“Let’s hope,” Ethan said, his eyes tracing the smooth line circling her neck.
The M.E. and the Ident guy circled her body, looking, searching. The assistant turned the girl on her side. Then the other side. The killer had to have left something, some sign, on her body.
There was nothing. No semen, no hair. Nothing. Ethan shook his head. He couldn’t believe it. Who was this guy who killed her? Clean dump site, clean corpse. He tried to ignore the sinking in his stomach.
“All right, let’s see if anything was left in her hair,” Dr. Guthro said encouragingly in the silence. He picked up a small black comb—it looked like the ones sold at the dollar store—and began to systematically comb through Lisa’s hair. “Ah.” Dr. Guthro used a pair of tweezers to carefully remove something. Ethan’s pulse surged. Between the pincers was a thread, about a millimeter in length. “This looks promising.”
“Right on,” Lamond breathed.
Dr. Guthro dropped it into an evidence envelope and again jotted the case, site and date.
Ethan tried to not get his hopes up. “We’ll have to rule out her clothes or her house.” He allowed a small smile. “But it could be from the kill site.”
The M.E. nodded. “We’ll send it to the forensic lab for processing.” Lisa’s hair now lay neatly combed about her head. He plucked a hair with the tweezers and placed it in another evidence envelope.
Ethan stared at Judge Carson’s daughter. “Did she fight the killer?”
Dr. Guthro shook his head slowly. “I don’t think so. I don’t see any sign of self-defense injuries. No abrasions, no cuts, no blood smears…”
Ethan frowned. Had she known her attacker? Or had she been drugged? “You will check her out for sedatives or date-rape drugs?”
“We’ll do a full screen on her,” Dr. Guthro said. “But you know as well as I do, if the killer used ecstasy on her, it won’t be in her system now.” Ecstasy was the drug of choice for rapists who wanted compliant victims, because it only lasted in the victim’s system for about twelve hours, and they often had little memory of what happened. “For now, we’ll get some swabs, see if any trace shows up.” Ethan watched him swab around her mouth and around the gaping joints where her limbs used to be, using a fresh swab each time. He hoped one of those swabs would reveal under microscope the trace evidence they couldn’t see: skin cells, semen, saliva. Something.
Dr. Guthro nodded to the assistant, who turned the body onto its side. “Lividity in the lower lumbar region and buttocks.”
“What’s lividity?” Lamond whispered.
“It’s where her blood pools,” Ethan replied impatiently. Lamond needed to get his shit together and read the manuals instead of Men’s Health. He was in homicide now.
Dr. Guthro glanced at Ethan. “She was supine when she was discovered?”
“Yes.” Ethan looked at Lisa. Fifteen-year-old private school student. Daughter of wealthy, professional parents. Resident of an upscale condominium. The ridges of her spine showed through her skin. She looked so vulnerable. He wanted to throw a blanket over her.
He crossed his arms. He needed to be objective. Not let this victim get under his skin. For some reason, the longer he worked on this unit, the harder it was getting to keep his distance. He thought he’d get desensitized. But he’d only gotten more thirsty for retribution.
The assistant put her hand on Lisa’s waist and pulled her onto her back. She took out a measuring tape and ran it along the side of the body. “Thirty-nine inches,” she called out briskly. Then she looked at the scale reading on the autopsy table. “Seventy-nine pounds.”
There was silence except for the sound of chalk scribbling. No one wanted to say what they were all thinking: in her case, these numbers didn’t mean much.
Dr. Guthro slipped a swab in her mouth. Her jaw had dropped open before rigor mortis had settled in. Ethan was relieved they wouldn’t have to break the rigor. He’d had to do it once at a funeral home to get a victim’s fingerprints, and he’d never forget the crack each bone made as he unlocked the hand. Now whenever someone cracked their knuckles, his stomach lurched.
Dr. Guthro began combing Lisa’s pubic hair with methodical thoroughness, plucking a hair and dropping it into an evidence envelope. He then picked up a long swab. Ethan forced himself to look as her genitals were examined and swabbed. He hated that invasion of her privacy. He could just imagine how a fifteen-year-old girl would feel to have all these strange men examining her. He clenched his jaw. He had to stop thinking about her feelings. She was dead. She had no feelings. He needed to focus on finding clues. Clues that would help them catch this bastard and make him pay.
