by Mary Burton
Sharp shifted a curious gaze to Riley.
“Yes,” Dr. Kincaid said. “Results could take a week or two.”
Sharp frowned but didn’t comment as Dr. Kincaid continued her exterior examination, noting three more tattoos on the body: a heart below her belly button, a rose and vine at the base of her spine, and a star at her ankle.
When Dr. Kincaid moved to the top of the body, she reached toward an instrument table for a scalpel. The polished metal glistened in the light as the doctor, with little fanfare or warning, pressed the tip of the blade to the spot between the breasts and sliced downward over the belly and to the pubic bone.
Riley’s mouth watered as the doctor pulled back the flesh from the bone and inspected the tissue and internal organs. Nausea curled in the pit of her stomach, but she held her ground. Cops could be ruthless when they saw weakness, and the last damn thing she needed was to have it get around she’d lost her breakfast at her first autopsy in front of Dakota Sharp.
“You okay, Trooper?” Sharp asked.
“I’m fine.” From somewhere, she summoned a smile. “But you look a little green.”
He laughed. “Not me. Cast-iron stomach.”
She would not be sick. She would not. Biting the inside of her cheek, she allowed her mind to wander as it did when she was a kid, hiding in the shed behind her mother’s house, waiting for her stepfather to either sober up or pass out. She pictured a gentle breeze blowing and the sun on her face. If she could outwait William, she could handle the smells and sounds of an autopsy, which, by her way of thinking, wasn’t hurting a soul. As her heart slowed, she focused on evidence collection and facts. Learn what you can about the girl. It’s the only way you’re going to catch her killer.
“Heart, lungs, liver all look normal and healthy. She wasn’t pregnant.”
Ken reached for another set of X-rays. “Your victim did have a couple of broken ribs at one point in her life. They’ve healed. She also suffered fractures in her left arm. It’s a spiral fracture, suggesting someone may have twisted her arm.”
“The injuries could explain why she ran,” Riley said. “But doesn’t explain who got ahold of her after she arrived in the city. What about sexual assault?”
Sharp’s expression did not change, but he rolled his head from side to side, a habit she’d noticed him do at fatal car accidents.
“That’s next on the list.” Dr. Kincaid instructed Ken to stitch up the chest with dark thread.
The testing for rape was next. She knew basically what to expect, but the exam was the last indignity this girl would endure in her short and troubled life.
Sharp’s features were granite, but his fingers flexed once or twice.
“There’s presence of semen. I’ll need to test DNA to see if it’s from a single source or multiple sources. And there are no signs of vaginal tearing or trauma.”
Riley knew a DNA profile fed into the national database and could land her names of the men who had been with the girl before her death. But paying for sex with a young girl didn’t mean they were killers. And solving the death of a runaway girl would not land on the top of anyone’s priority list, so it could be months or years before a report surfaced.
When Dr. Kincaid completed the exam, Riley moved to the locker to strip off her gown. Her camisole and blouse were damp with sweat. A dull headache thudded at the base of her skull.
Dr. Kincaid tugged off her gloves and gown. “I’ve seen seasoned men drop like a sack of potatoes in here.”
Her deadpan tone had Riley raising her gaze, wondering if the doctor was making fun of her in her sweat-stained shirt. “I hold my own.”
Sharp stripped off his gown and gloves and tossed them in a waste bin. He pushed through the suite doors without a word.
Riley stared after him, wondering what she’d done wrong.
“You did fine,” the doctor offered. “These cases always bother Sharp.”
“They bother most cops.”
“He lost a sister a long time ago. She was only about eighteen when she died. It strikes close to home.”
“I didn’t know that.” Sharp was always short on the personal details.
“You didn’t hear it from me.”
“Understood.”
Out in the hallway she found Sharp waiting by the elevator, an unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth and a lighter clutched in his hand. When the doors dinged open, neither spoke as they rode it up to the first floor and crossed the lobby.
