Nowhere to Run (Stephanie Carovella)

by Nina D'Angelo

  “England is hardly the edge of the earth,” Stephanie answered, giving her a mock scowl.

  “It might as well have been. Ben was so hurt when you left without saying goodbye.” Ana paused. “We all were. We knew how devastated you were by Dominic’s death. How it must have cut you deeply. And Jesse...” She broke off, seeing how her friend’s open expression quickly became closed at the mention of Dominic’s death.

  “Jesse was Jesse,” Stephanie finished, sharing a sad smile with Ana. “I’m sorry, but I needed a change. I needed to escape. I could hardly breathe, Ana. I felt suffocated. I needed to go somewhere where no one knew me.”

  “But you’re back now,” Ana said, smiling softly. She linked her pinkie finger with Stephanie, grinning impishly.

  Stephanie withdrew her hand quickly, shaking her head. “Ana, I’m not back. My life isn’t here anymore. I like the tranquility of where I live, and I have someone back in England; someone I can’t leave behind,” Stephanie protested, knowing even as she spoke the words aloud that they were a lie.

  Ana snorted, playing with the frayed edge of her Motley Crue T-Shirt. “Yeah, right. I bet Jesse believes this ‘I’m not back’ speech as much as I do.”

  Studying her friend’s mutinous expression, she sighed and leaned back to study her. Cocking one head to the side, she said softly, “You said you can’t leave someone behind. Is this someone a he?” When Stephanie nodded, she whistled softly. “Damn. He must be great in bed for you to say that.”

  “He is, but that’s not the reason why I can’t leave him behind.”

  “Jesus. This guy must be special.” Ana whistled again.

  “You could say that,” Stephanie said, adding slowly, “He’s my husband.”

  Ana opened her mouth to speak and then shut it again wordlessly.

  “I’ve surprised you, huh?”

  She nodded, unnerved by Stephanie’s cool smile. “You love this guy?” She asked, studying her friend.

  Stephanie shrugged one slim shoulder, wrinkling her nose at the question. “What is love really?” She countered lightly, taking a deep breath and contemplating Ana’s question.

  “Yes, no...I’m not sure,” she began, tracing her index finger along the edge of the table. “As much as I am capable of, I guess. He’s not Dominic. He’s different, but he’s solid.” She fell silent, unsure of how to explain her relationship with Leigh. “It wasn’t planned. I just wanted to go somewhere where no one knew me and where I could work. I tried to avoid getting seriously involved with Leigh, but he was just as determined to get serious.”

  “Why fight it honey? When you’re in love, you’re in love,” Ana quipped, giving her a ready-made smile.

  “Because he wasn’t – isn’t my type. Because every person I’ve ever loved has died. Because he is everything I don’t want in a man, or at least I didn’t think I wanted. He wasn’t what I expected.” Stephanie looked down at her hands. “We got married two weeks ago.”

  Ana whistled softly. “Oh, Jess and Ben are going to love this. The big bad Stephanie Carovella falling hard; Ms. Love Em and Leave Em, herself.”

  Stephanie gave a negative shake of her head. “No, it’s not like that with Leigh. I’m not even sure if I love him, at least not the way I should. I just don’t know.”

  Ana whistled again. “You’re already having doubts after two weeks? Maybe it’s because you miss him.”

  Stephanie grimaced. “I’m not sure I’m cut out to be a small-town wife after all.”

  Ana suddenly felt a rush of guilt. If she was honest with herself, she had ulterior motives in supporting Stephanie’s marriage. At one time, she’d seen Stephanie as her biggest rival for Ben’s affections. Even now, deep inside, a nagging worry burrowed away at her; the worry that Ben would finally realize how he felt for Stephanie and cast her aside.

  Telling herself she was stupid to think like this, she was angry she wasn’t fully supporting her friend for the right reasons. Straightening her back, she determined she would do so from this moment on. She frowned at Stephanie, asking carefully, “So, how much does he know about your life before him?”

  Stephanie mirrored her frown. “He knows everything,” she said. “No, that’s not true. He knows enough.”

  “How much is enough?” Ana asked, her eyes narrowing speculatively.

