Little Girl Blue, a Seth and Ava Mystery

by Claudia Hall Christian

  “But?” Ava asked.

  “He has injuries to both of his hands that are common in fights,” Dr. Quincy said. She pointed to the bones of his hands, which were closed around the woman’s shoulder. She shook her head. “There’s no way to know. I will tell you that their clothing, particularly their undergarments, is consistent with your hypothesis that they lived in late the 1800s. Their bone markers indicate that they were possibly Italian or at the very least Mediterranean in origin. Maybe Greek.”

  “Hold on,” Bob said. “You’re suggesting that these people were immigrants?”

  “Given the mineral content of the bones, it’s highly likely,” Dr. Quincy said. “We’d have to do a detailed survey of the site to get a better idea of where these people came from. Compared to Ludlow, these people were definitely not in this country very long. We’d have to do DNA testing or possibly microbiome of the remaining organs to determine for sure.”

  “We don’t have money for anything like that,” Ava said. “Not in our grant, at least. I can talk to my boss at the Denver Crime Lab, but I’m sure he will say the same thing.”

  “Dr. Miller said the same of the state,” Dr. Quincy said. “It’s a shame. Even though it was a long, long time ago, someone likely wondered what happened to this family.”

  Ava nodded.

  “How did they get out all the way out here in Colorado?” Bob wondered out loud. “In Kiowa County, no less.”

  “I don’t think we’ll ever know,” Dr. Quincy said. “Do we know how many remains are in the field?”

  “Nelson reviewed the new satellite reading this morning,” Ava said. “He thinks there are at least twenty groupings of remains. There are enough suspicious areas that he believes there may be more individual remains.”

  “More than twenty families,” Dr. Quincy said in a rueful tone. After a moment, she took a breath and walked to another metal table. “Shall we continue with our young lady?”

  “Please,” Ava said.

  Dr. Quincy went to the other table. Covered by a white sheet, a small body was hidden from view.

  “I didn’t realize that she was so small,” Ava said.

  She swallowed hard against the lump she always got in her throat when the reality of victims’ bodies hit home.

  “She was five foot three and three-fourths inches,” Dr. Quincy said. “Not a big woman. She was fit, almost muscular. You can see from her bones that the attachments were to heavy muscles.”

  Dr. Quincy pointed to an x-ray in a light box on the wall. The remains of the young woman had been embalmed and placed in a coffin, which went into the Colorado clay. Her remains were mostly intact.

  “She played sports,” Ava said. “Soccer, I think.”

  Dr. Quincy nodded.

  “That might have been it,” Dr. Quincy said. “Have you been through the original findings?”

  Ava and Bob nodded.

  “Death due to blunt force trauma to the head possibly due to either being hit by a heavy object or being dropped on her head,” Bob said. “Vaginal tearing possibly due to rape or other excessive sexual activity. No drugs or alcohol in her system.”

  “Yes,” Dr. Quincy said. “Those were the original findings.”

  “Were you able to add anything else, Doctor?” Bob asked.

  “I took additional DNA swabs,” Dr. Quincy said. “The tests are more sensitive now, so we may get something. Do we have anything back from the original samples?”

  “Not yet,” Ava said.

  Dr. Quincy drew back the sheet to expose the young woman’s knees.

  “Can you see this discoloration?” Dr. Quincy asked.

  She pointed to the area. There seemed to be some kind of darker pattern in the skin that wasn’t consistent with the rest of the skin.

  “This pattern was likely not visible to the original coroner,” Dr. Quincy said. “I’ve seen this before in remains. The deep bruising doesn’t come to the skin until long after the body is buried. I x-rayed the site and found this same marking on the patella, just under the skin.”

  “What would make this kind of injury?” Ava asked.

  “I ran a swab on her skin right there,” Dr. Quincy said. “It came back positive for iron.”

  “Iron?” Bob asked.

  “Manhole covers have details like that on them,” Ava said. “Denver Water, I think. I’d have to check. But manhole covers are made out of cast iron.”

  Dr. Quincy and Bob looked impressed. Ava shrugged.