Outside, Sharp cupped his hand around the end of his cigarette and lit up. He took a deep breath. “Fingerprints should help ID her, and we can put her picture on the evening news if you haven’t totally pissed off Eddie. I hear you’ve been dodging him.”
“Ah, Eddie loves me.”
“Like a splinter.”
She laughed. “He’ll get over it for a headline. If you need me to call him, I will.”
He drew in a deep lungful of air and held it for a beat before he let it out. “I’ll call you if it comes to that. I’m hoping information pops on the phone records or the fingerprints.”
“Thanks. I’d like to be kept in the loop on this case.” She pulled her shoulders back a fraction. “I saw that girl getting into Jax’s motor home a month ago. I got called away before I could ask any questions.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Five more minutes might have made the difference for her.”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
She fished her phone out of her back pocket and checked the time. Three hours since the autopsy began. Hanna wouldn’t be home for two more hours, giving her time to hurry home, change, and walk Cooper. “Thanks, Sharp.”
Nodding, he inhaled again and turned and walked up the street.
Moving to her car, she drew fresh air into her lungs and slid behind the wheel. She sat for a moment, allowing the day’s heat to warm the chill from her body before she followed signs to I-95 north. Twenty minutes later she pulled into her driveway behind the 2000 VW Beetle she’d bought for Hanna. The car wasn’t much to look at, but it was dependable.
When she pushed through the front door, Cooper barked. In the kitchen, she opened his crate and rubbed his ears. “How you doing, Coop? Enjoy the afternoon off?”
He barked while wagging his tail.
“Hanna? Are you home early?”
For a moment there was only silence, and then, “It’s Wednesday. Half day of school, remember?”
She scratched Cooper between the ears. “Remind me why it’s a half day?”
“Teacher workday.”
“Right. Slipped my mind.” Juggling motherhood and work never got easy. “Not parent-teacher conferences, right?”
“You didn’t miss anything.”
“Good.”
The girl rounded the corner, her long hair tied up in a thick ponytail that brushed her shoulders. “You’re getting old.”
Riley unhooked her sidearm and set it on top of the refrigerator. “Careful, brat. I’m still spry enough to take you.”
Hanna laughed. “No way.”
Riley shrugged off her jacket. “I’m taking Cooper for a run. Care to join us?”
Hanna scrunched her face. “Your workouts are too intense.”
“For an old lady, you mean?”
“Right.”
Riley changed into jogging shorts, a sports top, and running shoes, and ten minutes later she and Cooper were running toward the local park, which was a mile from her house. Her muscles were still stiff and cumbersome from Monday’s outing. Cooper moved easily, showing no signs of stress after the hike. She kicked up her pace and ten minutes into the run her legs loosened up.
As she approached the back entrance of the park a dark car drove up behind her, slowing its pace to a near crawl. She slowed and glanced at the vehicle while noting the tinted windows. Instinctively, her hand went to her waist and to the sidearm that wasn’t there. “What the hell are you looking at, pal?”
Cooper, detecting the
tension in her tone, looked up, his ears perked.
As she spoke, the car picked up speed and turned at the next corner, vanishing. Most wouldn’t have given the car a second thought, and maybe she wouldn’t have either, but the hair on the back of her neck stood up. Stopping, she drew in a steady breath, watching the corner in case the car returned. Cooper looked up at her, as if waiting for an order.
When the car didn’t double back, she shook off her apprehension and tugged on Cooper’s line. “It’s good, boy. Let’s train.” They ran along the small dirt path and into the woods until they found the trail. Memories of the young girl robbed of her life and lying on the medical examiner’s table crowded out the car. She owed that kid. “I’ll figure it out.”
By the time she and Cooper burst out of the woods forty-five minutes later, she was covered in dirt and sweat. Cooper was barely panting.
As she pushed through the back door of the kitchen, she smelled chili. “Did Duke send home food, Hanna?”
