See Her Die

by Leigh, Melinda

  “This is Matt Flynn,” she said. “It was Matt’s K-9 that found the body yesterday. He will be assisting me as a criminal investigator.”

  The ME appeared to think over the explanation for his presence for a few minutes, as if not entirely satisfied. Then she pointed at Bree. “OK, but he’s your responsibility. He faints and smacks his head, it’s on you.”

  Slightly insulted, Matt wanted to say I don’t faint. But he knew the second he expressed his manliness, he’d probably face-plant.

  “Understood,” Bree agreed.

  Dr. Jones addressed Matt. “The information gathered during this autopsy is confidential. This man is my patient, and he has rights to his privacy just like any living person.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I was previously an investigator with the sheriff’s department,” Matt said.

  She was not impressed.

  The body lay on its back, its chest flayed open. The Y-incision had been made, the breastbone cut out, and the internal organs removed for examination and weighing.

  Dr. Jones gestured to the body with her scalpel. “Here we have the body of a white male.” She pointed to a monitor on a side-table computer. On it, X-rays of the chest and shoulder were visible. “The long bones have rounded ends called epiphyses that fuse as the body matures. This medial clavicular epiphysis is fully fused. In males, this occurs generally around the age of twenty, give or take a couple of years.” She moved back to the body and pointed at the ribs, then the removed breastplate. “The sternal end of the fourth rib is another good indicator of age. The sternal end starts out round but becomes more irregular and pitted over time.” She stepped back and scanned the body. “The general condition of the body is excellent. This young man was in good health and well muscled. I estimate him to be between eighteen and thirty years of age.”

  “What about time of death?” Bree asked.

  “That’s tricky with bodies that have been in cold water.” The ME set down her scalpel. “I believe he went into the water shortly after death.” She pointed to the victim’s hands, which were a purplish color. “In a body floating in water, lividity is concentrated in the hands and feet because bodies float facedown underwater. Once the heart stops, blood pools in the lowest parts. In this victim, lividity is fully fixed, and rigor has come and gone. Normally, this would mean the victim had been dead more than thirty-six hours, but the cold water would delay the onset of both lividity and rigor mortis.”

  Her gaze swept over the body. “You can see some discoloration of the torso from the onset of decomposition in the internal organs, but it’s not advanced.”

  Matt had seen bodies that were twice their normal size due to bloating.

  The ME referred to her computer. “The best estimate I can give is a time since death of two to five days.”

  Bree propped a hand on her hip. “Today is Tuesday. So, he died between Thursday and Sunday.”

  “Correct,” Dr. Jones said.

  Matt couldn’t wait any longer. “Do you know if this is Eli Whitney?”

  Dr. Jones motioned toward the ruined face. “This man’s teeth and jaw are too badly damaged to use them for identification or aging purposes. But we know from medical records that Eli Whitney broke his arm at the age of eight. He also has a birthmark the size of a playing card on the back of his shoulder. This body has no such birthmark. Nor do the X-rays show a healed break of the ulna. Based on those factors, I do not believe this body to be Mr. Whitney.”

  Matt exhaled. While relieved, he was acutely aware that this young man was someone’s loved one. “How did he die?”

  “At first, I considered blunt trauma.” Dr. Jones moved to the head of the table. “The most obvious injury is to the face, but upon closer examination of his facial wounds, I found that he’d been shot.”

  “Someone shot him, then bashed his face in?” Matt clarified.

  “Yes. I recovered two bullets from his skull.” Dr. Jones gestured to a stainless-steel dish. “9mm.”

  Matt felt his eyebrows shoot up.

  A moment of silence crept by as Matt and Bree digested the strange news. Then Bree cleared her throat. “Can you tell what kind of instrument was used to inflict the damage to his face?”

  “I found tiny metal pieces in the wounds, and the implement used was heavy and round.” Dr. Jones made a small circle with her thumb and forefinger, like an OK sign. “The striking end was about that big.”

  Matt knew instantly what had been used. “A hammer.”

