The River Girls

by Melinda Woodhall

  “Mornin’, Maddie. Awful hot out there today,” Nessa said, the lingering warmth of the June sun on her skin starting to fade as the heavy, frigid air inside the building surrounded her. “Iris should be expecting me.”

  Maddie nodded and heaved herself out of the chair. “I’ll let the chief know you’re here.”

  As Maddie shuffled away, Nessa wrinkled her nose against an unpleasant smell hanging in the air: an underlying hint of decomposition mixed with pineapple air freshener. She tried to breathe through her mouth as she waited for Maddie Simpson to return.

  Maddie had worked for the city for close to thirty years, recently moving to the Medical Examiner’s Office after a ten-year stint clerking at the county courthouse. Nessa knew from experience that she wasn’t the type to hurry.

  Her stomach clenched, and Nessa wondered if the upset was a reaction to what she had seen that morning by the river, or dread of what she was about to see in the rooms beyond. Her phone vibrated in her suit pocket just as Maddie’s round face reappeared in the window.

  “Iris is ready for you, Detective. She’s still in the autopsy room, so you’ll need to suit up. You know where to go?”

  Maddie was already settling back into her chair, sipping muddy-brown liquid from a Styrofoam coffee cup, as Nessa ignored the incessant buzzing of her phone and headed toward the door marked, Restricted – Authorized Personnel Only.

  The bitter aroma of Maddie’s coffee rose to mingle with the smell of decay and air freshener as Nessa slipped through the door and let it close behind her.

  The last time she’d had reason to visit the autopsy room had been close to six months ago when a father and his six-year old son had discovered the remains of a body in the Willow River. It had been an unusually chilly January morning, and Nessa had been the first detective to arrive at the scene, her nervous breath coming quickly, fragile white clouds of condensation proceeding her as she approach the water’s edge.

  She’d found the responding uniformed officers shaken and pale, stunned by their first exposure to skeletonized remains, and she’d quickly taken control, helping them cordon off the area and coordinating efforts with the four officers that made up Willow Bay’s only dedicated crime scene unit.

  Pete Barker had eventually pulled up to the scene in an unmarked police car, the department’s standard, a black Dodge Charger, and they’d stayed at the scene until Iris Nguyen, Willow Bay’s Chief Medical Examiner, arrived to examine the body in situ.

  Hours later, they’d watched as an unmarked white van pulled away from the river bank, its generic exterior concealing the horror of the desecrated remains within. And she and Barker had been in the autopsy room that evening when Iris had tentatively identified the body as that of Tiffany Clarke. That day had been one of the longest of her life, and one she had never been able to forget.

  Nessa felt a sense of déjà vu as she donned the protective clothing and pushed open the door to the autopsy suite. The unmistakable smell of death rushed to greet her.

  Is this really happening again?

  “Oh, Nessa, good morning, I’ll be right with you,” Iris called from across the room, where she stood talking to a tall, broad shouldered forensic technician.

  Her voice was muffled by the protective mask she wore, but her friendly greeting acted as a balm on Nessa’s frazzled nerves. Nessa didn’t like to be around death. That was one of the reasons she’d accepted the job in Willow Bay after seven years on the force in Atlanta.

  As a young uniformed officer, she’d seen too much blood, dealt with too much violence, but then, after she’d made detective, it had gotten much worse. Within weeks of her promotion, she’d been assigned to a task force investigating the homicides of two young women that seemed to be connected.

  Both victims were in their early twenties, attended the same community college and lived alone near campus. They had both been attacked in their own beds in the middle of the night with no sign of forced entry. They’d both been beaten and raped, before being strangled.

  Nessa had been sure that the profiles were too similar not to be connected. But, in the end, they’d discovered the murders had been committed by two different killers. Somehow the knowledge that there were two different men capable of such sadistic acts operating in the same city, at the same time, had shocked her to her core. How many killers were out there prowling the city streets, just waiting to strike?

