“The morgue.” Griffin slipped into the jacket. “Pete’s holding off until we get there. He’s got a full schedule today and wasn’t thrilled about waiting.”
“Lead the way.”
Twenty minutes later, Sean and Matt signed into the county morgue located a few miles from the sheriff’s department. Matt pulled a small container of medicated vapor rub from his pocket, dabbed some beneath his nose, and offered it to Sean.
It was an old trick used by plenty of experienced cops to mask the stench of death. Unfortunately, depending on the condition of the body, sometimes nothing helped.
Sean had never actually gotten sick during an autopsy, though earlier in his career, he’d come close a few times. However, he’d also seen plenty of agents and officers lose their lunch during a post mortem—including the ones convinced they were too tough for that sort of thing. A morgue had a way of humbling people fast.
A middle-aged receptionist informed them that Dr. Hansen was in Autopsy Suite 3.
By the time they entered the cold, sterile examination room, Pete had already begun. He spoke into a recorder while conducting a visual inspection of the victim’s body. After switching the recorder off, he glanced up with narrowed eyes.
“You’re late. X-rays, photographs, and external evidence collection are already finished.”
He motioned toward the woman assisting him. “Tess Bingham, this is Sean Malone. And you already know the sheriff.”
Tess smiled at both men before securing a mask with a clear plastic shield over her face to protect against possible splatter.
Hansen eyed Sean and Matt. “We’re about ready to begin the internal exam. Any questions?”
Neither lawman had put on protective coverings, so they remained several feet from the table. Sean gestured toward the carved lettering across the victim’s torso.
“Any idea what he’s using to do that?”
“I’m leaning toward a sharp utility blade. Something like a Leatherman or Swiss Army knife. The cuts are too controlled for anything jagged but not precise enough for a scalpel.”
Hansen lifted his brows in silent question. When Sean shook his head, the coroner switched the recorder back on and pulled on his protective mask.
Picking up a scalpel from the nearby tray, Hansen began the autopsy.
Sean and Matt remained expressionless through the procedure. Years in law enforcement had exposed both men to more autopsies than either cared to remember, but familiarity never made them pleasant.
The worst part came when Tess powered up the bone saw. The harsh grinding noise scraped across Sean’s nerves every time he heard it. He’d always thought it was worse than a dentist’s drill, and no matter how many autopsies he attended, the sound never got easier to tolerate. More than once, he found himself focusing on the tiled floor instead of the table.
By the time the examination ended, the findings confirmed what they’d already suspected—and added another disturbing detail.
“Cause of death is ligature strangulation,” Hansen said while removing his gloves. “Unlike the first two victims, this time the killer appears to have stopped her breathing and heart more than once, performed CPR to revive her, then strangled her one final time. The rib and sternum fractures are consistent with resuscitation efforts.”
Sean felt his jaw harden.
The coroner stripped off his mask and tossed it aside. “He’s evolving. Becoming more controlled. More methodical.” His expression darkened. “As you both know, that’s common with serial offenders. The longer they continue without getting caught, the more confident they become. This one enjoys what he does to these poor women, and now he wants their torture to last.”
Matt muttered under his breath. “Bastard.”
Sean glanced at the body again. “Can you tell how many times he revived her?”
“My estimate would be three or four.” Hansen removed his glasses and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “Some of the ligature markings overlap, making it difficult to be exact, but I’d say no more than five.”
He motioned toward the victim’s neck. “Like the previous two victims, there’s no trace evidence showing exactly what he used, but my guess is a scarf or some other soft fabric. A few of the marks appear consistent with creases in the material. But what he used on her wrists and ankles appears to have been a coarse rope or cord.”
His expression darkened. “Her stomach was empty, but the irritation in the esophagus indicates she vomited at some point. I can’t determine whether that happened before or during the assault.”
“Toxicology on everything else will take several days. But...” Crossing to a nearby computer, Hansen clicked through several screens. “Her blood alcohol level just came back—point-three-oh.”
“Jeez.” Sean stared at the woman on the table. “That’s almost four times the legal driving limit. She was hammered.”
Matt shook his head. “Maybe she lost consciousness through most of it.”