He glanced at Lamond. The younger man shifted slightly on his feet. His eyes were glued to Dr. Guthro’s efficient hands. His color was getting higher by the minute. Ethan was surprised. The guy’d come from sexual assault. But he’d never had to watch a girl getting the rape kit. He’d only had to read the reports.
Just wait. It’s going to get a lot worse.
“No evidence of forced penetration in either the vaginal or anal regions,” the M.E. said. “In fact, no indication of any sexual intercourse prior to her death. The hymen is intact.”
“Intact?” Ethan started.
“Holy sh—cow,” Lamond said at the same time. Then looked sheepishly at Dr. Guthro.
“Not your typical teenage rebel,” Dr. Guthro said, a thoughtful look in his eyes.
“No.” The discovery of Lisa’s virginity unnerved Ethan. It brought to the surface all of his protective instincts. He shoved his hands in his pockets. He’d taken a hard line at any punk who’d tried to mess around with his sister. Until she’d told him to stop scaring off her boyfriends. She could handle herself, she told him.
He bet this girl thought she could, too.
He was thankful for Lisa’s sake that she had not been raped before her death, although the lack of sexual assault meant a potential source of DNA was eliminated. But it also shed some light on the killer’s profile. He—or she—was likely not a sexual predator.
Dr. Guthro peered at the raw open wounds below Lisa’s hips. He ran his finger lightly along the edges of flesh, pulling back the skin and tissue to reveal the bone. It gleamed under the large lamp.
He then looked at where her arms had been cut off. For several minutes he went back and forth between the wounds on her hips and her shoulders. “Her limbs appear to have been severed by a bone saw,” he said, his voice puzzled.
“A bone saw?”
Dr. Guthro nodded. “Yes, like this.” He held up a small handsaw. It resembled a saw Ethan had in his shed.
“How easy is it for someone to get a hold of one of those?” Ethan asked.
Dr. Guthro pursed his mouth. “Not too difficult, I would think. They are found in any hospital. It wouldn’t take much to steal one.” Dr. Guthro pulled the skin back on one of the hip sockets. “But it wouldn’t have been used by just anybody. See this—” he pointed to the smooth bone beneath the pink tissue “—this is a very clean cut. It was done by someone who knew how to dissect a joint.”
Ethan stared at the M.E. “You mean like a doctor?”
Dr. Guthro nodded. “Yes. Or someone who is familiar with anatomy.”
He turned to Lisa’s right shoulder. “There is one finding that is unusual. See this cut here?” He pointed to the joint.
At first glance it looked as smooth as the other cuts. But as Ethan studied it, he could see a small marking on the bone. “Is that from the teeth of the saw?”
Dr. Guthro picked up a magnifying glass and held it over the bone.
Ethan leaned forward to peer through it. “It looks like two lines with a circle in between.” Ethan studied it for a moment longer, his gaze becoming incredulous. “Those aren’t geometric shapes. Those are letters.”
Dr. Guthro’s fingers traced the small lines and curves engraved on the bone. “I think you are right. This one looks like an L.”
“And the next one is an O,�
� Ethan said.
“And another L,” said Dr. Guthro.
“LOL.”
“His initials?” Lamond asked.
“Could be. Or it could be an abbreviation for something.”
There was silence. Then Ethan’s eyes met Lamond’s. “LOL. Laugh Out Loud.”
“Jesus,” Lamond murmured.
“So the killer left us a message,” Ethan said. “A definite fuck you if I ever saw one.” The back of his neck tingled. This was no ordinary killer. Lisa MacAdam had not been killed in a fit of rage, or as a result of enflamed passion. She had been killed and dismembered in a clinical, dispassionate manner.
There was a psychological profile for a killer like that.
Psychopath.
“How did the killer make the marking?” he asked Dr. Guthro.
“It appears that he used a scalpel.” Dr. Guthro contemplated the bone. He pulled down his face shield. “Let’s see what the internal examination tells us.”
The assistant lifted Lisa’s body slightly off the table and slid a rubber brick under her back. Dr. Guthro cut a large Y incision on her torso. A rotting, sweet smell added a new foulness to the air. Ethan’s stomach churned. He had seen this procedure many times, but it still wasn’t pleasant.
