by Elle Gray
“Jesus,” Astra whispers. “Whoever did this really worked her over.”
I nod. “Yeah.”
The young woman’s body is covered in cuts and punctures. Her skin is bruised and mottled in places, and I count at least twenty strange markings on her breasts and stomach. Deep purple bruises form a ring around her neck.
“Her eyes show petechiae,” Astra says, peering closely at the girl’s face. “Combine that with those bruises around her neck and I’d say we’ve got a strangler on our hands.”
“And judging by the amount of damage he did to her body, I’d say we’re dealing with a sadist as well,” I say, pointing to the points of puckered flesh on her chest and neck. “What do you think those are? Cigarette burns, maybe?”
Astra nods. “That’d be my guess. Sadistic bastard.”
A man I’d guess to be in his mid-thirties takes a knee next to us. He’s got smooth, dark skin, dark hair that’s cut almost military short, and warm, caramel-colored eyes. He’s wearing the blue coveralls of the medical examiner’s office and has a friendly smile on his face.
“Eric Young,” he introduces himself, his voice carrying a slight Southern twang to it. “Crime scene tech extraordinaire.”
I give him a grin. “Blake Wilder and Astra Russo, FBI.”
“Feds, huh? And what’s so interestin’ that it brought the big, bad Feds out to our humble little crime scene?”
“Maybe we just enjoy looking at bodies,” Astra replies with a shrug.
Eric laughs and shakes his head. “Dark, Agent Russo. You got one dark sense of humor.”
“You have to have an appreciation for gallows humor in our line of work,” she points out.
“True enough,” he replies. “True enough.”
“Do you have an estimated time of death?” I ask.
He shrugs. “She’s been in the water a while, and it was cold last night,” he responds. “That’s gonna play hob with the TOD.”
I frown and nod, but I expected the answer. Exposing a body to the elements, not to mention putting it in water, makes getting an accurate reading on temperature and other indicators next to impossible. Not to mention the fact that putting a body in water is going to wash away any trace evidence.
“What are you thinking?” Astra asks me. “Forensic countermeasure?”
“Could be,” I reply, then turn to Eric. “I know the water did a number on her, but I’m hoping you somehow got lucky as far as trace evidence goes?”
He shakes his head. “Oh-for-two. Hopin’ to see if we can find anything back at the lab, but don’t hold your breath on that.”
I look down at the body and point to the abrasions and bruising on her inner and outer thighs. “Looks like she might’ve been sexually assaulted.”
“ME’s going to have to determine that, but I’d go out on a limb and say you’re right.”
“Do we have an ID on her?”
Eric nods. “We found her purse tossed over there in the bushes. Name’s Summer Kennedy. Nineteen years old and a student at U-Dub,” he says. “And before you ask, we dusted it for prints and got nothing.”
“So, our killer is meticulous,” Astra says. “But why leave her bag in the bushes?”
“Because he didn’t care,” I reply. “He knew he didn’t leave any prints and knew the water would wash away any trace. Our guy is good.”
“Creepily good,” Eric adds.
“Makes it seem like this isn’t his first rodeo, don’t you think?” Astra asks.
“Could be,” I respond. “Could also be that he’s watched a lot of crime TV. Cart before the horse.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know,” Astra replies with a smile. “I’ll try to keep them in the right order.”
“Agents Wilder and Russo.”
I get to my feet as Detective TJ Lee walks over to us. He doesn’t look hostile exactly, but he doesn’t look exceptionally warm or friendly either. Astra gives me a sly smile and a wink, then she and Eric stand and walk off a little ways, engaging in a quiet conversation with him to give Lee and me a little privacy.
“Detective Lee. It’s nice to see you again,” I greet him.
“You too,” he replies. “Though, I’m curious as to what you’re doing on my crime scene.”
“We got a tip that you had a body. We just wanted to come down and see what was happening. That’s all.”
“A tip, huh?”
I nod. “We do get those from time to time.”
He frowns. “So, what is this? You have no faith in us lowly city cops? Feel like you have to come down and babysit us?”
I laugh softly and bite back the reply that’s on the tip of my tongue. The truth is, I have plenty of faith in some of the cops that fill out the ranks of the SPD. Emphasis, some. In particular, what I don’t have faith in is the SPD brass. They go out of their way to complicate things. To hide things—especially from the public. They obfuscate and misdirect rather than operate with any sort of transparency.
If the SPD brass put as much effort into working with the public and keeping them informed as they do into their own little Machiavellian schemes, I have little doubt Seattle would be one of the safest cities in the nation.
That has an unfortunate trickle-down effect on the men and woman on the front lines—people like Detective Lee. Personally, I think he’s a first-rate detective. More than that, he cares about this city and the people in it. Lee is a guy who eats, sleeps, and breathes his oath. He does his job, and he does it well. But he’s always been held back from doing even more because of the department’s petty politics.
“It’s no reflection on you, Detective Lee. I’d hope you’d know me well enough by now to know I have the utmost respect for you and the work you do,” I say.
He purses his lips and nods, then looks down at the ground for a moment, seeming to be gathering himself. He raises his head again and his expression seems to be slightly less frosty.
