by Casi McLean
Quint yanked silicone gloves over his hands and gave Ash a glance. “This body doesn’t present like a typical drug deal or robbery gone bad...strangulation could be a crime of passion or vengeance, but for my money, I’d say she was targeted.”
“You mean a hit?” Ash stared at the body then toward Quint. “She definitely has a story to tell. Take a look at that coat. Expensive…cashmere, I suspect. She certainly doesn’t fit the description of a street-walking prostitute.” Again, he shifted his gaze to the victim. “Who the hell did you piss-off so much they wanted you dead?”
Quint scowled and tugged the corpse from the water until the head and chest lay on solid ground. “Such a shame.” He stood and drew his fists to his waist.
“I’d bet money this spot wasn’t where the murder took place. Looks like the killer dumped her body into the river and the current brought her here.” Ash rubbed the stubble on his chin and glanced at Quint. “You have any guess as to the time of death?”
“Probably sometime yesterday. The cold water alters her temperature, so pinning the time of death will be conjecture, but I’ll know more in a few hours.” He directed his assistants to bag the body and load her into the hearse.
After dragging the corpse from the Potomac, the assistants slid her into the body bag already prepared.
Zipping the side, Quint halted the procedure to closely inspect the girl’s neck. “Frasier, take a look at this.”
Ash stepped closer and gazed at the swollen, bruised marks stretching around the entire circumference of her throat. He then zeroed in on a small circular imprint etched into her skin. “What the hell is that? A ring imprint?”
Quint nodded. “Yup. Looks like a very distinctive ring.” He turned her head to stretch the skin. “You ever see a shape like this before?”
Thoughts spinning, Ash examined the crisscross impression caught within a perfect circle. “Hang on a sec. I want to snap a picture of the pattern.” He drew out his phone and shot several angles. “Hey, Brad, check this out. You’re gonna want to take some photos here, too.”
The photographer hustled toward them. “Damn.” He took numerous shots before gazing at Ash. “This find could be a big break for you, detective.”
“Perhaps. If this is a ring, the killer made a stupid mistake. A hit would be premeditated. Professionals don’t make blunders like that.”
Ash pinched his brows together. “I looked at her hands pretty closely. This little lady gave her assailant a good fight. You think any fragments of DNA could be found after she spent so much time in the water?”
“Doubtful, but you never know.”
Again, Ash took note of the chain around her neck. “You mind if I bag the locket and take it with me? It may help to identify her.”
“Go ahead. That bauble won’t affect the autopsy one way or the other.”
Sliding the chain around her neck until he found the catch, Ash carefully unhooked the lobster-claw then grasped the gold ornament along with the chain and withdrew the piece from her cold body. He stared at the etched markings around the oval before opening the clasp. Water damaged the two pictures inside, but one appeared to be the victim and the other, a young man.
Closing the locket, he drew another plastic bag from his pocket and slid the piece inside. “Looks like a picture of the girl and her boyfriend. Might not help us find her killer, but worth investigating. I’ll dust it for prints. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
Quint nodded and continued zipping the bag. He turned to his assistants. “She’s all yours. I’ll meet you at the morgue.” His gaze drifted to Ash. “I’ll give you a call as soon as I have something.”
Ash returned the gesture then gazed at the trinket in his evidence bag. “Someone has to be missing you.” He mumbled. This case touched a nerve he hadn’t felt in a long time. Scanning the panorama, he took a mental note, piecing together scenarios of how this woman could have ended up here.
The body hid beneath a clump of trees that peeked over the edge of a graffiti-ridden stone walkway…all that was left of the old Alexandria Aqueduct. The stones abruptly dropped off like a cliff overlooking the river. If the killer dumped the girl into the Potomac, did the crime occur close by or upstream? In the dark, few, if any, people would be lurking around the Aqueduct…except maybe some homeless soul seeking refuge from the cold March nights. Vagrants often slept underneath the old bridge-like arch of the ruins. Perhaps one of them saw something.
