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“I’d say he had some hospital scalpelsanda Stryker saw or something like it to cut open the skull. And the thread he used to suture the Y-incision is surgical grade.”
Decker looked the body over and had the coroner help him turn the woman.
“No tats or distinguishing marks,” noted Decker.
“No liver spots or sun damage. She was too young for age spots, but her skin was not tanned, either. She wasn’t out in the sun much.”
They turned her back over and Decker ran his gaze over her once more.
How many bodies had he stared at in precisely these circumstances? The answer was easy.Too damn many.But if he didn’t want to look at bodies, he’d have to change careers.
“Anything of interest in her system?” asked Jamison.
“Almost nothing in her stomach, so she hadn’t eaten recently. No obvious signs of drug use. No needle marks, that sort of thing. Tox reports haven’t come back yet.”
“Anything else out of the ordinary?” asked Decker.
“I think her having a postmortem done on her before she got to me is enough out of the ordinary for any case.” Southern tacked on a grin.
“So your answer is no?” persisted Decker.
The smile fell away. “Right, my answer is no.”
“Is she from around here? Who made the ID?”
Southern placed his arms over his chest. “Once I put her face back on somebody from the police department recognized her.”
The door opened at that moment and a man around Jamison’s age walked in. He wore jeans, scuffed tasseled loafers, a checkered shirt, and a navy blue sport coat. He was about six feet tall, lean and wiry with a knot of an Adam’s apple and a classic lantern jaw. His hair was dark brown and thick, and a cowlick stuck up in the back like a periscope.
He looked first at Decker and then at Jamison. “Lieutenant Joe Kelly with the London Police Department,” he said by way of introduction.
“He’s the one I called,” said Southern.
Kelly nodded. “I’m with the Detective Division. Sounds impressive until you understand I’m the only one.”
“The only one workinghomicide, you mean?” said Decker.
“Homicide, burglary, armed robbery, domestic abuse, human trafficking, drugs, and I forget the others.”
“Quite the one-man show,” remarked a wide-eyed Jamison.
“It’s not by choice. It’s by budget dollars. We doubled the size of the force after the last oil bust went boom again, but it hasn’t caught up to detective level yet. Just uniformed bodies on the streets and in the police cruisers. They’ll get around to promoting a uniform to detective about the time the next bust comes along and we all get fired.” He stared up at Decker. “They grow all of them as big as you at the FBI?”
“Yeah, sure. But the other guys wear shiny armor. I like my denim.”
Kelly took a moment to show them his credentials, and they reciprocated. Then Kelly glanced at Southern. “Sorry I didn’t come straight over, Walt. Little bit of trouble at the OK Corral. Was driving by when it happened and heard the ruckus from outside.”
“Another fight?”
“Another something. Stupid name for a bar anyway. Too much testosterone, money, and liquor. I’m not a fan of that combo.”
“He said someone at the department recognized the victim once she was put back together,” said Decker.
“That someone would be me,” replied Kelly.
Decker hiked an eyebrow. “How’s that?”
“I left out one of the other things I’m responsible for here in London. Prostitution.”