“He just dropped it off before you got home. He said he made too much.”
“Lucky for us.” She unleashed the dog and filled his water bowl only partway. She watched as he lapped but pulled the bowl before he had his fill. After hard training, too much water could bloat a big dog’s stomach and twist the gut, which was potentially fatal. The dog settled on his bed in the corner. “You have triathlon practice tonight, right?”
“Correct. It’s a bike day.”
As soon as Hanna came to live with her, Riley had insisted she pick a sport. The first attempt was soccer, but Hanna wasn’t great at sharing the ball. Next came tennis, a sport Riley had played as a kid. Hanna didn’t like the other girls on the team. Too snooty. And then, they happened on a youth triathlon team, which required no ball sharing and didn’t attract stuck-up girls. A blessing. Hanna had taken to the sport and would be leaving in a few days for a big race in Georgia.
“Let me take a quick shower and then we can eat.” She wanted to rinse away the sweat as well as the lingering smell of the coroner’s office.
Cooper followed her and jumped up on her bed as she toed off her shoes and stepped into the small bathroom. Pulling off her clothes, she tossed them in the hamper and turned on the shower. When the room was steamed up, she stepped under the hot spray. As the water washed away the grime, memories of the girl lying on the medical examiner’s table elbowed forward. She wanted desperately to believe finding the girl’s body had been random. But it wasn’t.
She grabbed the soap and lathered her hands, then washed her face, body, and hair. By the time she stepped out of the spray, the scents had spiraled down the drain, but the memories lingered. She twisted her hair back in a tight knot and slipped on sweats and a T-shirt.
Picking up her phone, she scrolled through the images until she reached the picture of the cards. “Damn it.”
She moved to her closet and, rising up on tiptoes, pulled down an old box and set it on her bed. She’d been busy with Hanna last night, and honestly she’d just been too afraid to look inside. Her fingers hovered a moment over the top before she opened it and dug below the layers of old college papers to the cloth napkin. She carefully removed her small package and unwrapped the coarse fabric. Staring up at her were five playing cards. They weren’t common, everyday cards, but expensive. Thick. Coated in plastic. A black-and-white baroque pattern on the back. Like the cards found in Jane Doe’s backpack. The only difference between the two hands was that hers was a royal flush and there was no message scrawled on the back. Winning hands didn’t get better than a royal flush.
She traced each card’s face and studied the pattern on the back, which was almost identical to the cards now in an evidence bag in the state police forensic lab.
She looks like you.
“Dinner’s ready!” Hanna shouted.
Riley started. “Be right there!” She carefully rewrapped the cards and tucked them in the back of the box, which she shoved in the closet. Her cards were from New Orleans, over a thousand miles away. There was nothing written on them. They couldn’t be connected.
She found Hanna placing a bowl of chili and slice of bread at a place set for her. Hanna liked eating at the table, like a family, she often said. Their dinners were never silent affairs as Riley’s had been in her stepfather’s house. They laughed and talked about school, college, and any worries Hanna wanted to voice.
Riley sat at the table and draped the folded paper towel over her lap. “How was school?”
“Routine,” Hanna said, sitting. Like Riley, she took time to place her napkin in her lap.
“What about those applications?”
“Applications.” She dragged out the word as if it had twenty syllables. “I’ve downloaded the college applications.”
“Good. Have you started on the essays?”
“I don’t know what to say about myself.” She dropped her gaze to her chili and swirled it around and around.
“You’ve had a pretty interesting life.”
“It’s been amazingly pathetic.”
“I don’t see it that way at all.” Riley set her fork on her plate and pressed the napkin to her lips. “You’re a survivor, Hanna. You’re here and looking ahead, not over your shoulder. And that’s worth a lot.”
“But I’ve not had a regular life. I’ve not done all that real-kid stuff like soccer games, or cheering practice, or tennis.”
“Where did you spend your twelfth birthday?”
