” Reese said. “A delivery driver just dropped it off.” She set the coffee and the bag on Amelia’s desk, then gave her a coy look as she added, “It came with a note.”
She pointed a folded piece of paper taped to the outside of the bag, and Amelia asked, “Did you read it?”
“No,” Reese said, not very convincingly. Amelia gave her a firm look and she raised three fingers in the air. “Scout’s honor.”
“You’re not a Scout,” Amelia pointed out. The Scouts hadn’t started accepting girls until a few years ago, and by then Reese would have been too old.
“Then I guess you’ll just have to take my word,” Reese said. “Night, Dr. Trace. Don’t stay too late.”
She turned on her heel and headed toward the timeclock.
“Good night,” Amelia called, distracted by the takeout bag on her desk. She would be willing to bet that Reese had peeked at the note—it was her nature—but at least she’d pretended not to be a snoop.
Amelia flipped the paper open.
I have a feeling you’ve been skipping meals again… that and Tom told me your case load is still insane. Hope you like burgers and fries—this is from my favorite place near the fire house. I ordered you a coffee too, in case you’re working late.
Oh, and give me a call sometime… we need to plan that inter-office pizza lunch.
Simone
She’d included her phone number next to a hand-drawn winky face, and Amelia had to sit back in her chair for a minute as a grin spread over her lips. This was the most thoughtful thing anybody had done for her in a long time—maybe ever—and it had turned her whole evening around.
She took a sip of the coffee, not surprised to find that Simone had remembered how she liked it. Then she picked her phone up and tapped in Simone’s number. A call the minute she’d gotten the note might be a little too forward, too eager, but a text…
Got the food you sent, you have no idea how hungry I was. When do you want to collect your gratuity?
It was flirtier than she was used to being, especially with someone who worked for the county and was technically a coworker. But she couldn’t help it. As much as she tried not to, as much as she knew there was no room in her life for romance, Simone was irresistible.
Amelia set aside all her paperwork for a few minutes, opening the takeout container and spreading a few napkins out on her desk. The burger was big and juicy, and as she sank her teeth into it, her thoughts lingered on Simone.
Her shaggy brown hair. The delicate curves mostly hidden beneath her station uniform. Those lips that had felt so incredible against Amelia’s.
God, she’d been hungry.
Starving, even.
And Simone always seemed to know just what she needed. What other tricks did she have up her sleeve?
13
Simone
The inter-office mingle came together a lot quicker than expected.
Everybody was still swamped with work. The firefighters were dedicating all their spare time to cleaning up the city and the ME’s office employees were working feverishly to close cases. But that was all the more reason to force everyone to take a break. By the middle of week two, Simone could tell that morale was dangerously low.
“Just because there’s work to do and people are dead doesn’t mean those of us who are still living don’t need to eat and find ways to burn off the stress,” she told Amelia when they were on the phone, putting the plans together.
Amelia agreed, so they decided that at lunchtime on Friday, Amelia would gather as many of her employees as she could and bring them to the firehouse. The change of venue had been at Simone’s insistence, too.
“I know this was your idea, and you deserve all the credit,” she said. “But you know what would be more fun than eating pizza with the smell of death in the background?”
Amelia laughed. “Anything?”
“Probably,” Simone agreed. “Specifically, I was thinking my crew could give yours a fi
rehouse tour. I’ll even throw in some training drills—I know some of your people are exercise buffs.”
Amelia had agreed that it was a good idea, so they’d ordered a dozen pizzas from a universally loved pizzeria downtown and at noon on Friday, a dozen ME employees flooded into the firehouse. Simone’d had the probies set up tables and chairs, along with a buffet of greasy, delicious lunch foods, and everybody dug right in.
While they were helping themselves, Amelia came to stand by Simone. “Hey. Thanks for having us.”
Her eyes flitted momentarily to Simone’s lips. She wore a slim-fit pair of black trousers with heels and a silky white blouse, the most form-fitting thing Simone had seen her in so far. On the scene she’d been in coveralls, and the day Simone came to her office, she’d been in scrubs.
Not that she hadn’t looked beautiful in both… but she cleaned up nicely too.
“My pleasure,” Simone said, thinking of the wet, steamy kiss they’d shared in the downpour and wondering when she’d have another opportunity like that. “I’m glad you came.”
“We all definitely needed it,” Amelia said. Her crew was easily mixing with Simone’s at the folding tables. “It feels a little like a school field trip.”
“If you’re good, I’ll let you play with the siren in the fire engine,” Simone teased.
“Promise?” Amelia asked, her eyes scorching.
Damn, she was gorgeous. If both of their staffs weren’t sitting just a few yards away, Simone would wrap her arms around Amelia’s tiny waist and kiss her again right then and there.
“Come on, let’s get some pizza,” she said, to remove the temptation to do just that. “After everybody eats, we’ll do the tour.”
The two groups mixed and chatted while they ate, and when the pizza boxes were empty—all twelve of them—Simone stood up and gave a quick talk about why she and Amelia had wanted the two departments to meet. She glossed over the part where today was at least a little bit motivated by her desire to find excuses to see Amelia—they didn’t need to know that part. Then she broke everybody into two groups.
