Just as he had noticed the night before, the girl carried none of the traditional signs of living the sort of life that usually ended in such a way. Her skin was clear, almost porcelain, free of any scratches or pockmarks. From what he could see there were no visible bruises, her gums having appeared healthy aside from the violent extraction of her teeth.
Even her hair, after spending the better part of a day - if not longer - floating in the river, seemed fairly clean.
“Who are you and where did you come from?” Reed asked, shaking his head as he took up the photo and wove his way back through the desks to the printer at the rear of the room. There he entered in a quick sequence of numbers to identify himself and the case he was working on before placing the photo upside down on the glass and running a scan of it.
Just as fast he returned to his desk, finding the digital version of the image waiting in his inbox for him.
Choosing not to pull the picture up on screen, not needing to spend any more time staring at the deceased, Reed input the image into the CPD facial recognition database and started it to searching.
A progress bar appeared on the screen, a steady green pulse tracking how far the inquiry had gone, as Reed turned back to the file.
The next two images were also of the girl, one from each side, neither revealing anything new. Giving both a quick glance, Reed placed them off to the side, putting the pictures face down on the desk.
The next three were from the scene itself, taken after the body had been removed. One was a general overview of the area, the site shining bright under the harsh glare of the stanchion lights. The second was from where her body had been placed and the final was a close up of the grate where she had originally been found.
All managed to serve as little more than establishing shots, revealing nothing of note.
Clumping the photos together, Reed pushed the paperclip back into place and dropped all six facedown beside him.
Moving over to the left, he began on the standard issue crime scene report, raising his left index finger and running it the length of the page, inventorying the information in quick fashion.
On it was listed the address and an overview of what was found, the general consensus being that the site just served as where the body had been found and likely little more. A few cigarette butts and assorted pieces of debris had been recovered, though many looked to far predate the incident.
Everything was currently being tested in the laboratory. All results would be sent over when processing was complete.
“Great,” Reed whispered, running a hand over his face. On the ground beside him Billie looked up at the sound of his voice, her face impassive.
The report rang true to everything Reed had seen the night before, he and Earl both in agreement that the location was just where the body happened to surface, almost certainly not where she’d went in.
Rotating just a few inches in his chair, Reed slid open the top desk drawer beside him and extracted a wire bound notepad. He pushed back the top several sheets, bypassing lines of blue and black scribble in his own handwriting before finding a blank sheet.
Snatching a pen from the drawer, he shoved it closed and clicked the bottom of the utensil. Starting at the top of the page he began to jot down thoughts in no particular order, his mind working as fast as his hand would allow.
Drop site?
If the girl had been tossed in right there, some form of evidence would have attested to such. There would have been a single hair, bent grass from somebody walking over the frozen ground, perhaps even a partial footprint in the wet clay along the riverbank.
Three hours of scouring the night before had found absolutely nothing.
Raising the top sheet on the left side of the folder, Reed looked at the computer rendering of the scene, turning the entire thing sideways to place himself along the bank. He stared down at the drawing, letting his mind take him back twelve hours before, envisioning were the body was found, how the grate was positioned nearby.
It would make no sense for somebody to have tossed her in right there, or even anywhere along the bank. During the quiet of night the sound of water rushing through the grate was plainly obvious, alerting anybody with even a tiny bit of common sense that there was a current pulling that direction.
Current?
Reed wasn’t sure if there was any way of tracking the various flow patterns of the river, but figured there must be somebody at one of the local universities that studied such things. Given the time of year, with water levels relatively low, it bore to reason that tracing a particular path wouldn’t be that difficult.
If he could determine that, he might be able to ascertain where it was dropped, perhaps even pull something from local traffic footage.
Wanted to be found?
A preliminary look at the body by both he and Earl seemed to indicate that it had not been weighted down. There was certainly nothing attached to the girl upon finding her, no abrasions or contusions to suggest something had been tied to her and simply worked itself free.
They had only had a few minutes before the coroner’s office arrived to retrieve the body, but that was long enough to see that whatever damage was done to her was localized to her mouth and hands.
For now, Reed couldn’t help but believe that the girl was dumped with the intention of being found. Whether that was done out of complete disregard or to make an example of the girl he couldn’t yet be certain.
Goal? Audience?