Ash scratched his head and gazed upward toward the Whitehurst Freeway and Key Bridge, his thoughts churning. In theory, the area beneath the expressway would have too much activity––what with the Potomac Boat Club and DC Boat house just yards away. Georgetown University Graduate School was close by, too, but the thruway obstructed any view of the crime scene. His gaze shifted to the Crescent Trail. No one could have pulled a car onto the bike path, on this side of the canal.
Deep in thought, he strolled up the hill toward his Audi. The murderer killed her then dumped the body into the river, which would place the crime scene north of here in some pretty high socio-economic areas.
He opened the driver door. Reaching inside his coat, he withdrew his cell phone from the interior breast pocket then snatched the bag that held the business card and programmed the number into his contacts. Afterward, he slipped into the bucket seat and started the ignition then tossed the evidence bags onto the passenger seat.
Where had he seen that crisscross pattern tattooed into the victim’s neck? He racked his brain. The memory niggled at him just below the surface, and he challenged himself, dredging up prior murder cases and visualizing crime scene details. The answer would come to him. He fastened his seatbelt then adjusted the radio volume before pulling onto the access road under the Whitehurst Freeway toward M Street.
Placing his phone into its cradle, he pressed the voice command. “Call B.D. Mathis.” Perhaps an interview with the owner of the business card would shed some light on this gruesome murder. Several rings sounded, then a voice spoke. “You’ve reached Benedict Mathis. Please leave a message after the tone.”
“Holy shit.” Ash said out loud. “This case just got hotter than hell.”
Chapter Three
“Come on, Lyssa, answer your damn phone. What’s with this radio silence? I’ve been calling and texting you for three days. Please, sis. I’m really getting worried.” Emily pressed End and tossed her phone on the passenger seat of her 2008 Toyota Solara. She gripped the wheel tightly and glanced at her rearview mirror then switched into the right lane of the Interstate.
Alyssa usually answered calls from Emily or would at least call shortly afterward. What could have kept her from answering? If she was that busy, a text would suffice. The last few times they spoke, Emily sensed anxiety in Alyssa’s voice. She brushed off her edginess, attributing her mood to the upcoming election and working overtime, but her excuses didn’t faze Emily’s concern.
A chill slithered down her back then twisted a knot in her stomach. Something was wrong, and she despised the internal adrenaline bursts constantly warning her to dig deeper. Rarely was her perception incorrect, particularly when focused on either sibling.
Wyatt, three years older than the twins, sat at the pinnacle of their family triangle, with Em and Lyssa balancing the base. As kids, they would do anything for each other. Now, as adults with totally different paths, they lived their own lives, but their bond remained as strong as ever.
Maybe Emily should alert Wyatt of her fears. He knew how accurate her revelations had been in the past. No. She didn’t want him to worry until the facts played out––especially after all he’d been through in Afghanistan. Although, she knew treating him with kid gloves frustrated the hell out of him. Damn, for three days now, she remained torn, praying Alyssa would call and put her fears to rest. Why was her sister so hell-bent on a career in politics? Washington DC was too damn far from Atlanta for Emily to just drop by and make sure her sister was all right.
The most cautious of th
e three siblings, Emily conceded she lived inside her head too much. She didn’t set out to worry. Her sensations manifested as a kind of second sense. According to Wyatt, Emily’s talent was a pain, especially when she voiced concerns regarding his whereabouts during some hot dates. But the second sense proved valuable when she received a heads-up so she could avoid potential danger.
As an investigative journalist, Emily’s gift came in quite handy. She consistently stayed two steps ahead of her colleagues. The heightened perception afforded her unique intuition…like visions that wouldn't quite come to the surface. A surge of strong emotion manifested when something was wrong.
