by LS Sygnet
"Just the five of them."
"I've only met three."
"Ah," he nodded again. "You probably haven't seen Sandoval and Marquez. Captain Martin hired them when the last two dinosaurs retired about a year ago. We don't see a whole lot of them, on account of taking the scut."
My eyebrows lifted in silent question.
"That would be the cases that Rogers and Daltry think are simple enough for them to close. Mostly suicides, bar brawls gone awry, that kind of thing."
It explained the cases that central was closing.
"I appreciate your help. I'm heading out for the night – oh, but before I go, did a couple of gentlemen come through here tonight? Big guys, look like they might've been line backers in their youth?"
"I haven't seen a soul but you, Helen. I can ask Benny tomorrow night when I see him if you like."
"I'd appreciate that, Mr. Simms."
"Aw, heck," his chin dipped to his chest. "Call me Rudy."
On the way to my car, I pulled out the cell phone and called Maya. "Do you have access to federal crime databases at the morgue?"
"Good morning to you too, Helen."
"It's not morning. Yet."
"Yeah, we have access. I routinely run our unmatched DNA through CODIS."
CODIS is the Combined DNA Index System, another database operated by my former brethren at the FBI. It allows DNA to be stored in a database for comparison with unidentified DNA in open cases. The theory being that DNA can be matched to known offenders whose samples have already been collected and identified.
I explained the break in, vandalism and theft in my office. "I need a secure computer to run a ViCAP search. Obviously, that place isn't central. Do you mind if I use a computer at your office?"
"I'll call security and let them know you're coming."
"Maya, while I've got you on the phone, can I ask something?"
"Shoot."
"Have you had cause to review many autopsies performed by your predecessor?"
"Riley Storm? Wow, you're really rooting through the garbage at warp speed, kiddo. It took me a full month to realize the depth of his incompetence."
"But are you sure it was that?"
"Let me just put it this way. If Dr. Storm were competent, we'd have people out here studying the residents of this city with a fervor you couldn't imagine trying to determine why the incidence of sudden cardiac death dwarfs the rest of the world."
"I wondered."
"He liked listing massive coronary failure as a cause of death. And he didn't dig any deeper to determine causality of that particular phenomenon that happens in every death."
"You're saying that we all die because the heart fails?"
"As in, it fails to continue beating. He didn't miss the obvious stuff, like a stabbing or a gun shot wound, but if it was unclear in any way, good old Riley called it a heart attack."
"He didn't list that as the cause in Brighton Bennett's death."
"Uh, no. That he called simple exsanguination due to dismemberment."
I shuddered. "He was certain that she was alive when that happened?"
"As a heart attack."
"You're a funny girl, Maya."
"Of course, all I have is a half-ass report, so it's tough to say what he really did in terms of a postmortem examination. Based on the body of work I've reviewed, I'd lean toward an assumption that they rolled her remains into the room, he collected what blood he could find and stamped the cause of death onto a form. I already told you that his evaluation of the neck and wrists for the type of weapon used were woefully vague."
"Yeah, you mentioned that. It makes another question pop to mind. Do you know what the chain of custody was at that time for body fluid samples collected?"
"I can't imagine that it's changed at all over the years, Helen. We collect and it's stored securely until a judge divvies out the portion provided to the defense for its testing procedures. Why?"
"I'll get into it later," I said. "Right now, I'd like to get started on my record search in ViCAP. I appreciate your help, Maya. And if you don't mind, if you could ask someone whose been at the lab longer than you if the procedure for storing samples obtained on autopsy has changed over the years, I'd appreciate it."
"I can tell you're onto something. I'll ask Billy first thing in the morning and let you know. Have a good night, kiddo, and be safe."
I glanced into the rearview mirror on the car. Two sets of headlights were evenly spaced behind me. Orion was at his thing. Like I didn't know what that really meant. In practical terms, my shadow had shrunk by a third – to Kelly and Varden, and my so-called friends from the FBI.
Orion made a strong argument for the security of his penthouse. There were no locks to smash for easy access by elevator. Frick and Frack didn't look like they had the physical stamina to climb thirty flights of stairs. David wouldn't break in to obtain evidence. The FBI didn't have to resort to illegal means to obtain evidence.
I made a note to replace the stolen MacBook in the morning and get the software I needed loaded. It sure would save a lot of time searching for a secure place to perform a basic task.
Security asked for identification, and I was required to sign into the morgue. One of the guards escorted me to Maya's office and unlocked the door. "Dial 8000 on the phone when you're ready to leave, Dr. Eriksson. You cannot be in the morgue unaccompanied after hours."
Odd. I didn't realize a morgue had regular hours per se, but understood the gist. It didn't matter. My only interest was in the search. And coffee perhaps.
"Is there somewhere that I can buy a cup of coffee in here?"
He scowled. "Why?"
"This search might take awhile. I could use an infusion of caffeine in the meantime."
"This way."
I followed him to a room marked "staff only" and found a coffee machine and assorted goodies in the vending machines. Two steaming large coffees and a handful of chocolate treats later, and we were on our way back to Maya's office.