“So, what are you really doing down here then?” he asks.
“My tipster said that the brass—meaning Deputy Chief Torres—was bending over backward to drop the curtain on this scene,” I tell him. “And if Torres is going out of his way to hide something, that never fails to make me curious. Always makes me want to take a peek and see what’s behind the curtain.”
Lee chuckles to himself and runs a hand through his short black hair. “I suppose that’s fair,” he acknowledges. “But you have to know that word of you being here is going to get back to him.”
I shrug. “Let it. I couldn’t possibly care less about what Torres thinks. I don’t play politics. My only interest is in finding out who killed this girl,” I say. “And I’m pretty sure that’s all you care about too.”
He pauses for just a moment and then nods. “Yeah. That’s true.”
We stand together, staring down at the body of Summer Kennedy, the silence marked by the solemn weight of the moment pressing down on us. It’s never easy to find the body of a murder victim. But it’s even more difficult—at least for me—when that victim isn’t really even an adult yet. When they’re as young as this girl, with her whole life stretched out before her. Who knows what she could have done? Who she might have become? She could have been destined for great and world-changing things.
But now, her only destiny is a box in the dirt. Everything she could have done, everything she could have been—gone. Snuffed out. And for what? It’s a tragedy. Such a waste of life and promise. Honestly, it infuriates me. Every case we take on upsets me. But the murder of a younger person who’s only just beginning their life sends me into a deeper, darker rage.
“You know why Torres wants a gag on this?” I ask.
Lee shakes his head. “No idea. You know how the Deputy Chief is,” he says. “He always wants to keep the bad stuff out of the news and portray the city as a safe, fantasy world where crime doesn’t happen.”
“Which of course, only ensures that more crime will happen.”
“Exactly,” Lee nods. “B
ut he knows how to play the game. Knows how to navigate those waters and keep himself clean. Torres knows how to insulate himself from any blowback.”
“It’s going to catch up with him someday. Don’t lose heart. That wheel will come around,” I tell him. “In the meantime, just keep doing your thing. It’s guys like you who do the actual work to help make the city safe.”
I have no doubt that Lee will keep doing his job until his dying breath. It’s just who he is. Being good police is in his blood. But I can see the toll the job and dealing with people like Torres is having on him. Lee is looking a little more run-down than the last time I saw him. I hate to see it, because Lee is a passionate, talented investigator.
Seattle could use more of him and less of people like Torres. And I silently vow to do my part to shine a bright light on that fact.
Three
King County Medical Examiner’s Office; Seattle, WA
“So, what are we doing here this early in the morning?” Astra asks.
“I thought we’d have a chat with Rebekah before the powers that be get in.”
“Ahhh. Subverting local law enforcement again, are we?”
“Seemed like a nice way to start the day.”
She laughed softly. “I couldn’t possibly agree more.”
Astra and I are at the King County ME’s office, the day after the police pulled Summer Kennedy out of the pond. Even though Detective Lee and I are playing nice with each other, I don’t expect that he’s going to share information with me. Which means I need to do the digging on my own. I check in at the front counter and ask the receptionist behind the bulletproof window to page Dr. Shafer for me.
“You’ve got that dog with a bone look in your eye,” Astra remarks.
“Do I?”
She nods. “You do. I’ve seen it enough to know what it looks like,” she says. “But how do you know this wasn’t just a one-off murder and is something we should be interested in?”
“Oh, are we not interested in catching murderers now?”
She laughs. “Of course, we are. But you usually only get that special gleam in your eye when you’re thinking there’s something big brewing.”
“In my experience, sexual sadists rarely stop at one,” I say. “It’s like that potato chip commercial—you can’t have just one, or something like that?”
“You did not just say that,” she groans. “Now I will forever associate my favorite honey barbecue potato chip with murder. Thanks for that.”
“You’re welcome,” I reply, flashing her a grin. “But on a serious note, the brazenness of the murder makes me think there are others out there. The fact that he didn’t really take care to hide her personal effects and take forensic countermeasures makes me think this is something worth keeping an eye on.”
“Careful. You’re coming very close to putting the cart before the horse there yourself, boss.”
“Just doing my due diligence.”
The double doors that lead to the lab area open with a pneumatic hiss and my old college roommate and best friend steps out. Rebekah Shafer is a spritely five-foot-three with fair skin, brown eyes, and rust-colored hair done in a pixie cut. She’s always been a fireball and a bottomless well of energy. Her smile is wide open, warm, and totally infectious. That’s been her personality since our college days.
“How are you doin’, babe?” she asks.
“Good. I’m good, thanks. And yourself?”
“Underpaid and overworked,” she replies. “The usual.”
“I hear that,” I say. “You remember my partner, Astra?”
“Yeah, of course. Nice to see you again, Agent Russo.”
“Just call me Astra.”
“Will do,” she chirps, then turns to me. “And I assume the fact that you’re holding a cup from Starbucks and a bag of donuts from my favorite place that you’re here to pump me for information that I’m not supposed to be sharing.”
“And this is why I love you, Beks,” I chuckle. “You actually are the brightest crayon in the box.”
