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8
MARK
The morning taskforce meeting was a short one. Sojer didn’t need much of an introduction and he quickly explained to the team why he wanted in on the investigation, telling them the same thing he told me last night. Brina had a vacant expression on her face throughout, as though she didn’t quite understand what he was saying, but Dino kept fidgeting like he had plenty to say but was biting his tongue. I suppose I’ll find out what they both really think about the arrangement in due time and in private. Simon was mostly just concerned about how to handle the logistics and bureaucracy of Sojer working with us. I’m sure he’ll figure it out without my input.
Dino had the most to report because he’d been able to track down several of Milo’s old friends last night. But unfortunately, all of them claimed that they hadn’t seen or spoken to Milo in months. Could be they’re lying or it could be that Milo really was working hard to leave his past behind him.
Brina is still waiting on the traffic cam feed, and she was not able to get much from the occupants of the building overlooking the crime scene when she interviewed them last night. I sent her and Dino to start piecing together the victim’s last day.
Eva took some persuading, but she finally agreed to stay at the office and begin going over the case files with a focus on the interviews done with the victims' families and witnesses like we discussed earlier.
As for me, I’m once again standing in the morgue, Sojer by my side. Dr. Marolt is a lot friendlier today. She’s holding the wrist of the victim and showing us faded scars running cross-wise on them. There are more scars all over her arms, old yet still stark white against the unnatural bluish tone of her skin.
“She cut herself for years. Probably since she was a teenager, judging by the age of some of the scars,” Marolt says. “But this was very likely a suicide attempt. Also some years old. Eight to ten, at a guess.”
I clear my throat and glance at the victim’s face. That almost-smile is still on it. After seeing it on the other victims’ faces in Eva’s photos this morning, I can’t unsee it anymore.
“We’ll have to check her medical records and see if she was treated for depression,” I say. “We’re thinking she might have been down at the river with thoughts of going in.”
Sojer flashes me a hard, surprised look. “You think? Though now that you mention it and with these scars… who knows? Maybe all of them were suicidal. Tim Ban was a very depressed guy and there were rumors of him trying to kill himself when we were growing up.”
“It’s something we should look into,” I say. “Could be a possible connection between the victims.”
Marolt places the victim’s arm back onto the table and covers it with the sheet.
“I might have been a little harsh the last time you and Eva were here,” she says and pauses to clear her throat. Yes, she was harsh. Especially to Eva, but I don’t say it.
“The thing is… and I went over my notes from the other cases that you mentioned… I just don’t see a clear connection, is what I’m trying to say,” she says, pausing often. “Are you sure you’re not just grasping at straws?”
I shake my head and open my mouth to speak, but Sojer beats me to it.
“There’s enough to warrant a second look,” he says. “There is a regular pattern to the stabbings, the wounds are clean and precise, and all the victims are found by the river. They’re also all roughly the same age and from similar backgrounds. And if we’re wrong, we’re wrong.”
He grins at her and I nod.
“You have your job and I have mine, I guess,” Marolt says and covers the victim’s face as well.
Only the very top of the incision they make to open them up was visible before and now it’s all covered. Much better that way as far as I’m concerned.
“This woman might very well have been depressed,” Marolt says. “Her womb had recently been removed, but the cancer, which I assume was the cause of it, had spread to her intestine. She was so young too. Tragic.”
“Tragic,” Sojer echoes, but his eyes are unfocused, as though he’s actually thinking of something else. On the whole, he doesn’t strike me as the kind of detective who lets the victims and death get too far under his skin. Lucky guy.
“Did you get the toxicology report in yet?” he asks.
She nods and walks to the table that runs the length of the room, bringing a similar folder as the first time we spoke and hands it to him.
“She was undergoing chemotherapy,” she says. “Traces of anti-depressives and Xanax were also found in her blood. As was alcohol. We found wine and an undissolved pill in her stomach.”
“We’ll need copies of the report and your findings,” Sojer tells her and hands me the tox report. I scan it, but it’s just as she said and I hand it back to her.
She assures us it will all be filed by the end of the day, and we leave her to it. The sky outside is overcast and grey to the point of looking like dirty balls of cotton, but at least it’s not raining. Sunshine would be better.
“So what’s next?” Sojer asks. “The victim’s medical records?”
I’m not a huge fan of the way he’s taking charge, but he’s not suggesting anything that hasn’t been on my mind too. And I could just be finding fault where there is none.
The main reason I took him along was to get a better feel for him and maybe ferret out why I still get the sense that there’s more to him wanting to investigate this than remorse over not doing more on the cases he had signed off on in the past.