Surly guard's demeanor had softened considerably by the time we reached the door.
"I can tell what bonded you and Dr. Winslow."
"Oh?"
He pointed to the booty from vending. "She's addicted to the same junk. I don't know how you girls eat that stuff and stay thin. My wife so much as looks at a bag of M&Ms and she gains fifteen pounds."
"Your wife probably has the good sense to keep normal hours and not work forty-eight or longer at a stretch."
He shuddered and grinned. "I'd hate to see her if she didn't get a full eight every night. Give me a call if you need to head back for more java. We usually send one of the guys on a run at around two for something better than that horrible machine."
I pulled a twenty out of my purse and handed it to him. "Triple shot, non-fat, sugar free cinnamon latte. No whipped cream."
"Triple shot skinny cinny. Got it."
I dug into the search, never dreaming that the results would keep me ensconced in Maya's office until she returned to work the next morning.
Chapter 19
My experience with forensic pathologists is not limited to Maya Winslow alone. And what I do for a living predisposes me to profiling more than criminal behavior. It's a hazard of the job I suppose. What I've observed over the years is that medical examiners, those who've gone the extra mile into forensics specifically, tend to be overly organized. Everything has its place. The trash reaches a precise level before it must be emptied. Files are properly catalogued and stored. Not so much as a stray ink pen is found lying on a desk.
It's that organizational skill and attention to detail that make good medical examiners become great pathologists. It was my opinion that the only thing that held Maya back in Maryland was her refusal to be a politician in addition to a top notch forensic clinician. She had become my platinum standard for all medical examiners.
What I did to her office by the time she rolled in at six-thirty might be considered a crime in some circles of the country
. I had effectively papered every square inch of her desk with printouts from my ViCAP search. Coffee rings stained some, and cups served as paper weights on others. I really meant to clean up before she arrived, but had lost complete track of time until Randy informed me at six that there would be no more coffee runs.
The security staff were all grateful for my hourly generosity that kept them running back for more tall, triple shot skinny cinnies all night. If they went for me, it was only fair that I bought for them after all.
He glanced at his watch. "We go off duty at eight, Eriksson. If I have any more coffee, I'll be up until noon a week from Sunday. Besides. Dr. Winslow will be here in about an hour, and if she finds this mess in here, she's gonna blow a gasket."
"Right. Maya hates messes." I was buzzing from all the extra espresso, not to mention leads that could very well answer every question I had about the Bennett assault, particularly the gap in time.
After several successful hits on rape cases with matching DNA (which Maya would've eventually uncovered through CODIS), I expanded my search of young girls who were status missing persons. That was the motherlode. Twice the number of missing girls who matched my criteria in this state alone, within a 75 mile radius of Darkwater Bay no less, popped up in ViCAP.
No wonder somebody wanted to halt my search.
"And Eriksson?" Randy wrinkled his nose. "I hate to be blunt but …"
"What?" I tucked an oily wisp of hair behind my ear. Curse this weather. Humidity has never been a friend to my hair.
"You might wanna hit the shower before you go to central this morning."
I grinned. "A little ripe, huh?"
"In a delicate and beautiful sort of way, of course."
"Your wife has trained you well, Randy. Do you suppose Maya would object if I absconded with a pair of scrubs? There's got to be a locker and a shower in this place. Knowing all her little neat-freak-isms, I am positive that she doesn't wear her perfect clothing to and from home without a good sterilization in between."
He chuckled. "C'mon. I'll show you where you can abscond to your hearts content."
I was on my way down the hall to her office, freshly scrubbed and decked from head to toe in blue green scrubs when I heard the shriek. I glanced at my watch. Hadn't Randy said she would be in the office at seven?
Inside her office, Maya stood with her hands clasped over her mouth.
"I was just coming in to straighten up."
"Helen! I said you could use my computer, not destroy my office!"
"Oh, it's not that bad. Some paper. A few coffee cups."
Then she noticed me.
"You're wearing scrubs. Randy!"
"Don't blame him. You've got some great people guarding the goods, Maya." I reached for a half eaten Snickers. "Chocolate?"
"Oh. My. God."
I started tossing empty coffee cups into the trash, aware of her jerking posture every time one of the cups wasn't quite empty and sloshed on impact.
"You better have solved this case, Helen. Jesus Christ and General Jackson!"
The top of her desk appeared, along with several M&Ms that had eloped to safe cover. I swiped with one hand and sent them skittering to the pile of coffee cups. I clutched my stack of papers to my chest. "All better. See?"
"It is not all better. My God."
Randy poked his head through the door. "You rang?" He winked conspiratorially at me.
"I need environmental services in here STAT."
My lips quivered. STAT housekeeping. Oh my.
"Let me empty that for you, Dr. Winslow," he offered. "That way you won't have to wait. Eriksson, are you ready to head out now?"
"Not just yet, Randy. I think I've got some serious groveling to do before I leave."
She relaxed marginally when the overflowing bin was emptied, smoothed her suit and sat in her chair after careful inspection.
"Maya, I'm glad I didn't accept the offer to bunk at your house. You'd probably kill me before I could solve this murder."