  “That’s the most likely object,” the ME agreed. She motioned toward the body. “I also see bruising on the forearms that look like defensive injuries, and there was tissue deep under his fingernails.”

  “So, whoever killed him probably has some scratches,” Bree said.

  “Another odd thing we noticed is that the head is shorn.” The ME pointed to the head. Next to it sat a bone saw. Dr. Jones had not yet opened the skull to remove the brain. Considering the damage, it would be an even messier job than usual. Matt wasn’t squeamish, but he sincerely hoped he could leave before that happened.

  “Lots of men shave their heads.” Bree moved closer.

  “Once we washed the body, we could see that the hair wasn’t shaved down to the skin but buzzed very close to the scalp. There are small tufts of hair remaining in random places,” Dr. Jones said. “We also found scrapes where the clippers or shears scratched the scalp.”

  “So, maybe the victim struggled while his head was being buzzed,” Matt said.

  “Possibly,” the ME agreed. “As mentioned at the scene, his hands and ankles were bound at one point. From the width of the wounds, I’d guess plastic zip ties.” The ME paused, then pointed to a pair of red marks on the victim’s arm. “In addition, these small burns could be from a stun gun.”

  Bree leaned back. “That would explain how the killer incapacitated his victim.”

  The ME continued. “A few additional observations that might aid in identifying the victim. He died within an hour of eating pizza. The X-rays show a previously broken and healed tibia, and he has a small tattoo of a shamrock on the back of his shoulder blade.” She clicked on her mouse and brought up a photo of the tattoo.

  “It’s lopsided,” Matt said.

  “The color saturation is uneven, and the lines aren’t smooth,” Bree added. “This is the kind of tat a drunk gets and regrets in the morning. Can you forward me the picture of the tattoo?”

  “Yes.” The ME clicked a few buttons on her computer, then returned to her autopsy. She was donning fresh gloves and reaching for her bone saw when Matt and Bree left the suite to remove their personal protective equipment.

  Ten minutes later, Matt and Bree exited the ME’s office. They stood on the sidewalk. Matt breathed the fresh air deep into his lungs, but he knew he’d be smelling formalin and decomp for the rest of the day.

  Bree turned her face to the sun and closed her eyes. At nine a.m., its rays were still weak. But the air was crisp, the sky a brilliant shade of blue that only seemed to occur on a cold winter day.

  “Are you OK?” he asked her.

  “Yep,” she said without opening her eyes. “You?”

  “Yeah.”

  She opened her eyes and turned away from the sun. “I need to review the case with Todd and make a game plan for the investigation. Can you come?”

  “I wish I could, but I promised Mrs. Whitney I’d interview Eli’s roommates and check out the area where he was last seen. You know the first forty-eight hours are critical to a missing-person investigation.”

  “Fair enough,” Bree agreed, but she didn’t look pleased.

  He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the ME’s office. “I need to run down the obvious leads. Since that wasn’t Eli, he could still be alive.”

  “I understand. You gave your word. I wouldn’t want you to bail on a promise. True missing-person cases are tough,” Bree admitted. “So many go unsolved.”

  Matt wondered how long the police chief of Scarlet Falls woul
d let Detective Dane stay on Eli’s case. If Stella didn’t come up with some leads, the case would go cold, and her chief would pull her off.

  “If I run across anything that links to your cases, I’ll call you.”

  “Thank you. I’ll do the same.” Bree turned away from him. “Can we catch up afterward?”

  “Yes.” Matt thought of her investigating a murder—and finding a murderer—alone, without him at her side, and his bones went cold. “Bree?”

  She glanced over her shoulder.

  “Watch your back.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Bree parked in front of Alyssa’s motel.

  She wished Matt hadn’t been pulled away by Eli’s disappearance, though she respected his decision to help the family. When adults went missing, barring any clear indications of a crime, most police departments didn’t spend much time looking for them. Often, the family was on their own.