She laughs and nods to the receptionist who opens the doors for us. We walk through and follow Rebekah through the labyrinth of corridors, finally coming to her office, which seems to be a reflection of her personality. It’s all done up in bright colors with a bookcase full of kitschy knick-knacks and photos of her and some of her friends in various places, all of them with wide smiles on their faces. It’s not like the offices of some of the other ME’s I’ve dealt with over the years. Most of them seem to embrace the dull, lifeless atmosphere of a morgue. Not Rebekah though. She’s far too vivacious for all that.
Rebekah ushers us inside and I set the bag of donuts and coffee down on her desk. She drops down into her chair as Astra and I take the seats across from her. Rebekah takes a sip of her coffee, then opens the bag and peers inside, a wide smile crossing her face almost instantly.
“They’re still warm,” she says as she pulls an apple fritter out of the bag.
She takes a bite, and the groan of pleasure that escapes her is positively obscene. But then she wipes her mouth with a paper napkin and smiles.
“You know exactly how to butter a girl up,” she says.
“We do our best.”
“So, which body are you wanting to take a look at today?” she asks.
“Summer Kennedy,” I reply.
“Of course, you are,” she replies. “The one body the SPD put a gag order on. Just one of these times, I’d love it if you asked me to see a body that doesn’t risk my job to show you.”
“That doesn’t sound like the Beks I know and love. Where’s the fun and adventure in that?” I reply with a laugh.
“A gag order?” Astra asks.
She nods. “No information to any news outlet who comes calling,” she tells us. “Or to anybody else, for that matter. I have to assume that’s probably aimed at you.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me,” I shrug.
“Can’t take this one anywhere,” Astra cracks.
“Don’t I know it,” Beks says with a laugh. “Well, come on then. I’m assuming you timed your visit so we didn’t run into any of my bosses, so let’s not waste the time.”
We all get to our feet and Rebekah leads me out of her office and down a long corridor to the autopsy suites. She looks around furtively before opening the doors and letting us in. We follow Rebekah over to the bank of refrigerated trays, the stainless steel gleaming dully in the fluorescent lights overhead. She checks the tags on the doors and finds the one she was looking for and pops it open. Reaching inside, she grabs the handle on the tray and pulls it out.
The body is covered by a blue sheet that Rebekah pulls back to reveal the body of Summer Kennedy. She pulls it down to just above the breast line, revealing the top of the Y incision left behind by the autopsy. Her face is pale and her skin is waxy. In death, the bruises around her neck stand out even more than they did at the scene yesterday.
“I’m guessing the cause of death was manual strangulation,” I start.
“A cookie for you,” Rebekah replies.
“What else can you tell us?” Astra asks.
“I didn’t actually do the autopsy, so give me just a sec,” she says.
Rebekah goes over to the desk in the corner and flips through the charts hanging on the wall. As she does that, I look down at Summer’s face and feel a pang of pity. She was just nineteen years old and had her entire life ahead of her. She was far too young to have had her life snuffed out.
Beks and I were her age when we first met. Some of those memories come flooding back as I stare down at Summer’s face; they really don’t seem so long ago.
“All right, it appears she was sexually assaulted and tortured. We found no fluids though, so our perp either used a condom or the water she was dumped in washed it away. We can’t determine that at this point. And wow, this guy really gave her a beating,” Rebekah mutters as she flips through her chart. “There are over two dozen cigarette burns. Multiple cuts and pun
ctures. She had three cracked ribs and took a hell of a beating, though only on her body. Strangely enough, your unsub didn’t hit her in the face.”
“Wanted to keep her pretty,” Astra notes. “Just like Gary Suban.”
I nod. The similarity to a case we handled a few weeks ago, where a serial killer would assault and murder young women, then make up their face to preserve their beauty, isn’t lost on me.
“Sadistic prick,” Rebekah adds. “Anyway, abrasions on the wrists and ankles suggest she was restrained while she was getting worked over.”
“Do we have the tox screen yet?” I ask.
Rebekah shakes her head. “Unfortunately, we aren’t going to have those back for a while,” she says. “The lab has a major backlog of cases they’re trying to get through. Not even I can cut that line.”
“That sucks,” Astra sighs.
“Have any other cases come through recently that match this one?” I ask.
Rebekah shakes her head. “None that come to mind. But we’re a pretty big office, so I don’t know every case that comes through,” she replies. “I can take a look through the files to see, if you’d like?”
I shake my head. “No, don’t worry about it. But thanks,” I tell her. “We can look into it.”
“Blake is bored and needs a serial killer to chase,” Astra quips.
“She does that sometimes, doesn’t she?” Rebekah says with a grin.
Astra nods. “Yes, she does.”
“You guys are hilarious,” I remark dryly. “Like I said, I’m doing my due diligence. Sexual sadists—”
“You’re not going to try to ruin my favorite chips again with that horrible metaphor, are you?” Astra responds.
“Well, not now.”
“Chips?” Rebekah asks.
I shake my head and smile. “Forget it. It’s just Astra being Astra.”
“Guilty as charged,” Astra says.
“Think you can slip us the tox screen results when you get them?” I ask.