  “He knows the basics,” Stephanie admitted, groaning loudly. “No. That’s not even true. He knows I left L.A because I needed a break, a change of pace.”

  “That’s it? That’s all he knows?” Ana asked, disbelief showing on her face.

  Stephanie gave her a half-smile. “I didn’t think he needed to know the rest.” Seeing Ana’s surprised expression, she groaned again. “Ana, don’t look at me that way. I didn’t think he needed to know the gory details of my life before him.”

  “You didn’t think he needed to know you were once married, or you didn’t think he needed to know the fact the love of your life died?” Ana asked, exasperation creeping into her voice.

  Stephanie gave her another careless shrug, refusing to look at her.

  Leaning forward, Ana rested an elbow on the table, tucking her hand underneath her chin. “Mama Mia honey, you’ve dug yourself a nice little trench. I suppose you haven’t told Ben or Jesse yet?”

  “Not yet. You won’t tell them right?”

  Ana gave her a look of mock horror. “Ben and Jesse don’t know? Don’t worry, I won’t tell them. I’m not stepping into that landline. That’s your job.”

  Stephanie sighed. “I will tell them, but the timing – it’s just wrong.”

  Ana rolled her eyes. "You’ve had two weeks to tell them. Honey, either way it’s not going to be pretty. You know how protective they are of you.” Pausing, she added, “I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes if your new husband finds out about your past and honey, he will. Secrets always come out in the end.”

  Stephanie ignored her last comment, muttering, “I’ll tell them. I just need to find the right time.”

  ***

  Cynthia looked up when Gena, hesitantly, stepped into the Morgue. “For someone who deals with death every day, you wouldn’t believe it with the way you act every time you have to come in here.”

  “It’s not the dead people who bother me, it’s this place. It gives me the creeps. Morgues always have,” Gena admitted, clearing her throat and changing the topic. Indicating to the dead woman on the examination table, she asked, “What can you tell me about her?”

  Cynthia reached out and stroked the woman’s face tenderly, already feeling an intense protectiveness for the young woman lying on her table. “Do we even have a name for her yet?”

  Gena leaned against a table of instruments, resting her hip comfortably against it. “We’re still working on it, but there’s a possibility she is Carolyn Mathers.”

  She waited for Cynthia to recognize the name, not surprised when she didn’t. “She’s an actress, who a few years back had a hit series with The Real Thing. A scrapbook found with our victim’s body is the only clue we have. Until we can check dental records or the Automated Fingerprint Identification System, she’ll just have to be another Jane Doe. I’m hoping you’ll be able to shed more light on who she is and what happened to her, for me.” Gena said, staring expressionlessly at the corpse.

  Cynthia nodded, pushing her own emotions aside. Pulling on latex gloves, she focused on the woman in front of her. “I can confirm she was tortured before she died,” she said briskly.

  Gena nodded, asking quietly, “Do you know how?”

  Cynthia shook her head. “Gena, how wasn’t she is more like it.” Disgust lacing her voice, she explained quietly, “There’s evidence of cigar burns on every inch of her body. She was lashed repeatedly with what I believe was a cat o’ nines. Some of them still look fresh. It’s my conclusion she was whipped only an hour or so before she died. There’s not an inch of her that hasn’t been brutalized in some form or another.”

  She broke off, taking a deep breat
h. Gently lifting one of the victim’s hands, she pointed to the marks on the wrist. “Her hands were bound together. From the marks, I’ve determined whoever killed her used handcuffs.”

  “Handcuffs?” Gena queried, waiting for Cynthia to elaborate.

  “Yes, handcuffs. Before you ask, they’re the standard issue cuffs you can buy just about anywhere these days,” Cynthia said.

  She shook her blonde head, sympathy for the victim etched on her face. “Gena, I’ve examined every inch of this woman’s body. Whoever killed her wanted to inflict as much pain on her as possible. But he was careful – scarily careful. We’re talking no stray hairs, no fibers, no indention – not one damn thing to tell us who, what, where or why this was done to her. Any trace we’ve got is most likely going to be from the dumpsite.”

  Cynthia blew out a sigh of frustration. “In all my time as a Medical Examiner, I’ve never had a situation where the body has been this damn clean. It’s like she was dropped from above onto the dump site, she’s that damn clean; it gets worse.”

