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She nodded.
His gaze flickered down to an old—very old—scar on her arm. One she had truly forgotten about until today.
She had the weirdest urge to cover her arm with her hand, but it was already covered by her shirt, so…
He couldn’t possibly know.
“Yes. So maybe that was why she ran away.”
“It’s usually caused by a very deep pain,” he said quietly, and met her eyes. “One the victim doesn’t know how to carry. Sometimes, they hurt themselves on the outside to match the pain on the inside.”
Huh.
“I can’t imagine how much pain someone has to be in to hurt themselves.” He wore so much compassion in his expression, she had to look away. “No pain is worth that.”
She didn’t know why she had the sense he might be talking to her. But, “Yeah, I know.”
Oh, she didn’t know why she’d said that, either. But after a moment, “She lost a button on her jacket.”
That sounded lame.
“Really?” Rem said, as if it might be vital information, although maybe he’d just sensed, suddenly, the way too intimate conversation. He looked back at the pictures. “Have you ever recently, uh, seen any more victims with this same…well with a twenty dollar bill in their hand?” He was staring at the picture of the bill, extracted at the hospital, but with the crime scene evidence.
“No. Why?”
“It’s just strange, don’t you think?”
“Maybe the guy she ran from was a John, and he was paying her.”
“I don’t think so. I think Gretta was pregnant.”
“Why do you think that?” She finished off the first half of her sandwich.
“Look at the contents of her bag. Where are her tampons? I don’t know a woman alive at this age who doesn’t have tampons.”
Huh. “Right.”
“And that clinic was an abortion clinic.”
Oh. “Did you talk to the M.E. yet?”
“No. And I’m not going to ask if she was pregnant in front of her parents.”
“The M.E. said the strangulation marks looked old, at least by a day. What if the guy in the car was the father of her child? Maybe she told him she didn’t want an abortion, and they got in a fight.”
“And she got out and ran and slipped…”
Pregnant. “How awful. To lose a child—and a grandchild. Her parents will be devastated.”
Rem took a breath. Nodded.
“I don’t know how you get over losing a child. I mean, no one is supposed to outlive their children…”
Beside her, Rembrandt had drawn in a breath, held it.
She wanted to give herself a smack. “Oh, Rem, I’m sorry. I didn’t even think…”
He looked at her, stricken, his eyes wide. Then, he blinked. “Oh, you mean my brother.”