Lamond stepped back a little. Ethan noted he had moved closer to the garbage can.
Lisa’s ribs were snapped with brutal efficiency by Dr. Guthro, and then the examination of her chest wall and abdomen began. Ethan watched silently as Dr. Guthro inserted a hypodermic needle in one of the veins below her clavicle. “Won’t even bother with the groin,” he muttered to himself. “Not much blood left.” He extracted a small amount for the toxicology tests and the DNA standard they would use to confirm Lisa’s identity—as well as rule out the victim’s trace evidence against other trace evidence that might show up on or in her body—and sliced through the rest of the veins and arteries, removing her heart and putting it on a scale. Then he removed her lungs—“Doesn’t look like she was a smoker”—and began to work on her abdominal organs.
When her stomach was sliced open, Ethan braced himself. The smell was awful. He glanced at Lamond. His face was pale and screwed into an expression that in normal circumstances would have made Ethan grin.
“It would appear from the gastric contents that her last meal was ingested at approximately 6:00 p.m.,” Dr. Guthro said. He eyed the soupy mess. “Looks like hamburger and fries.”
That did it for Lamond. Ethan bit back a smile. Lamond was addicted to fast food. Ethan didn’t know how he managed to stay in shape. Watching Lamond hurry out the door, his shoulders hunched, Ethan wondered if this would cure him of his habit.
“Nothing unusual in here,” Dr. Guthro said, ignoring the detective’s hasty departure. His hands worked methodically in the girl’s abdominal cavity. “No sign of internal injuries. No sign of drug overdose.” He removed the rest of her organs. A cavity remained, reminding Ethan of the carapace of a lobster.
Dr. Guthro sliced a long vertical line through her neck and peeled back the skin. “The hyoid bone is crushed. Supports strangulation as cause of death.” He glanced at Ethan. “But just in case, we’ll check the brain for signs of trauma.”
The assistant moved the block and slid it under Lisa’s skull. Dr. Guthro stood behind the girl’s head and deftly sliced her scalp from one ear to the other. He lifted the top flap of skin and pulled it down over her face, exposing her skull. Ethan forced himself to detach. Do not think of this as a living, breathing teenage girl who was a daughter, a granddaughter. She is a victim. Despite his efforts, his jaw clenched when Lisa’s hair flopped onto her features like a Halloween mask.
The whirr of the Stryker saw drew Ethan’s eyes away from her face. Dr. Guthro cut a “cap” in the bone and pulled it from her skull. Her brain was exposed. “No sign of subdural hemorrhage.”
He severed her brain from the spinal cord and pulled it out, making a sucking sound that Ethan could never describe but would never forget. Dr. Guthro placed the organ on the scale and left the assistant to record the data.
He stepped around the table to stand next to Ethan and lifted his face shield. “We’re done for now. We’ll send the toxicology request stat. We should have the results by tomorrow morning at the latest.”
Ethan picked up his briefcase. He longed to get some fresh air. “Thank you, doctor.”
“You are welcome. I hope we come up with something.”
Ethan nodded. “So do I.” He walked toward the door. While he was removing his scrub gown, he glanced one final time at the autopsy table, now bloody. The assistant was placing the organs back into Lisa’s abdominal cavity. Dr. Guthro threaded a needle.
Ethan watched him for a moment. It was the assistant’s job to put the body back together. But Dr. Guthro never let them. He always did it himself, stitching the flaps closed as carefully as he cut them open.
Lamond leaned against the wall outside the autopsy suite. He managed a sheepish grin. “Sorry ’bout that. Won’t happen again.”
“I’m sure it won’t,” Ethan said. He slapped Lamond on the back. “Come on, let’s get some supper. There’s a hamburger joint on the way.”
Chapter 13
Ethan glanced at his watch as he pulled into the station. It was 9:08 p.m. Acid burned in his gut. He shouldn’t have baited Lamond about the fast food. Now he was paying the price.
As soon as they got to the war room, Redding hurried over. “Drake, Lamond, the victim’s grandmother, Mrs. MacAdam, is waiting to talk to you. She’s been here about an hour.” He paused. “She’s been crying ever since.”
