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Her deep brown gaze holds mine a moment before she says, “Between you and me, this is the first time I’ve seen any kind of weapon like this. But yes, I’d say your UNSUB is most likely male.”
The fact that the best M.E. I know—a woman who’s seen everything—is shocked by this kill doesn’t bode well for us. But maybe it’s a lead for our victim. If the perpetrator used a rare weapon, maybe he’s used it or one like it before. It could show up on another radar out there. I make a quick note on my tablet before Avery continues.
“I’ll work up the best sketch I can for the weapon based on the pattern.”
Nodding, I say, “Thanks. That will help.”
She offers a slight smile and continues. “Ligature marks around the ankles and wrists confirm she was bound for hours.” She holds the victim’s arm above the steel table and points out the darkened skin. “The different variations in bruising suggest she was conscious and struggled for some time before her death. And her tox screen was clear. No alcohol or drugs used to sedate her.”
I bend over and peer closer at her hands. “Any chance she got a piece of him during her fight?” My gaze flicks up to catch the shake of Avery’s head.
“Unfortunately, no. There are no defensive wounds. I’ll leave the detecting to you and Quinn, but my guess is that she was apprehended and bound before she even had a chance to fight him.”
More proof of how planned out this attack was. “That’s my theory, too.”
She nods. “All right, then. So I know you’re dying to ask about what was used under the nails.”
Straightening my back, I give her a faint smile. “Surprised it wasn’t my first question?”
“Absolutely. Your patience with this one is remarkable.” Using an instrument to hold the victim’s arm aloft, Avery angles the above light over the hand. “Unlike the murder weapon, this torture method was a little more straight forward. A needle.”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I stare at her, waiting for more. “Just any needle? Like a syringe? But why? I thought the tox showed there was nothing in her system?” The look she gives me states she knows I’m fishing. When I first saw the marks, my initial suspicion wasn’t a syringe. But I’m trying to keep my mind open to other possibilities.
“Not a syringe. A needle like a sewing needle.” She raises her eyebrows.
Tilting my head, I say, “So where’s the thread?”
Her smile reveals her youth. “I like the way your brain works. Cause and effect.” She reaches under the table and pulls out a tub. “I already sent a sample off to forensics, but thought you’d like to get a look for yourself.”
“You know me too well.”
She laughs lightly. “It’s more I know Detective Quinn, and how territorial he is over his crime scenes.” She smirks knowingly at me. And this is true. I wanted to study the rope closer yesterday, but Quinn wasn’t having it until everything was processed.
“Woven cotton. Twisted design, and about six millimeters thick,” Avery declares as she stretches out the rope that was used to bind the victim’s ankles. “Not many offenders’ first choice in restraints.”
My brow creases. “No, it’s not. There are much better, stronger choices. And you’d think he’d want to restrain his victim with the strongest material possible.”
“Is that part of the profile?” Avery cocks her head.
“More like common sense.” As I reach for the rope, she lays it across my hand. “It looks…soft.” I rub my latex-covered thumb over the natural white fibers. “The profile is building toward the UNSUB being a sadist, so this doesn’t really line up.”
Avery sighs as she looks down at the victim. “I’m inclined to agree with your theory there.” She leans back against the opposite table and looks at me. “Maybe the assailant’s rope choice was a matter of convenience, because he sure wasn’t concerned about her level of comfort.”
I shake my head. “Everything at the crime scene implied meticulously planned. Staged. This rope is based on his personal preference. The question is, why? What’s so significant about this particular rope?”
“Maybe forensics will help with that,” she says. “I had it sent out for more than just trace evidence. Look closely, Sadie,” she encourages. “Note how the threads of the rope are subtly different. Some tighter, some looser. Not exactly perfect.”
As I turn the rope over in my hand, I see what she means. “And the ivory color is stained with dark pigments.”
“It’s only a guess, but I’d say it’s hand-woven. Not manufactured.”
My insides bubble up with excitement, and I look at her with widening eyes. “If that’s true, we may be able to track down where the rope came from.” She gives me a bright smile. “Avery, you’re a genius.”
She lifts a shoulder on a half shrug. “I do what I can, but I’ll take it. But,” she adds, tone serious again. “Don’t get your hopes up for trace like skin cells. I found powdered residue on the rope.”
The UNSUB used gloves. “A forensic counter measure,” I say, and her lips thin into a tight frown. “If he’s that careful, then it’s unlikely he’d forget to wear gloves while handling the rope at any other point.”
“Exactly.” She pulls the sheet over the victim. “But sometimes origin can be more helpful than DNA.”