  Gena raised an eyebrow as she watched Cynthia gently place the corpse’s arms back onto the examination table.

  “I’m not sure anything could be worse than having a victim who can’t tell a story of who, what, where, and why she was killed,” Gena drawled.

  Cynthia opened the victim’s mouth, leaning forward. She watched Gena mimic her movement, and asked, “Notice anything?”

  Gena peered inside the corpse’s mouth, not sure what she was supposed to be looking for. She froze, realizing what Cynthia was showing her.

  “Her tongue’s missing. Where the hell is her tongue?” She exclaimed.

  “It was cut. See, here, this is where it’s been cut,” Cynthia said, pointing inside the mouth.

  “Please tell me her tongue was cut out post-mortem,” Gena whispered, watching Cynthia shake her head.

  “Sorry Gena, she was very much alive when it was cut.”

  She straightened up, watching Gena step back, and gently closed the victim’s mouth. “Gena, I’ve seen a lot of things in my time but this...”She broke off, unable to finish her sentence.

  “It’s common practice for gangs to do this when a member talks, as retribution,” Gena said with a shrug.

  “Yes, but this girl was no gang member,” Cynthia argued, before adding fiercely, “What this girl went through...By the time whoever did this had finished with her, she would have felt like death was a blessing in disguise.”

  Cynthia removed the sheet covering the body, watching Gena’s expression change to one of fury. With a sweeping hand motion to emphasize what she meant, she said, “Now, do you understand?”

  Gena nodded, unable to speak, anger coursing through her and leaving her speechless. She swallowed before she spoke. “Was she raped?”

  Cynthia nodded her affirmation, seeing the play of emotions on Gena’s usually stoic face. “Yes, multiple times. The tearing indicates at some stage he used a foreign object.” She paused. “I haven’t determined what yet, but he did it more than once. She was pretty torn up inside.”

  Gena and Cynthia both fell silent, neither unable to talk, as they surveyed the dead woman’s bruised and broken body. Clearing her throat, Gena asked huskily, “Do we know the cause of death?”

  “The deep cut to her throat was the predominant cause, but here’s where it gets really interesting,” Cynthia said, her eyes sparkling in excitement.

  “So, you have found something?” Gena asked in amusement, her own interest peaked.

  “I did,” Cynthia confirmed with a smile. She leaned forward again, and indicated to the victim’s neck. “Do you see where her throat’s been slit?” She waited for Gena to step closer to the table, watching her lean down to study the victim’s throat.

  “Yeah, I see. And, your point is?” Gena asked in irritation, not understanding what she was supposed to be seeing. “Do we know yet what kind of weapon was used?”

  “My guess is a sharp knife,” Cynthia said, grinning when Gena rolled her eyes. “I haven’t worked out what type of knife yet, but as soon as I know, you will too.”

  “Well what did you find then? What am I supposed to be looking at, Cyn?”

  Cynthia ignored the frustration in Gena’s voice, her eyes trained on the victim’s throat. Leaning over the body, she touched the exposed cut to the victim’s neck. “Gena, where her throat was slit, there’s evidence of scar tissue.” She traced the edges of the cut with her fingers.

  “What the hell do you mean by scar tissue?” Gena asked incredulously. “Are you telling me what I think you’re god damn telling me?”

  Cynthia nodded, her voice calm. “It looks like someone tried to slit her throat once before. The scar tissue is evidence of this. Whoever killed her slit her throat in the exact spot it was cut once before.”

  Gena rocked back on her heels, slowly pulling a notepad out of her jacket’s pocket and scribbling notes into it, smiling grimly.

  “This could mean a number of things. Either someone was finishing a job they started, or they figured slitting her throat in the same place would not only hurt her physically, but emotionally too. If our victim previously suffered a similar attack then our killer might have felt slitting her throat in the same place would send her over the edge. I guess you could say he was delivering the ultimate mind-fuck.” Gena paused, her mind racing as she scribbled notes into her pad. “Then we have the previous attack. Even if this isn’t Carolyn Mathers, knowing she was previously attacked will help us. This is good news, Cyn. We can check previous records to see if there was a similar attack in the past. Even if the crime wasn’t reported, we can check hospital records. We’ll look for anything to give us a clue as to who attacked this young woman.”