“Where is she?” Lamond asked, squaring his shoulders for the second time that day. First Judge Carson, now Lisa’s grandmother. It had been a long day.
“In the soft interview room.” The soft interview room was reserved for families and children. It had upholstered furniture and a coffee table as opposed to the hard interview room, which was furnished with upright chairs and no table. The interviewer didn’t want a barrier when interrogating a suspect.
“Look, Lamond, I know you are the liaison, but I think I should take this one. There are some things Judge Carson told me that I need to corroborate with Lisa’s grandmother.” Lamond hesitated. His desire to prove himself was written all over his face. But Ethan needed to interview Mrs. MacAdam. There was no point in both of them sitting there. There were too many leads to follow up. “In the meantime, get in touch with Mr. MacAdam and any other relatives who might have information.”
Lamond nodded. “Right.”
Ethan quietly rapped on the door to the interview room, and walked in. Mrs. MacAdam sat slumped on the sofa. A box of tissues and an untouched cup of tea sat on the low table in front of her.
Ethan walked toward her and held out his hand. “Mrs. MacAdam, I am Detective Drake.”
She shook his hand. Her fingers were icy and limp.
Ethan lowered himself to the armchair opposite her. “Mrs. MacAdam, your granddaughter has been the victim of a terrible crime.” She nodded, her eyes welling with fresh tears. He added quickly, “I realize this is a very painful time for you, but I ask that you do your best to answer my questions so we can catch the person who did this to her.”
Marian MacAdam cleared her throat. “Of course.” Her voice was firmer than he expected.
He began his round of background questions. All of her answers corroborated with Judge Carson’s. It seemed that Lisa was free to do whatever she wanted most of the time. Mrs. MacAdam tried to keep tabs on her by inviting her over after school and staying for dinner.
“But I couldn’t do that every day. I had other commitments…” She flushed. “You know, other friends, bridge club, this and that. Besides, I couldn’t insist she come every day. Her mother has custody. That’s why…” She stopped abruptly.
“Why…?” he prompted. The back of his neck tingled.
She pursed her mouth. “You are going to find out, anyway. I was getting worried about Lisa. S
he had become erratic, wouldn’t show up on the times I was supposed to see her, and—” she glanced down at her clasped hands “—and I think she had stolen some money from me.”
“To buy drugs?”
The bluntness of his question seemed to both surprise and reassure her. “Yes.” Her shoulders relaxed. “Lisa had been using drugs for a couple of years, on and off, since the time her parents separated. But I thought she had stopped. Then a few months ago, she seemed to be picking up all her bad habits again.”
“Do you know why?”
Mrs. MacAdam shook her head. “No. She could be a moody girl. She got into that alternative stuff, you know, dyeing her hair and getting a tattoo…”
Ethan leaned forward. “A tattoo? Where?”
“On her ankle.” Mrs. MacAdam shook her head. “She lied about her age at the tattoo parlor, and they never asked for ID. I had warned Lisa she could get some terrible diseases, but she didn’t listen. You know what teenagers are like. They think they are immortal.” Her eyes suddenly welled up with tears.
“What did the tattoo look like?”
“It was a cartoon. Of a dog.” Her lip quivered. “She had a nickname for it. Rufus.” She blinked rapidly a few times.
Ethan didn’t want her dissolving on him. He changed the subject. “Did you ever give her pocket money?”
“No. Her mother did, though.”
Ethan stopped writing and looked at Mrs. MacAdam. Judge Carson had told him that Mrs. MacAdam was giving Lisa money. Who was telling the truth? And why would one of them lie about it?
Mrs. MacAdam threaded a handkerchief between her fingers. “I kept telling Hope not to, that Lisa would buy drugs, but she wouldn’t listen. She told me that she had to give Lisa money to buy her meals.” She leaned forward on her elbows. “Look, Detective, I’ll be frank with you. I wasn’t very involved in Lisa’s life when she was young, but when Robert left the marriage, I felt I needed to step in. She never had a home-cooked meal unless she came to my house. It became apparent to me that unless she lived with me, no one would look after her.”
[Kate Lange 01.0] Damaged Page 9