  “I have a bit of a manhole-cover fixation,” Ava said, color rising to her cheeks. “They are a little bit of overlooked urban art that will last long after we’re gone. I have pictures of them from everywhere I’ve been.”

  “Good to know,” Dr. Quincy said.

  They laughed.

  “We’ll look to see if we can match this pattern,” Ava said.

  “She fell or was pushed onto something that bruised her knees,” Dr. Quincy said. “She would have had to fall hard to get the bruising, likely just before she died.”

  Ava and Bob nodded.

  “I have had a look at the original x-rays,” Dr. Quincy said. “It doesn’t look like they paid much attention to her cervical spine.”

  Dr. Quincy covered the young woman’s knees and went to her neck area. She opened the sheet to point to a dissection.

  “I took detailed X-rays this morning to see if we could find anything new,” Dr. Quincy said. “She was definitely dropped on her head. From some distance, I would add. There is a compression fracture in her neck. The injury was received ante-mortem.”

  “Cause of death?” Bob asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Dr. Quincy said. “My guess is that she was alive for a while after this.”

  “But not long enough for the bone to start healing?” Ava asked.

  “Exactly,” Dr. Quincy said. She pointed to the young woman’s throat. “Her hyoid bone is broken.”

  “Strangled?” Ava asked, surprised. “I would have thought that they would have found that.”

  “There was a lot going on with the body,” Dr. Quincy said. “It’s likely that they saw the head wound and didn’t look. There is significant trauma to her head.”

  “It’s hard to imagine that she survived being dropped on her head and . . .” Bob stopped talking. He squinted at Ava. “

  “Is there anything else, Dr. Quincy?” Bob asked.

  “One thing,” Dr. Quincy said, pointing to the area near the young woman’s hairline. “She was definitely wearing some kind of a wig.”

  “They didn’t pick that up in the previous post-mortem,” Bob said.

  “The other coroner was white,” Dr. Quincy said. “They wouldn’t have thought anything about the state of the girl’s hair. I can tell you that no African American woman would go out with her hair looking like this.”

  “Good catch,” Ava said.

  “I swabbed for the inexpensive adhesive popular at that time,” Dr. Quincy said. “It will take a while for the test to come back, but I can say with some certainty that she was wearing a wig.”

  “Does that make a difference?” Bob asked.

  “Inexpensive wigs catch all kinds of debris,” Dr. Quincy said with a nod. “It would be a treasure trove of evidence.”

  “Great catch, Dr. Quincy,” Ava said, with a nod. “We’ll look for it.”

  Dr. Quincy nodded.

  “I think that’s it,” Dr. Quincy said. “I’ll write this up and get it to you.”

  “There’s a question if this girl was a prostitute,” Bob asked. “Is there anything you can tell us about that before we see the family?”

  “I will say this,” Dr. Quincy said. “Look at her fingernails.”

  Dr. Quincy lifted the sheet to show the girl’s fingers. Her broken nails were painted a burgundy. Dr. Quincy dropped the sheet. She lifted part of the sheet covering the girl’s feet were.

  “And her toes?” Dr. Quincy asked.

  The young woman had the calloused feet of an at
hlete. Her toenails were unadorned.

  “In my experience,” Dr. Quincy said, “Call-In-Girls, as she was said to be, usually do their toenails and shave their legs.”

  Dr. Quincy gestured to the young woman’s legs. After death, the young woman’s skin had dried out; what had been fine stubble was now much more apparent.

  “That’s just my personal experience,” Dr. Quincy said. “I’ve autopsied my fair share of call-girl and call-in-girls. It’s always possible that isn’t always true.”

  “But it gives you pause?” Ava asked.

  “Exactly,” Dr. Quincy said.

  “Thank you,” Ava said.

  Bob nodded in agreement.

  “We’re heading out to meet Seth,” Ava said. “He’s with the family. Is there anything you’d like us to ask?”

  “Just send my condolences,” Dr. Quincy said. “You might assure them that she was not on drugs. It’s in the original report. I’ve repeated those tests. The preliminary results are that she was clean — no drugs, no alcohol.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Quincy,” Ava said.