Emily sighed, remembering the intense sense of fear and pain she experienced when a bomb injured Wyatt in Afghanistan. Over the past three days, she’d felt an identical uneasiness regarding Alyssa. The problem was, Emily’s sensations held no credence with the rest of the world. She couldn’t exactly place a frantic call to the police because she had a strange feeling about a family member…or could she? Thoughts spinning, she resolved to call the authorities if Alyssa hadn’t responded by the time she got home. Only after the police confirmed her sister’s welfare as fine would she mention the unnerving feeling to Wyatt.
Her brother had always been Emily’s hero. She loved and admired him way before he received all those military medals. Her heart broke when he came home minus both his legs from the knee down. She knew war left scars on the soul that couldn’t be seen, and Emily worried about what Wyatt didn't mention more than what he described…until she realized his positive attitude and patriotism soared more after he returned from Afghanistan than before he deployed. Still, worrying him needlessly about Alyssa made no sense.
She glanced at her watch. Almost six p.m. Veering onto the ramp, she turned right onto Bald Ridge Marina Road toward the lake and home. She loved the peaceful ambience of living on the water. After long hours of intense investigating and often troubling reports, she relished Lake Lanier’s wooded shoreline, and the peaceful sounds of nature rustling through the underbrush. Unwinding on her rear deck, she gazed across the glistening water as the sun set behind the trees adjacent to her quiet cove. The water soothed her with a panorama providing balance, like a yin to the yang of her stress-filled days.
But today everything felt different and not even the sunlight dancing across silent ripples could provide sanctuary from the torment shadowing her heart. After parking her Solara, she snatched her mail from the box and stuffed it into her purse then strode inside. Her favorite view lay in wait beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass that led to her secluded deck. She plopped her purse on the sofa then sat and perused Google on her phone for appropriate authorities in and around McLean, Virginia. The local Police Department made the most sense. She pressed the numbers.
“911. What is your emergency?”
Surprised she didn’t reach a recording, Emily drew in a quick breath then sputtered a reply. “Oh my gosh. I must have called the wrong phone number. I was trying to contact the McLean Police Department.”
“You reached the right area, but this is 911 emergency. I’ll redirect your call. What department do you need?”
Emily bit the bottom of her lower lip. “Uh…missing persons? I live in Atlanta, and I've been trying to reach my sister for three days. She always answers the phone when I call. I'm really worried about her welfare.”
“Name and address?”
“Mine or hers?” She bit on the tip of her fingernail, while a thousand ants squirmed down her back.
“Your sister’s, dear.”
“Oh, right. Sorry. My mind keeps envisioning scary scenarios as to why she hasn’t returned my calls. I hope you can help me find out what’s happened.” Emily put the phone on speaker then shuffled through her contacts to confirm her sister’s address. “Alyssa Rose is her name and…her address…got it. She lives in a gate-house apartment, at 3903 44th St. North, in McLean.”
“Hold on a moment, while I check if her name or address has hit dispatch within the last few days.”
“Of course. Thank you so much.” Emily ran her fingers through her long hair, twisting and yanking, keeping time with the knot whirling in her stomach. Oh God, oh God, please…let her be okay. She whispered the plea over and over as her worry deepened.
“I’m sorry. I found nothing dispatched about your sister, Miss…is your name Rose, too?”
Emily’s breath caught in her throat for a long moment before she could speak. “Yes, Emily Rose. Are you sure there’s nothing, perhaps an unidentified woman in the hospital…or” ––the thought caused her stomach to heave and she coughed to push back the sting in her throat before she could complete her sentence––“the morgue?”
“No, ma’am. Can I take down your number in case we hear anything?”
“She's probably fine.” Emily’s reply, reassurance more than speculation, stammered as the words fell from her lips.
“You can try Washington DC and Maryland.” The woman on the other end of the line paused then added, “Would you like the local non-emergency numbers?”
Her shoulders slumped as she released a deflating breath. “No. I'm so sorry. I don’t want to take any more time away from real emergencies. I can find the number. Maybe I should be patient and wait until my sister contacts me.”
