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I shake my head. “Lifting dead weight isn’t easy. Even for a strong fucker. Most likely, after the discovery of the first vic, he didn’t bother wasting his time or energy.”
Carson nods.
Once I reach the vic, I clear out CSU so I can study the scene. White female. Early twenties. Her face shows signs of bruising, as do her wrists and forearms. Not as badly as the first vic; I can make out her features, which hold a hint of an undeterminable ethnicity, and some of the bruises are yellow and fading. Her black dress could be cheap or expensive. I need a woman’s perspective on this one. But the vic’s hair is highlighted, and her makeup is heavy and smeared.
One black heel is on, the other off. I glance around.
“Looks like we have a Cinderella,” Carson says. “I already checked the area. Nothing else in the vicinity linking to the vic.”
“Okay, good. See if Avery’s on her way. I need a couple of pointers on the wardrobe.”
Carson sends a quick text, then says, “Could be a serial rapist. He’s not mutilating the vics. Not putting on a show. Not leaving behind any signatures.”
“We need COD first,” I note. “But you’re right. These kills seem to be cause and effect, more out of necessity. We’ll know more once the lab can confirm if she was raped.”
And I hope Avery can. As sickening as it is chasing a serial rapist, it’s a lot easier to stomach than mutilated corpses and copycat serial killers mimicking ancient countesses.
Something neat and straightforward.
I’m directing CSU on processing samples from her bare foot, collecting any trace she might’ve picked up from the kill site, when I see Avery walking up.
My chest tightens. I have to physically press my hand against my ribs to calm the palpitations.
She sets her kit down and pulls a band from around her wrist to tie her long blond hair back. Even in her shiny lab jacket and cargo pants, her shapely curves are noticeable. My mind wanders, recalling how her short robe inched up to reveal her thighs…and I have to look away.
I’m a fucking mess of a man.
As Avery approaches the scene, her deep brown eyes meet mine. “Detective Quinn.”
I flinch at her cool greeting. Before I can address her, she acknowledges Carson and then squats next to the vic to start her examination.
Carson shoots me a curious glare, but he’s smart enough not to probe.
This is exactly why
you don’t cross that damn line with colleagues. If I could go back, I’d kick my ass for even thinking about going to Avery’s last night. What did that achieve?
But as I watch Avery work, her swift and sure movements collecting trace and the way she delicately handles the vic, the sadness in her eyes—eyes that have seen too many victims without ever becoming void of emotion—I’m convinced. Avery gives so much of herself to the job, the least I can do is be there when she needs somebody.
“Quinn. Take a look at this.”
At her request, I promptly order Carson off to start the canvass of the local establishments, and kneel next to Avery. “You find something interesting?”
“I wasn’t sure before…” she says as she lifts the hem of the vic’s dress. She pushes it back to reveal the upper thigh. I lean in to get a closer look at what Avery points out beneath the band of the vic’s underwear. “I found something similar on the first vic. I thought it was some kind of tattoo in the process of removal. The raised design was badly damaged due to a burn she sustained. But now…seeing it again…”
“It’s a brand,” I say. And the perp was trying to get rid of the evidence the first time around.
“I’ll work up a sketch. I’ll match it to what I can determine of the first vic’s marking and compare. But they do look similar in design.”
“Thanks,” I say, taking one last look at the brand before meeting Avery’s eyes. “Try to get me that sketch as soon as possible.”
Her mouth presses together. “Sure thing.”
I jot down notes as Avery records her findings. She describes the dress as designer. I make an additional note to track down where it was purchased.
“I’ll need to perform an autopsy to determine cause of death,” she says. “There’s nothing to indicate she died in a similar manner as the other vic, so I can’t conclusively say whether you’re looking for the same offender. I’ll let you know as soon as I have COD.”
As she packs up, I observe her stiff movements. And when she tosses her gloves into her kit with more force than necessary, that pain beats to fucking life in my chest. I wish I could reach in and tear it out.