“In the shelter. I was trying to do my homework while a couple of kids pulled knives in a fight over a shirt.”
“Write about that. Believe me, the admissions staff will never, ever see another essay like it. You’re unique. Don’t try to shove yourself into a mold.”
“But I want to be in a mold.”
“No, you don’t. Look at me. I don’t exactly look like the mother of a teenager.”
Hanna shrugged. “You’re definitely way cooler.”
“See?”
“But what if the essay sucks?”
Riley laid her hand on Hanna’s. “Once it’s done, I’ll read it. It’ll be great.”
The girl stirred her spoon in her chili. “You sure?”
“It’s going to be fine. Don’t worry.”
Tears glistened in Hanna’s eyes, and she wiped one off her cheek with the back of her hand. “If you tell anyone I cried, I’ll scream.”
As much as Riley wanted to crack a joke to lighten the mood, she opted to baby the kid a little. “Your secret is safe with me.”
“Thanks.”
They ate in silence and when the bowls were cleaned, Hanna said, “You’re quiet.”
“Thinking about a case.” She didn’t want to burden Hanna with what she’d seen, but she also wanted her to never forget the dangers out there.
“Can you talk about it?”
“It’s a young girl who was strangled.”
Hanna’s face paled. “That’s awful.”
“It is. So please be careful when you’re running around town.”
“I know. I know,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Situational awareness.”
“I mean it.”
Hanna straightened. “I know.”
“Good.” Riley rose. “Homework?”
“Just a little.”
“Get it done while I do a little computer work.”
“Fine.”
Riley cleaned the dishes and sat on the couch with her laptop. Cooper settled at her feet, chewing his favorite red rubber ring.
She typed in the particulars of this murder case into Google. Strangulation. Young female. Playing cards.
Not surprisingly, nothing came up.
It would be easy to chock up Jane Doe’s murder to an angry pimp or a crazed john. Girls like that died all the time without much notice. But this kid’s death wasn’t typical.
Her index finger lightly tapped the side of the keyboard. She wanted to believe this case was random. But she learned a long time ago the universe didn’t car
e about her wants and needs.
She typed New Orleans and the year she’d left the Big Easy for good.
For a long moment her finger hovered over the “Enter” button. What would Sharp say if he knew about her set of cards? Would he see a connection or tell her she was worried over nothing? Shit. Either way, he’d pull her off the case. And what if social services got wind of this? She couldn’t let either outcome happen. She pressed “Enter” and sat back as the adrenaline rushed through her body.
An icon on the screen swirled. But there were no matches in the search results.
She looks like you.
Riley shook off Sheriff Barrett’s words and shut off the computer.
Kevin sat in the dark, swirling the amber scotch in a crystal glass. The ice clinked again and again, slowly melting and diluting the twenty-year-old liquor.
His losing streak had stalked him for a year and had taken a toll on his reputation. His ribs still ached from the beating he’d received ten days ago from the Vegas thugs who were looking for a couple hundred thousand dollars paid in full.
Then he heard about the life-and-death game, which hadn’t been played in years. He thought he’d found his way back into the big leagues. The Shark spotted any challenger ten-to-one odds if they brought a very specific kind of girl to the game. Kevin had twenty grand left to his name, but he had the potential of turning that into two hundred grand. That would have been enough to pay off his debts with a healthy bonus to the girl.
The girl, his stake in the game, had been easy to find. Vicky cost him two grand and he promised her pimp he would return her within twenty-four hours. He was certain when they left the diner he’d win, and in the end he’d help her get free of the life.
The game began well enough. He won several of the opening hands. The wins emboldened him, and when the final hand was dealt, he was already thinking beyond the game to his new fortune. In his mind, he was on the verge of saving himself and the girl.
When the last card had turned, and he was looking at four queens, he was certain the Shark couldn’t pull out a full house. What were the odds? But then the Shark’s last card turned. A king.
The Shark had won.