‘Please do.’Fields pulled out two pairs of disposable gloves and passed them over.‘Let me know what you think.’
Ella and Ripley made their way over to the body.The victim was sat there with her legs splayed and both hands either side of her.Both palms were facing up, and one boasted the ballet dancer figurine that Fields had mentioned.Ella bent down to inspect that first.It was painted white, and the figure wore a turquoise dress not too dissimilar to what the victim herself was wearing.She gently touched it to see if it moved, but the thing was glued in place.
‘It’s made of wood,’ Ella said.
‘Hand-crafted, then,’ Replied Ripley.‘The figurine’s foot is broken.It could have been pulled off something.’
‘Weird.Who dies with a figurine in their hand?’
‘She might have used it as a weapon, and then her killer glued it to her hand as an insult.’
‘Mia, we’ve seen some impulsive killers in the past, but I’ve never known one that carries glue.This woman’s attacker was on a mission.He glued it to her hand because he wanted it to be found with her.It’s not a souvenir because souvenirs go home with you.’Ella gently touched the bruise on the victim’s throat.‘Strangulation marks.No doubt about what killed her.’
Ripley looked up and down the alleyway and said, ‘What was this woman even doing here, especially at night?The last house I saw was miles back.’
Ella didn’t know, and even though there was no obligation to help, the thought of going home without understanding this scene made her feel sick.
‘So it’s not a robbery gone wrong, or he’d have taken her purse and cell.’
Ripley turned away from the vic and put her hands on her hips.‘And he must have killed her here.If he’d have done the dirty work somewhere else, he’d have taken the opportunity to ditch her belongings.’
‘And he might not risk driving a car here because that factory up the way had cameras outside.’
‘So that means this killer isn’t concerned with the cops uncovering her identity.’
‘He mightwantus to know who she is, which means this scene is a stage.’
‘Don’t go full Sherlock yet, Dark.Rose here could have just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.A young good-looking woman like this?She’s a prime target for creeps who can’t control their urges.’
Ella conceded that Ripley had a point.As much as generalization had no place in investigations, young female victims usually suggested a specific component.‘Right, but there’s nothing sexual about this murder.Strangulation is intimate but not sexual.If that was his goal there’d be knife wounds, penetration, clothing removed.’
‘Speaking of clothing, what’s a woman doing in a dress like that around here?’
‘You’re thinking sex worker,’ Ella said.
‘Not really.What are the chances of meeting a potential john out here?’
‘Low.Unless she was meeting someone in particular.’
Ripley shrugged, then looked back at Fields who was idling near the entranceway.He was far enough away that he couldn’t hear their deliberations.‘I don’t know, but does something seem weird about this to you, Dark?’
Ella looked at the body at her feet, then at the ballet dancer figurine glued to her palm.‘Yes, a lot of this seems weird to me.’
‘No, I mean – why would Fields ask us to check this out?There’s not much here for Behavioral to go on, at least not anything forensic or autopsies couldn’t find out themselves.This woman, Rose Michaels, was ambushed, strangled and had a ballet dancer stuck to her hand.Any cop will know what to look for based on this, and Fields asked us to check it out before he’s even got his first sweep report?Something’s off.’
‘You’re being paranoid,’ Ella said.
‘Dark, if there’s ever a time to be paranoid, now’s it.You ever known a Sergeant jump at the chance to work with the feds?’
‘Yeah, not everyone hates us, you know?Or maybe he’s struggling for officers at the minute?He’s got a lot going on.’
‘So naïve.I’m telling you, this isn’t as cut and dry as it seems.’
Ella looked at Rose Michaels.Then at the alley.Then at the figurine.
She thought it through, and as loose as Ripley’s theory was, it did have one foot in reality.Then she remembered something Fields had said back at the precinct; that throwaway line he’d delivered while checking his cell phone.
I’m up to my neck in dead women in alleyways.