“It’s all right, dear. We receive a lot of calls from family members, and most are false alarms. You'll probably hear from her soon. Try not to worry.”
Emily drew in a long breath. “I'm sure you're right. Again, thank you so much.” She pressed End, dropped the phone on the sofa and fell into her favorite overstuffed chair. Dear God, I don't know whether to be relieved or more panicked. After a few long moments of mindful breathing, she pulled herself together, stood then ambled into the kitchen to pour a glass of wine.
Still pondering whether to include Wyatt or not, she strolled outside onto her back deck, leaned against the railing and challenged the ambience to swallow the overwhelming sense of impending doom enveloping her. Something was wrong…very wrong, she summoned every ounce of willpower she possessed to keep from having a major panic attack.
When her phone rang, she paused a long moment to take a calming breath, but the lungful did little to ease her angst. Nerves completely frazzled, she bobbled her glass, spilling wine across her hand and arm onto the front of her pink sweater. She glanced down, setting the stemware on the railing, brushed at the dampness soaking into the fabric then scrambled inside toward her phone. “Thank goodness I chose white wine,” she muttered, shaking her head.
Fumbling, she finally held her smartphone right side up to see the screen display. Unknown Caller. A wave of nausea bubbled into her mouth. Gripping the phone tighter, Emily opened the line, her breath catching in her throat. She trembled and tried to speak, but only a soft stutter came out. “This is Em…Emily…Ro…Rose.” She placed a hand over her pounding heart.
Chapter Four
“Emily, it’s Wyatt. Are you okay?”
“Oh my gosh, you scared me to death.” Her brother’s voice caused relief to rush across her skin like gooseflesh. Hand still clenching her throat, she drew in a long breath. “Why did your phone number come up as an unknown caller?”
“Sorry, sis. My phone died, so I borrowed one.”
Legs wobbly with relief, she slumped onto the edge of the sofa. “Whew. I’m fine. I’m just relieved you’re on the other end of the line.”
“Were you expecting a call?” He paused a beat. “Never mind. Are you at home?” Wyatt cleared his throat.
“Yes. What’s up?” She shook one leg up and down quickly, still dismissing waves of anxiety shooting through her arms and legs.
“I’m in the area, and I thought I’d stop by, if that’s okay.”
Emily rolled her eyes. The last thing she wanted right now was company, but Wyatt had an open invitation to drop by anytime. She hoped the visit didn’t precede a setup with another one of his Marine buddies. Not that she minded blind dates under normal circumst
ances. Just not tonight. For the last three days, she could hardly focus on work during the day, and at night, she tossed and turned so much she had to take the Ambien she’d tried so hard to wean herself off of.
She could never say no to Wyatt, though. Besides, his visit might provide a good opportunity to share her fears about Alyssa. “Sure. Of course.” Putting off her discussion didn’t make the issue miraculously disappear, and maybe having her big brother’s shoulder to whimper on would make her feel better.
“Good. We’ll see you in a few.”
He clicked off before she could reply. Emily shivered as she laid her phone on the kitchen counter and looked around for her wine glass. “Geez, Alyssa. Where the hell are you?” she mumbled. Dad always said bad news travelled fast. Emily never held much stock in the comment, but right now, she hoped he was right.
Spying her wine on the deck handrail, she unlocked the front door for Wyatt then wandered outside to her drink. She sipped and gazed at the pink-orange sunset, dipping into the pine trees across the cove, her mind spinning memories of Alyssa and Wyatt and her wonderful close-knit family.
When the twins were young, they were inseparable. Emily smiled, recalling times they switched places, confusing teachers and boyfriends. They shared all the good times together, making them twice as good. And the few sad moments they experienced weren’t quite so sad when they dealt with sorrows together. Her true best friend forever, Alyssa held a piece of her heart.