  She had never been able to detach herself from the horror of each new murder, never been able to forget the image of each tragic body she’d recovered. The dead haunted her dreams. So, when she’d gotten the opportunity to move to Willow Bay, she had jumped at the chance, hoping a smaller town would mean less crime.

  She’d wanted a safe place to raise Cole and Cooper. Now, looking at the small, naked body on the metal examination table in front of Iris, Nessa had to accept that, even here in Willow Bay, she hadn’t escaped the specter of death, or the monsters that lurked in the shadows.

  “Nessa?” Iris Nguyen’s gentle voice pulled Nessa back into the present. She’d removed the face mask and was looking up at Nessa with inquisitive brown eyes.

  “Sorry to make you wait. I was writing up the toxicology request, but Wesley can finish it from here.”

  Nessa smiled at the young man dressed in protective gear, his hair covered by a blue paper cap. He’d been down at the river’s edge with Iris early that morning, and Nessa had been impressed with his quick, professional handling of the body. He’d kept his composure for such a young man.

  “Hey, Wesley, how’s it going? You ever get that cup of coffee you were looking for?” Nessa called over, knowing her stomach would never let her digest anything within the walls of the autopsy suite.

  Wesley waved a gloved hand at her and grimaced. “I wish that was all it’d take to wake me up. I’m dragging, and I still got tons to do.”

  Iris cleared her throat. “I’m all yours now, Nessa…if you have time.”

  “Of course, I have time. Although I sure didn’t think I’d be back here so soon…and for another body pulled out of the river.” Nessa rubbed the back of her neck, averting her eyes from the sight of the brawny forensic technician packaging up specimen containers and vials. She felt a headache coming on, and the cloying smells in the room weren’t helping.

  “Yes, that’s right, it’s only been six months since you and Detective Barker were here to view the Clarke autopsy. How is Detective Barker doing?” Iris asked.

  “He’s a tough one; he’ll pull through. Not back on the job yet, though,” Nessa replied, glad to have an excuse to look away from the small body on the table. She pulled out her little recorder.

  “You mind if I record our conversation? I don’t wanna miss any of the details.”

  “No problem,” Iris agreed, stepping away from the examination table and moving toward a standing desk situated in the corner of the room.

  “Let’s review the findings so far over here. I remember from last time…you don’t like to be too close to the body.”

  “Well my goodness, does anyone?” Nessa exclaimed, before she could help herself. “I mean, well, I can handle it if I have to, but I’d rather not.”

  Iris smiled and shrugged her narrow shoulders. “I think it can be pretty interesting, actually. But I guess most people feel the way you do. No shame in that.”

  But Nessa was ashamed; she felt that after all these years she should have grown a thicker skin, but she’d come to realize that there was nothing she could do to change the way she reacted to death.

  She knew the pitiful remains she’d seen that morning would haunt her dreams, like all the others. When she closed her eyes tonight she would still see the shimmer of the sun on the water and hear the vibrating buzz of the cicadas that had added a surreal twist to the morning’s crime scene.

  “Any progress in identifying the victim?” Iris asked, her eyebrows lifting in hope. “I took prints but as far as I know nothing came back.”

  “No, nothing
at the scene to suggest who she is, but we did get reports on two missing girls that meet her basic description. We’ll be asking the folks that filed the reports to come in and see if they can make an identification. Should be here later this afternoon.”

  Iris nodded and sighed, obviously not relishing the idea of arranging a viewing for two distraught relatives.

  “Okay, I’ll ask Wesley to make the arrangements as soon as we’re done here.”

  “So, what have you found?” Nessa asked. “Is there a clear cause of death? Call it a hunch, but I’m guessing it wasn’t an accidental drowning?”

  A frown creased the brow of the diminutive forensic pathologist.

  “No, my findings are inconsistent with drowning. The pattern of contusions and abrasions around her neck were caused by some type of ligature. I’m still writing up the details, but I’d say it’s clearly a homicide by ligature strangulation.”

