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He’s a good cop. He’s smart and wants to do the right thing.
He passes the offcut to me, so I pass it to Archer, and Archer places it in the waiting hands of a uniform.
“Then this one,” I direct. The first branch reveals the Jane’s lower body—her bloody thighs and swollen torso. “Cut right here, but be careful—I think a few of the prickles are still in her.”
“You want me to pull them out?” Brady’s voice remains steady, but his hesitance is palpable. “Pull them from her skin?”
“Yeah.” I look across to Aubree. “Make sure you get all this.”
“I got it.” She moves closer and zooms in on our work. “I won’t miss anything.”
“Snip it,” I instruct Brady. “Pull it straight up. Be careful not to drag sideways, or you’ll do more damage. We’re looking at a sex crime,” I say to Archer. “Instant first impression. Bruised thighs, blood on her legs and stomach. She’s naked, and she’s been dumped.”
“No clothes,” he murmurs. “Means no ID.”
Nodding, I pull my bottom lip between my teeth and watch as Brady makes his next cut to reveal her chest.
Her frame isn’t large, but her breasts are significantly engorged. Large enough to make me frown.
“We’ll start with uncovering her, then we’ll see what face we have to work with. Perhaps start with missing persons?” I shrug and glance back to Arch. “You do your job, and I’ll do mine.”
A slow grin works its way into his expression before he shakes his head and reaches around me to take the next portion of shrub. “Thanks for your permission, Doc. I’ll concentrate on who she is and who hurt her. You figure out how and why she’s dead.” He passes off his load to the next in line. “See? We complement each other so well.”
“Uh-huh.”
I look back at Jane and search for the next logical cut. “Here.” I use Clay to maintain equilibrium as I lean further into the garden. “See how her hair is tangled? Be careful. Approximately twenty-five to thirty-five years old, by visual examination,” I speak for the record. “Caucasian female. Solid middle-class.”
While Brady cuts, I kneel lower and gently unfurl one of the woman’s fingers to find a fresh manicure.
“Minimal regrowth on her nails. Minimal regrowth in her hair. Says she makes and keeps salon appointments.”
“Someone knows her. She has a family and friends and places she visits for those appointments.” Arch places his hand under my arm and slowly pulls me up to standing. “Scar on her left ankle. Anklet circling just above.”
“Modest stud earrings in her ears,” I add. “One on each side. No other jewelry, though she has a pierced navel. The charm isn’t here, but the hole remains. Gentle stretch marks fan away from the piercing.”
When Brady makes his next snip and attempts to pull the shrub up, it catches on her hair, as predicted, and stops his movement.
“Carefully.” I lean too far in, knowing Archer won’t let me fall. Slowly, I work to detangle what I can so we don’t pull chunks of hair out, nor do we wrench her head around unnecessarily. “Slowly bring that branch up.”
After Brady does as instructed and we reveal the woman’s features, doll-like in death, I stay low while the officer passes the bush to Archer.
“No damage to her face,” I recite for me, for Archer, for the camera. “She’s still young. No apparent wrinkles, no smile lines, no crow’s feet.”
Gently, I tilt her head to the side… in search of a cause of death, I suppose. I expect to see ligature marks, or scratches, or missing hair, or a bleeding nose. Burst blood vessels. Chipped teeth. Bruises.
Something.Anything.
But she’s almost perfect, except for the mess on her legs.
“I’m going to document her in place,” I tell Archer. “Get everything I can. Then we’ll get a sheet in there and flip her.”
Sliding my fingers across her neck, I check for a pulse. A ridiculous thought, yet I still wait an entire minute. Nothing.
“Thermometer,” I say to Aubree. “And a scalpel.”
“Here.” She’s faster than anyone else I’ve ever worked with. Intuitive enough to know what I want before I even know.
She sets the thermometer in my hand, then a scalpel next, and all the while, she films. “Establishing death,” she states for the camera. “Outside temperature sits about mid-thirties.”