  “It’s so sick,” Cynthia said, gently pulling the blanket back up to cover up the woman up to her shoulders. “If it’s any consolation, she died straight away from the cut to her throat. Whoever cut her throat did it swiftly. She never stood a chance.”

  “Thanks Cynthia,” Gena said, closing her notepad. She walked towards the door, but paused. She turned halfway and looked at the victim again.

  “I’ll let you know when I find something,” Cynthia promised. She watched Gena give her a curt nod and walk away, before she glanced down at the female corpse, covering her up further. Her breath hitching in her throat, she ducked her head, tears blurring her vision.

  Taking a deep breath, she removed her gloves, hastily wiping away her tears. After five years as a Medical Examiner, she was still affected by some of the victims who crossed her path. It made her job so much tougher and inch by inch it was making her more jaded.

  Shaking her head, she stared down at the Jane Doe in front of her. She shouldn’t complain though. Some peoples’ days were even worse. They ended up dead on an examination table, their innards displayed for all to see, while some stranger deciphered what happened to them. It just wasn’t right.

  She sighed again. She needed a holiday.

  Chapter Six

  Stephanie watched the people milling into the church, smiling softly at the variety of characters here to mourn Angel. She certainly had led an interesting life and gathered a lot of interesting friends along the way. It never mattered to her who they were, where they came from or what they did for a living. She hadn’t cared if they’d been Lawyers, Strippers, Musicians, Actors, Doctors, Joe Blows or even a Dominatrix, like herself.

  She wrapped her arms around herself. She missed Dominic. Today, more than ever, she missed him. She wished desperately that he was here to hold her up and tell her everything was going to be okay. The impact of what she’d lost when she lost him hit her a little harder today. A hand touched her shoulder. She turned to see Ben and Ana standing behind her.

  “Are you ready to go in yet?” Ana asked softly, taking in Stephanie’s pale face and the overwhelming grief in her amber eyes.

  Her expression one of pain, Stephanie said in a choked voice, “No, not yet.”

  Ben nodde
d in understanding, wrapping his arm firmly around Stephanie’s shoulder in support. “Ana, why don’t you go inside? I’ll stay out with Steph for a little while longer.”

  Ana paused, watching the two of them, before she nodded. Touching Stephanie’s arm briefly, she leaned up and kissed Ben, turning and walking towards the church doorways.

  “This feels so wrong, Ben,” Stephanie whispered; a wave of pain vibrating through her.

  Ben drew Stephanie into his arms, pulling her tightly to him, smiling when she leaned her head against her chest.

  “I know babe. I feel it too,” he whispered back, grazing his lips across her temple.

  “She would have hated all of this. She would have hated being shoved into a wooden box, and mourned in a church,” she continued dully, as if she hadn’t even heard him speak.

  “The only time Angeline ever went to church was the one night she broke into a local church and had sex on the altar table,” Ben said, his voice choked with laughter.

  “Exactly. This – this wasn’t the kind of funeral she wanted,” Stephanie said, slipping out of Ben’s arms.

  “I know that. You know that, but Angel’s parents felt this was the most respectable way for her to be mourned. They didn’t like her idea of turning up the music, and getting roaring drunk.”

  Stephanie snorted, twisting around to glare at Angel’s parents who stood, at the church entrance, greeting people. “They didn’t approve of anything she did while she was alive, so why the hell would they start now that she’s dead?”

  Closing her eyes, she whispered fiercely, “This feels so wrong. This feels wrong to be burying yet another loved one of ours. What did we do Ben? What the hell did Dominic and Angel ever do to deserve to die so young?”

  Ben cursed, pulling her back into his arms, and holding her tightly. He could feel tremors racing through her body, as she gripped his upper arms for support. Stephanie continued brokenly, “I don’t know if I can go in there and deal with what Angel’s parents think is respectable. Not when the way she died was with so little respect. Not when I know her killer is still out there. Not when I can’t help but wonder if her killer is here today, amongst her friends, mourning her.”