Chapter 8 BREE

Chapter 8

brEE

Day 2

Late the next morning, Bree parked at the ME's office next to a beat-up SUV with a license plate that read BUG GUY.

In the passenger seat, Juarez asked, "Who is that?"

"I assume that's the entomologist," Bree said. The young deputy had promise, but he needed experience. So Bree had brought him along.

"You've seen an autopsy, right?" she asked.

"Uh. Not since the academy." He glanced out the side window, as if embarrassed.

She remembered him gagging at the scene. "Don't vomit in the autopsy suite. If you need to step out, do so before it gets to that point. No one will care if you leave. There's no shame in it. Witnessing an autopsy can be overwhelming, especially if you're not used to it. The important thing is that you don't contaminate any evidence."

"But there's only one way to get used to it, right?" he asked in a grim tone.

"Unfortunately."

"Is it OK if I ask questions?"

"Definitely," Bree said.

They signed in, suited up, and entered the autopsy suite. The bodies occupied two stainless-steel autopsy tables. On a long worktable against the wall, the suitcases, plastic bag, and several sections of cut rope had been laid out on white sheets.

Dr. Jones was conferring with a chubby man in PPE from booties to cap. Unlike Bree and the ME, he wore only a face shield, no mask. Did the smell not affect him? Considering the level of decomp, Bree was grateful for her N95 respirator.

"Sheriff," the ME called. "This is Doug Nimoy."

"Call me Spider," he said.

Okaaay. Better than Maggot.

"Spider." Bree nodded as she approached but didn't offer a hand.

He held a small plastic container, the kind you'd use to transport a hermit crab. This one contained maggots feeding on a chunk of meat. "These are great." He bounced on his toes with enthusiasm, then turned bright eyes to Bree. "Dr. Jones gave them liver. They love that." His voice held affection, as if he were talking about his pets.

"Glad to hear it," Bree said. "You'll be able to narrow our postmortem interval?"

Spider raised the container. "The insects develop on a predictable schedule. So I'll be able to tell you how long the body was exposed to insect activity. But Dr. Jones isn't so sure these remains were dumped right away. If a body is kept in some kind of protected environment for a while, those time periods might not match."

Standing at Bree's flank, Juarez cleared his throat. "How will you do that? Do you dissect them?"

Spider set down the container and faced them, clasping his hands in excitement. "Fly pupae are opaque, so determining the age of the metamorphosing insect inside is hard. It's evidence. On principle we don't want to destroy it by cutting it open. Instead, we use a micro-CT scan."

Juarez nodded. Behind the face shield and mask, his olive skin looked gray.

"I'll just take these back to the lab." Humming, Spider loaded the containers in a cardboard box and carried them out of the suite.

Dr. Jones waved a hand toward the worktable. "The suitcases are unremarkable, common brands. One is Samsonite. The other is American Tourister. Both are empty except for the remains. No luggage tags. No other identifying marks."

Bree scanned them. They didn't look new, but then they'd been sitting outside. Both were large bags, black, with zipper closures and spinner-type wheels. She doubted they'd be traceable, but they'd try.

"The autopsies are almost complete." Dr. Jones gestured for Bree and Juarez to approach the bodies. Bree walked to the first table. Juarez shuffled forward but stayed two steps behind her shoulder. "I'll give you the highlights before I get back to it."

The ME indicated the first body, a small figure of rotting flesh. Bone shone through in places, gleaming under the glare of overhead lights. "The victim is definitely female. As expected, when we removed her from the suitcase, she was curled in a fetal position." Dr. Jones indicated a wheeled stand, where a laptop computer displayed digital photographs. "Her hands were bound behind her back. There was also a rope around her neck. We clamped the rope on each side of the knots and then cut the rope outside those clamps to preserve the knots themselves. The rope itself is a natural fiber, unfortunately a very common type."

Bree's gaze was drawn to the finger- and toenails, both painted the same shade of Barbie Pink. The nail polish again brought Kayla to mind, and Bree's gut twisted.

"She currently weighs seventy-seven pounds. I estimate she was one hundred to one hundred five pounds when alive." Decomposition and insect predation had consumed a good portion of her flesh. Dr. Jones pointed at the chest, where the Y-incision had been stapled closed. "She has a unique tattoo."

Bree leaned closer. "A heart formed by chain links?"

"That's what it looks like to me," Dr. Jones said. "The other body has the same tattoo, in the same location."

Bree glanced over, then turned back. "Would you forward photos of the tattoos?"

"Of course." Dr. Jones pointed to the mouth. "As you can see, there's a ball gag in her mouth."

The nail polish and the ball gag seemed incongruous. One appeared girly, almost childish, the other sexually deviant. The juxtaposition evoked a swirl of emotions.

Next to her, Juarez gagged and bolted for the door. Bree heard the door swing open and shut.

Dr. Jones didn't miss a beat. "Given the rope and ball gag, erotic asphyxia comes to mind, as does strangulation, but she's too decomposed to determine cause of death. Manner of death is, clearly, homicide."

Dr. Jones gently worked the rubber ball out from between the teeth. Setting it aside, she repositioned the gooseneck light to shine inside the mouth. "Teeth are in good condition. She had dental work, probably braces, some composite fillings."

"So, middle- or upper-class economic status," Bree said.

"Probably," Dr. Jones agreed. "It also means she'll have dental records somewhere."

"I might have them right here," a woman said.

Bree pivoted to see a tall woman in PPE standing just inside the door. She must have come in when Juarez exited. Her face was obscured by the N95 mask, but her eyes were an intense green.

Dr. Jones didn't look up. "And you are?"

"FBI Special Agent Kilpatrick. I'm looking for Sheriff Taggert."

"That's me." Bree straightened. She didn't recognize the agent's name. "You're not from the Albany FBI office."

"Oregon." Behind the mask, the agent's gaze sharpened.

What's going on?

Why would an agent from Oregon be looking for her? Bree's gaze dropped to the body on the table, the only possible reason Agent Kilpatrick would be here. "Since you brought dental records, can I assume you're here about this case?"

Kilpatrick's eyes went flat. "Yes."

"You're looking for someone," Bree said.

"Yes." The agent looked at the ME. "Do you have an age?"

Dr. Jones glanced at Bree, who gave a small nod. "I estimate sixteen to twenty-five."

"How long has she been dead?" asked Kilpatrick.

"I'm not sure yet," Dr. Jones said. "Waiting on some tests."

"Could she have died within the last two weeks?" asked Kilpatrick.

The ME's head waggled. Then she said, "It's possible."

Kilpatrick went very still.

"Who are you looking for?" asked Bree. Do I have to drag every fact out of this agent?

"I can't tell you," she said after a pause.

Bree bristled. What the fuck? The FBI didn't normally insert themselves into murder investigations. A sense of foreboding washed over Bree. "This is related to a case you're already working?"

"Maybe," Kilpatrick said.

They stared at each other for a long breath. Is she really not going to say any more?

Dr. Jones broke the awkward silence. "You checked in with your credentials out front?"

"Yes," Kilpatrick said.

"Then you two can work out your business later. I need to get back to work. We have another body to discuss, and I have more dead waiting their turn." Dr. Jones stepped over to the second table. Bree followed, and Kilpatrick approached to stand next to Bree.

Reluctantly, Bree put aside her irritation and turned her attention back to the case. But the agent would have plenty of questions to answer when it was over.