  Nessa recoiled at the image the words invoked. She tried to calm her mind. “Was the hyoid bone broken?”

  “Well, no, the hyoid wasn’t fractured, but it often isn't with ligature strangulations,” Iris said, seeming to find the question interesting.

  “A broken hyoid bone more often results from manual strangulation. But I did observe petechia in the eyes, which corroborates the strangulation theory.”

  Nessa had seen the tiny red spots in the eyes of other strangulation victims, and knew they were a sign of broken blood vessels. She tried to hide her involuntary wince at the vision Iris’ words conjured by dropping her head to check the status of her little recorder.

  “Luckily this Jane Doe hadn’t been in the water long enough to attract many fish or turtles yet,” Iris continued. “But she’s probably been submerged at least two or three days based on the condition of the body.”

  Nessa mulled over the information, not surprised that the timing Iris had calculated meant that the Jane Doe could very well be one of the two girls reported missing.

  “The girl had obviously been an intravenous drug user, although from the track marks I’d say that her habit started recently.” Iris looked down at her notes.

  “She hadn’t sustained any serious damage to the veins in her arms yet, and I don’t see signs that she had moved on to injecting into other veins.”

  Nessa’s head reflexively turned to look at the small figure on the table. Her eyes rested on the stiff, white feet, the toes still bearing traces of pink toenail polish.

  What had the poor girl gotten involved with? What, or who, had driven her to stick drug-filled needles in her arm?

  “Of course, we won’t know what she had in her system for sure until the toxicology reports come back from the state lab,” Iris said, tucking a wayward strand of dark, shiny hair behind her ear.

  “However, whatever she may have taken or injected, I don’t believe it was a direct cause of death.”

  "If this does ever go to court, you can bet some defense attorney is going to imply it was an accidental overdose," Nessa murmured, speaking more to herself than to Iris.

  “Well, the cause of death will be recorded as homicide by ligature strangulation on the death certificate, unless the toxicology report comes back with a big surprise.” Iris raised her eyebrows in concern as she looked up.

  “Are you okay, Nessa? Do you need to take a break?”

  “No, I’m fine.” Nessa cleared her throat and wished she’d remembered to bring her water bottle.

  Now that the summer heat had settled in, she’d been trying to drink more water, had started carrying an enormous refillable bottle to work with her, but had forgotten it this morning in her rush to arrive at the scene before the reporters or gawkers.

  “There are also bruises and lacerations that are indicators of physical and sexual abuse, although I found no semen or other biological evidence during my examination that could be linked to the perpetrator.” Iris’ voice betrayed her disappointment.

  “The body was emerged in river water, which is fairly warm and acidic, so any biological or trace evidence on the outside of the body was likely lost in the river.”

  “You think this homicide could be linked to the Tiffany Clarke case?” Nessa finally asked the question that had nagged at her since she’d seen the small, battered body on the river bank that morning. She didn’t want to turn the case over to Ortiz and Ingram, but if the cases were connected, she’d have no choice.

  “Yes, I think it's possible,” Iris said, no hesitation in her soft voice. “The cause of death for both girls appears to be the same, and both were found in the same river.”

  Nessa nodded and felt her already dry throat tighten as Iris seemed to confirm her worst fears. The tests on Tiffany Clarke’s remains had indicated that her body was first submerged in the one of many tributaries that fed into the Willow River.

  The dark water initially concealed the decomposing remains until the slow-moving currents finally carried them into the larger river, where they had been caught in the rush near the shore.

  “Right, and the killer targeted victims with a similar profile: white, teenage girls, both blondes,” Nessa added, her voice tense as anger started to simmer in her chest at the thought of the person who had chosen the girls.

  What kind of monster had dumped the bodies of the two young girls into the river for the fish and turtles to eat?

  Iris held up a hand of caution. “Of course, there had been an extended amount of time between the deaths - almost three years – which could indicate the murders may be completely unrelated.”