  Dr. Quincy nodded and waved. Neither Ava nor Bob said anything until they were in their blue Denver Crime Lab sedan. Bob took the driver’s seat.

  “What do you think?” Ava asked.

  “No idea,” Bob said. “You?”

  Ava shook her head.

  “What?” Bob asked.

  “I don’t like what I’m thinking,” Ava said. She sighed. “Let’s see if the family can clear any of this up.”

  Bob nodded, and they started toward the victim’s grandmother’s home.

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  Eleven

  Ava knocked on the door of a small red-brick home. The home was a carefully maintained 1930s Tudor. The well-cared-for yard was beginning to come to life with shoots from tulips and daffodils rising up under dormant rose bushes. The yellow-flowered stems of a forsythia near the door waved back and forth in the soft breeze of the day. A sheer curtain flicked in the large window in the front of the house.

  The door was opened by a towering African American man. He was big enough to have been a linebacker for an NFL team. His practiced smile took the edge off his size. Kind warmth emanated from him.

  “Mrs. O’Malley?” the man asked.

  “Ava,” she said. She held out her hand, and the man shook it. “This is my colleague, Bob Parrish.”

  “Dr. Parrish,” the man said and shook Bob’s hand.

  “‘Bob,’ please,” he said. “I left the ‘doctor’ at the FBI.”

  The man’s eyebrows rose in surprise or amusement. He put his hand on his chest.

  “I am Pastor Thomas Moore,” he said. “I am here at the request of Mrs. White. Everyone calls me Pastor Thomas or simply Thomas. You are welcome to use whichever feels right to you.”

  “Nice to meet you, Pastor Thomas,” Bob said. “I appreciate you being here to support Mrs. White.”

  Pastor Thomas gave a quick nod and gestured to the living room.

  To Ava’s surprise, Seth was sitting on the couch pressed against the window. Ava raised her eyebrows at him. As if he had walked there on his own, he gestured to the forearm crutches leaning against the couch.

  “I carried him in,” Pastor Thomas said under his breath.

  Shaking her head, she grinned at Seth for his attempt at deception. He gave her a mischievous grin.

  “Thank you,” Ava said to Pastor Thomas.

  “My pleasure,” Pastor Thomas said. “O’Malley has been a friend to my family in many times of need. It’s my pleasure to help where I can.”

  “Mrs. White?” Seth asked. “Let me introduce my wife, Ava.”

  For the first time since entering the house, Ava turned to look get a clear look at the woman sitting next to Seth on the couch.

  “Good afternoon, Amelie,” Mrs. White said. She raised her head to look Ava in the eyes. “It’s very nice to see you again.”

  Ava sucked in a breath. Her heart began to race. The room felt cloyingly hot. Ava pulled at the neck of her shirt and tried to breathe. She felt the room spin. She felt like everyone was looking at her, accusing her. She tried to take a breath, but the air was too thick.

  She felt a hand on her arm. She looked up to see Pastor Thomas. She shook her head.

  “I’m sorry,” Ava said. “I’m not feeling well. I need a little air.”

  Ava turned to Bob.

  “I’ll meet you in the car,” Ava said. “Nice to see you again, Mrs. White. I’m sorry . . .”

  “Take care of yourself, child,” Mrs. White said. “You know that I’m always available to you.”

  Ava gave her a curt nod.

  “Between Seth and I, we’ve got this,” Bob said. “Take the car.”

  He held out the keys to the Denver Crime Lab sedan, and Ava took them. Without saying another word, she raced out of the house to the sedan. She started the car and drove.

  Her vision started to clear when the I-70 began to ascend into the mountains. Her breathing returned when she pulled into the driveway of Seth’s ancestral ranch in Granby. The caretaker, former Sergeant First Class Gardner “Switch” Thomas, came out to meet her. He took one look at her face and ushered her into the historic homestead.

  “She’s not here right now,” Switch said of Ava’s sister Éowyn in a thick Southern drawl. “You want to play with the baby?”

  “Sure,” Ava said.

  “Might help you get back,” Switch said.

  His words shocked Ava. He was saying that she was in a PTSD spiral. Was she? She blinked at him for a moment. She had no idea what was wrong with her.