  Bree would manage, but she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed working with him. Matt saw connections she overlooked. He was smart and didn’t bullshit her.

  But she couldn’t deny that her feelings went beyond their professional partnership. Her heart beat a little faster every time she saw him. She trusted him, an honor bestowed on very few people. His sense of humor and easy smile didn’t hurt either.

  But she didn’t have the energy to start a relationship, right?

  Matt had made it clear he was interested, but she’d put him off. He wouldn’t wait forever. A bitchy internal voice told her she’d be sorry. This type of indecision was not like her. It wasn’t as if she’d never had a relationship before, though she’d never been attached enough to any man to be devastated by their breakup. She hadn’t even dated Matt, and already she was missing him.

  Thankfully, she had an overwhelming amount of work to distract her. She needed to draw a firm line between their professional and personal relationships. All Bree’s lines were blurring when she preferred them crystal clear.

  She climbed out of her car. A patrol vehicle was parked in front of Alyssa’s room. Bree checked in with the deputy, then went to the door. It swung open before Bree had the chance to knock.

  “I was waiting for you.” Alyssa wore Walmart jeans, a sweatshirt, and sneakers. Washed and dried, her hair was a rich, shiny shade of dark brown. But the circles under her eyes hadn’t faded, and she had fresh scratches on her arms.

  “I’m sorry. I had to make a stop on the way here.” Bree stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. One look at Alyssa’s dirty coat draped over the back of the chair made her wish she’d bought her a new one or taken that one home to wash it. “You can either stay here at the motel today with a deputy parked out front, or you can come to the station and hang out there.”

  “Will you be at the station?”

  “Some of the time. Marge will be there all day.”

  “OK. I’ll go there.” Alyssa grabbed her dirty coat. “When can I get my backpack and 4Runner back?”

  Bree had completely forgotten about the vehicle. Not that she was ready to let Alyssa go just yet, but without evidence to implicate her in a crime, she couldn’t make her stay.

  “I’ll call forensics and see where they stand on processing it,” Bree said, stalling.

  The vague answer seemed to satisfy Alyssa. She put on her coat and went out the door without looking back.

  Bree deposited Alyssa in the back seat of her SUV and climbed behind the wheel. “Are you hungry?”

  “Not really.”

  Bree glanced at Alyssa in the rearview mirror. “You can order food from the diner. They’ll deliver. Anything you want. Pancakes. Waffles. Eggs. A burger.”

  “OK.” Either Alyssa didn’t care, or she wasn’t used to eating three times a day.

  At the station, Bree left Alyssa in the conference room with a menu and went into her office.

  Marge walked in and set a cup of coffee on the desk. “Good morning.”

  “Morning. Order Alyssa whatever she wants for breakfast.” Bree sat and reached for the coffee. “What are we going to do with her all day?”

  “I’ll set her up with my iPad and she can stream movies for today, but you can’t keep her forever.”

  “I know, but I can’t just let her go. Either she’s a witness and potentially in danger, or she’s mentally ill. Either way, where would she go? It’s barely thirty degrees outside.”

  Marge toyed with the reading glasses that hung around her neck. “What about employment opportunities at the university? Maybe there’s a work-study program we could help her get into.”

  “That’s a great idea. She needs something that comes with a place to stay. It’s almost impossible to get a job without an address.”

  “Yes, and when her current driver’s license expires, she won’t be able to get a new one.”

  “You need an ID to get an ID,” Bree said.

  “Some of the homeless shelters will let their residents receive mail and use their addresses.”

  “Alyssa told me she won’t go back to a shelter.”

  Marge frowned. “I’ll think on it. Meanwhile, I’ll feed her.”

  “Thank you,” Bree said as her admin left the office.

  Marge had been with the sheriff’s department longer than anyone else in the station. If there was a way around a problem, Marge would find it.

  Todd passed Marge on his way in, a file tucked under his arm.

  “Got a few minutes?” he asked Bree.

  “Yes.” She gestured toward the door.