"Are you close?" Her ire evaporated. "Did this … atrocity help you make progress?"
"Like you wouldn't believe," I grinned. "Can you put a rush on the DNA you pulled from Gwen Foster's body?"
"Sure, but without a known sample for comparison –"
I waved my stack of papers. "Believe me when I tell you that I have more than reasonable suspicion to think you'll get hits, Maya."
"You found other cases that match this M.O.?"
"Not exactly."
Maya rolled her eyes. "Well which is it?"
"I had to enter the information for Brighton Bennett's murder into ViCAP. Nobody bothered to do it fifteen years ago."
"Nice."
"So the only match when I searched was the case that I entered. But fifteen years is a long time for someone who escalated to that level of violence to go between murders, right?"
"You're bouncing on the balls of your feet. What size shoes do you wear?"
"Huh?"
"Heels and scrubs. Not a good fashion statement. We've got a bunch of spare sneakers around here. I'm sure we can find a pair in your size."
"I'm not wearing sneakers from a stiff."
"They're from the morgue's softball team," Maya rolled her eyes hard enough for them to get stuck. "Honestly, Helen. We don't keep personal effects that come in with the bodies. Take those heels off before you fall over."
"Anyway," I toed out of my heels and started pacing. "I got to thinking about the first murder, how unusual it would be for a one shot kill with that kind of skill, and I figured we might find other cases in ViCAP, which there weren't any. So I started comparing the similarities between Bennett and Gwen Foster, and I made an assumption that can't be verified thanks to the laziness of your predecessor."
"You searched for rape victims."
"Right. Reports, unsolved cases, a specific age range. Broke my heart, Maya. There are thousands of them."
"Color me surprised. Please tell me we're not going to be combing through thousands of DNA results."
"I narrowed my search, first to the west coast, and eventually to a three county area surrounding Darkwater Bay."
"You got hits?"
"Almost two dozen. So then I started thinking about this guy's skills dismembering the victims we have, or had in Brighton Bennett's case."
"And?"
"She couldn't have been his first kill. Didn't you tell me that what little Storm recorded supported the theory that Foster was dismembered the same way?"
"Well he didn't make any notations regarding the type of weapon, serration or anything like that, but he indicated that the blows were single, without hesitation."
"That is somebody who knows what they're doing. How do we get skill? Practice."
"He could be a hunter or a butcher."
"True enough, but unless he's hunting human beings, our anatomy differs significantly from the average deer."
"Another good point."
"So I started thinking about where Brighton Bennett's body was discovered. By the way, I had a fascinating discussion with Tony Briscoe and Crevan Conall last night about the history of Darkwater Bay."
"Oh boy. No more caffeine for you, princess."
"Don't call me princess."
"All right, doctor. But you're acting like you've snorted a kilo of coke."
"Brighton Bennett was found in the Elegiac River, which empties into Darkwater Bay, which in turn, is a hop skip and a jump from the Pacific Ocean."
Maya sat up.
"You follow?"
"They didn't find more bodies because the final resting place was the sea."
"Exact-a-mundo."
"Don't make me call you the Fonz."
I grinned. "So I started searching, well, re-searching if you want to be picky. I narrowed the search on one hand, but added missing persons cases, status open."
"God, please tell me you didn't find more of them."
"A lot more. Close to three dozen. Well, initially there were m
ore than that, so I went back to this rudimentary profile I've been cooking up since I walked into that crime scene, and really, it's the one thing that didn't fit. It's been nagging me from go."
"Breathe Helen. Organize your thoughts."
See what I mean? Sticklers for neatness right down to thoughts.
I sucked in a deep breath.
"All of my searching was within very specific age parameters, because sexual predators, the serial types, are extremely preferential. They watch for their type. They stalk. They plan, and execute in an effort to find that one that meets the fantasy."
"I think I've read that somewhere."
"Don't be flip." I jerked my head at her computer. "You need a color printer by the way. Black and white doesn't do justice to photographs."
"I'll see if I can fit that into the budget next year."
"Wake the monitor, Maya."
She jiggled the mouse and started clicking her way through the chaos I left on her monitor. "Incredible."
"His type: petite, blonde hair, blue eyes, almond in shape, and not a short haircut in the bunch of them."
"And Gwen Foster looks like … whoa."
"She and her cousin weren't that far apart in age. Just four years. They look remarkably similar, don't you think?"
"Yeah," Maya said. "So that makes you think this guy abandoned his age preference?"
"Not abandoned. Revisited. Think about it, Maya."
"I'm trying to follow you, but really, you're not particularly cogent this morning. Is this caffeine, stress, sleep deprivation, a sugar high or all of the above?"
"The episiotomy scar. The absence of any mention of her having a baby in her medical record. The fact that her friend – who mind you, isn't particularly trustworthy – insists that Gwen never had children."
"She was a victim when she was a teenager too."
"A survivor. A woman who was left with a memento of the event."
"Jesus Christ and General Jackson," Maya murmured. "How in the hell did you put all of this together in less than eight hours?"
"I have no proof." My lip was growing tender from all the gnawing and debate through the night. "It's only a theory."