  He touched her arm, and she followed him into the home. His shoulders were wide and his waist narrow. His rear came off him like a round bubble. The sheer muscularity of the man, combined with the way he moved, made him seem like something feral. She knew him to be smart and kind; he was also as desperately in love with her sister, Éowyn, as Éowyn was with him.

  “Where’s Éowyn?” Ava asked.

  “You know she’s been working at the DA’s office here in Granby?” Switch asked.

  Ava nodded. She had known that.

  “Started about the time I left the military. Gives us medical benefits. Keeps her mind busy, or so she says.”

  “I forgot,” Ava said.

  “Huh,” Switch sniffed at her. “I bet you don’t even know why you’re up here. You just came.”

  The truth of his words brought tears to her eyes. She gave him a brief nod.

  “You want to tell old Switch what’s going on?” Switch asked. “You know I’m studying to be able to help guys with PTSD. You could be my test rabbit.”

  Ava grinned and wiped her eyes.

  “I saw someone,” Ava said. She sucked in a full breath and slowly sighed. “You know I got that grant.”

  “O’Malley told me,” Switch said. “Says he’s not going to be able to move the herd because you’re working him too hard.”

  Ava laughed. Switch grinned at her.

  “He can’t walk,” Ava said.

  “I know,” Switch said. “I’m only telling you what that man’s pride told me.”

  Ava grinned. Switch stopped in the kitchen. Isabella, Switch and Éowyn’s daughter, sat in a highchair at the table. The ancient farm table had sat in this kitchen since the house was built. Switch’s laptop was sitting open in front of a chair next to the highchair.

  Isabella had a bib around her neck and a spoon in her hand. There was something orange spread all over her round cheeks. She looked up at Ava and banged her spoon against the table top of the highchair. Orange goo flew from her spoon onto the walls.

  “Welcome to lunch,” Switch said with a grin.

  She noticed for the first time that he had flecks of orange goo on his clothing. She nodded to him. She must really be out of it to have missed the orange goo. He grinned and went to the stove. Much to the baby’s delight, Ava sat down next to Isabella. She tried to help t
he baby eat, but Isabella was much more interested in playing with her food. After a few attempts, Ava joined in the fun.

  “You look marvelous,” Switch commented as he set down a cup of green tea for her and one for himself.

  Ava batted her orange-goo-covered eyes at him. He grinned.

  “She’s hard to resist,” Switch said.

  “Does she eat?” Ava asked.

  “When she feels like it,” Switch said. “I was working on a paper for school, so this is mostly fun.”

  Ava grinned at him.

  “I tell Éowyn that she does most of her eating with me, because, of course, I am the superior parent,” he said. “But the truth is that she loves her Mama best.”

  “Jealous?” Ava asked.

  “Much to my surprise — no,” Switch said. “I love her Mama best, too.”

  Ava turned to look at Isabella. The child was named after Ava and Éowyn’s youngest sister, Bella, who was killed when their father was executed by a contract killer. Ava remembered that Bella had played with her food when she was this age.

  “Éowyn says that Bella was like this,” Switch said.

  Ava nodded, unable to speak as grief held her vocal cords.

  “Why did you come here?” Switch asked.

  “I don’t know,” Ava said. She coughed. “It just happened.”

  “Well, think about it,” Switch said. “Why here?”

  “Where’s your dog?” Ava asked, avoiding the question.

  “Sleeping under Éowyn’s desk, I imagine,” Switch said with a smile. “Why are you here?”

  “I don’t know,” Ava said.

  “Care if I guess?” Switch asked.

  Ava shook her head.

  “I’d say that you’re here because something happened that has to do with your father,” Switch said.

  “Seth called?” Ava asked.

  “No,” Switch said. “I just know the look. Éowyn struggles with your father as well. She and your mom have a fight about the past at least once a month.”

  Ava nodded and looked down at her tea. She took a drink.

  “You know that I got this grant?” Ava asked.

  “We read about it in the paper,” Switch said. “Heard about it from your mother. ‘I am so proud of our Amelie.’”