  Nessa paused, before nodding in agreement. “It sure does seem like they had very different life styles. Tiffany was an honor student in a good home, with no history of drug use. This Jane Doe is obviously a victim of abuse with visible track marks. I don’t imagine they moved in the same social circles.”

  “No, I don’t imagine so.” Iris offered up a pained smile. “Wesley grew up in Willow Bay and knew the Clarke family. He was torn up when we identified Tiffany’s remains last winter. He said she had been a good kid, always involved in the community.”

  Iris put a hand on Nessa’s arm. “Best to be cautious and not jump to any conclusions. We’d have to be very sure to verify a link before announcing a serial killer may be operating in Willow Bay.”

  “Absolutely,” Nessa agreed, not ready to call in Ortiz and Ingram just yet.

  She was anxious to head back to the crime scene to help with the canvassing. She also wanted to stop by and see Barker. Maybe the thought of catching a killer would motivate him to heal faster. She pressed the button to stop the recorder and pulled out a folder.

  “Eden Winthrop and Leo Steele are the folks I mentioned earlier. They’ll be coming by later to try to identify the remains. As you’ll see in these reports, they both reported a different teenage girl missing two days ago.”

  Iris accepted the folder, her sad brown eyes silently acknowledging what they both knew: one of the girls reported missing was very likely the girl on the table behind them.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  As Nessa left the Medical Examiner’s Office, she fell into step behind a man walking toward the police station’s parking garage. His faded blue jeans, black t-shirt and scruffy boots helped him blend in with the other pedestrians on the sidewalk, but Nessa recognized the long, confident stride of Kirk Reinhardt.

  Now in his fifties, Reinhardt had started his career with the WBPD as a uniformed patrol officer. He’d worked his way onto the city’s Major Crimes Unit, before being promoted up to the rank of Lieutenant, reporting directly to the chief of police. But after a few years in the high-profile role, he was unexpectedly reassigned to the vice squad and began working within a special task force.

  Nessa wasn’t sure exactly what the task force did on a daily basis; she knew they handled undercover work and had organized several covert sting operations that had resulted in numerous arrests. She didn’t see Reinhardt in the station very often, but they occasionally passed each other in the halls. Hopefully he woul
dn’t mind if she asked for his help.

  “Lieutenant Reinhardt?” Nessa jogged toward the garage, feeling drops of sweat already trickling down her back under her silk blouse and suit jacket.

  Reinhardt swung around and faced Nessa just as she reached him. Her breath coming in short gasps, she promised herself she’d start back at the gym as soon as this case was solved. “Sorry to bother you, Lieutenant. You got a minute?”

  “Sure, but I’m no longer a Lieutenant. I’m just plain-old Detective Reinhardt, now.”

  Reinhardt’s voice was low and deep. Nessa wondered if the move back into the field had been his idea. She could see deep lines around his eyes and mouth, but his graying hair was still thick, and his body seemed solid and strong.

  “How can I help you, Detective Ainsley?”

  “Well, you can start by calling me Nessa. All my friends do.” She flashed her sweetest southern belle smile. Reinhardt didn’t smile in response, but he nodded and raised his eyebrows, indicating Nessa should continue.

  “Detective Jankowski may have already followed up. About a missing person case? A teenage girl that we suspect may be using drugs?” Nessa searched his face, hoping for a flash of recognition.

  “No, I haven’t seen Detective Jankowski lately. Haven’t heard from him either.” Reinhardt’s brow creased, and he tilted his head. “Why was he supposed to follow up with me?”

  “Well, I’d asked him to see if you had any information that could help us track down the missing girl,” Nessa said, trying to suppress irritation at Jankowski’s lack of follow-through.

  “Why would I know anything about a missing girl? Is she connected to one of our operations?” Reinhardt looked wary. “What information has Jankowski shared with you?”

  “Well, nothing, really, but I have heard a little about the undercover work your team does, and I was wondering if you had any informers or contacts that may help us track her down.”