  Todd pushed it closed and dropped into a chair. “I ran the background check on Alyssa. Her past address, her father’s death, her eviction, all verified.” He flipped through a few pages. “Her fingerprints were in the system, so her identity is also confirmed.”

  Surprised, Bree asked, “She has a record?”

  “One arrest for shoplifting last summer. The charges were dropped, and she was released.”

  “What did she steal?”

  Todd checked his papers. “Peanut butter and bread.”

  Bree sighed. “Is that her only arrest?”

  “Yes.” He looked up. “No drug offenses. Also, she has no active social media accounts. Two years ago, she posted regularly on Instagram. But then I guess not having Wi-Fi, a computer, or electricity would hinder posting.”

  “What about her phone?”

  “She only used it to communicate with work and one other number. She said that was Harper’s. That number also appears to be a prepaid account.”

  “What is the number?” Bree picked up her phone and dialed the number Todd gave her. The call went immediately to voice mail. “The greeting is the automated one that comes with the account. I hoped to hear a female voice to at least support the existence of Harper Scott.”

  “About her. I could not find her anywhere.” Todd turned to the back of his folder. “I found a fifty-year-old doctor, a forty-two-year-old singer, and a male accountant with that name, but no nineteen-year-old Caucasian females. I tried motor vehicle records in New York, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey. There are no criminal records for Harper Scott in the tristate area.”

  Bree sat back. Her new chair squeaked.

  Todd continued. “There is a commercial cleaning company, Master Clean, based in the Meadows Industrial Complex at the intersection of Route 51 and Evergreen Road. They do not employ anyone by the name of Harper Scott or anyone who meets her general description. The office manager said they don’t have a single employee under the age of thirty. I called other local commercial cleaning companies. None of those employ a Harper Scott either.”

  “Did you search missing persons?” Bree asked.

  “I searched both wanted and missing persons records by name and physical description, in case Harper Scott isn’t her real name. I didn’t find her.” Todd paused for a breath and examined his ugly black uniform shoes. “Some of the other deputies think Alyssa made her up, that there was no shooting.”

  Rogers?

 
; Bree didn’t ask for names. She appreciated that Todd was being straight with her. Forcing him to rat out specific men would not encourage him to continue.

  “How do they explain the shell casings?”

  “They could have been planted there.” He lifted a shoulder.

  “What do you think?” Bree asked.

  “I think it’s too early to make a judgment.”

  “Good call,” Bree said. “We are still in the evidence-gathering stage. We need more facts before we start formulating real theories. Do we have anything from forensics yet?”

  “The evidence log.” Todd pulled a sheet out of his folder and handed it to Bree.

  She skimmed it.

  “There were no usable fingerprints on the bullet casings,” Todd said.

  “Damn,” Bree said. “I knew it was a long shot.” Pulling prints from spent casings was challenging due to the friction and heat applied to the bullet during the firing process. “I was hoping we’d get some luck.”

  “They didn’t have much luck pulling prints from the cabin’s interior either. Many of the prints they did recover were not good quality. Lots of smearing. They’re processing what they have, but many of the surfaces were very clean, too clean under the circumstances. The tech thought maybe they’d been wiped down with a strong cleanser.”

  The majority of fingerprints pulled from crime scenes were low quality, so this wasn’t shocking. But squatters don’t normally clean, so that was odd.

  Bree pictured the cabin’s kitchen. “There were some basic cleaning products under the sink. The cleaning rags were damp and smelled like the spray cleaner.”

  “Did the girls like cleanliness or intentionally remove their fingerprints?”

  “According to Alyssa, Harper cleans often, but we don’t know why. Please follow up with forensics.” Outdoor scenes resulted in a plethora of evidence to sort through, and Randolph County had limited resources. The techs were already overwhelmed with two large scenes to process.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Todd rose to his feet. “What about the dead guy?”

  Bree relayed the initial information from the medical examiner. “Whoever killed the victim had a lot of rage, which usually means the murder was personal. Until the ME identifies the victim, finding his killer will be difficult.”