The final entry on Reed’s list was an extension of the previous. If the girl was intended to be found, there had to be some goal in mind in doing so. What that might be it was still far too early to speculate, Reed’s best bet being that the ME might be able to shed some light on things.
Beyond that, it also brought to question who the intended target of such a statement was.
And if there could be future bodies if that message wasn’t received.
Reed was still hunched over the report, staring at the questions on his pad, as a single beep was emitted from the computer beside him. It drew his attention over to see a new dialog box had appeared on screen, replacing the previous progress bar in the middle of the monitor.
Just as he was expecting, the result did not bear good news.
The girl’s image did not match anything in the existing database.
Chapter Fifteen
Already sitting at zero-for-two on the morning, Reed was not especially optimistic as he pulled into the parking lot of the Franklinton office of the Franklin County Coroner. So far all of the proverbial low hanging fruit had proven to be rotten, producing nothing usable, serving only to highlight the fact that he had a victim with no name and absolutely no way of determining how she got there.
The dull light of a grey sky reflected off the front façade of the building as he and Billie approached, the outpost one of the newer constructed just a few years before in an attempt to keep pace with the increase of violent crime in the city.
Made entirely from steel and glass, the structure had sidestepped the traditional staid appearance of most government buildings, opting for something new and modern. Standing two stories tall, the reflective glass of the front served as a mirrored backdrop for a lawn with extensive landscaping.
Acting as the centerpiece for the entire thing was an enormous fountain out front that most of the year pushed a steady fan of water up into the air, this being the first time Reed had ever seen it standing silent, a response no doubt to the plummeting temperatures outside.
The interior décor seemed much in line with the image conveyed by the outside, the floor done with white tile, the space arranged as an atrium culminating in a sunroof above.
In the center of the area was a single desk, a solid white affair with a young woman seated behind it, her dark curly hair piled into a bun atop her head, a pair of thick framed glasses balanced on her nose.
Behind her was a staff cafeteria that was still preparing for the lunch crowd that would soo
n be arriving, the occasional clang of metal dishware ringing out.
“Good morning, Chantel,” Reed said as he approached, slowing just long enough to greet the girl as he drifted toward the bank of elevators along the right wall.
Jerking herself up from the handheld device on the desk before her, an embarrassed smile crossed the girl’s face, a bit of color rushing to her cheeks. “Good morning, Detective.”
Just as fast the smile faded, a vertical crease appearing between her eyebrows. “I’m very sorry, but Dr. Solomon isn’t here this week. She went to Florida to visit her grandchildren.”
Not once had Reed ever considered the life of Dr. Patricia Solomon beyond the walls of the building he now stood in, she herself having no small part to do with that.
The two were cordial, congenial even, but they were above all else colleagues, a distinction she had made abundantly clear.
And one he was all too happy to abide by as well.
“That’s okay,” Reed replied. “I’m told there’s a new guy filling in. He came by a scene for us last night.”
In a matter of seconds Chantel’s face transitioned from surprise to disdain, the final phase very much resembling the look Earl had given him the night before.
“Oh. Him,” she said, making no effort to mask the intent behind the word. “Yeah, you have fun with that.”
Twice Reed opened his mouth, thinking of responding, or at the very least questioning her response, before thinking better of it. Instead he offered only a hand in thanks before heading toward the elevator, slapping his thigh once for Billie to follow.
One minute later the pair was deposited in the basement of the building, a floor completely at odds with the rest of the structure. Gone was the bright white tile and no-expense-spared approach of the main level, replaced by black flooring and simple overhead lighting. The pungent smell of disinfectant hung heavy in the air, bearing the slight aroma of something citrus, just enough to burn the nostrils.
Normally upon venturing down to the lab, Reed would begin with Dr. Solomon’s office. There he would either find her or a note directing him where to go, their discussion beginning with her official report and moving into the lab if need be.
This time it was readily apparent that such an approach would not be employed, Reed picking up on the sound of pop music the moment they stepped from the elevator. With each passing moment it seemed to grow louder, drawing them toward the closed double doors of the lab, reverberating through the enclosed space of the hallway.
“Shit,” Reed muttered, stopping just outside the lab and raising a hand. Curling it into a ball, he pounded three times against the stainless steel door frame, the sound doing little to punctuate the steady protrusion of noise coming from within.
Pausing just a moment, Reed kept his hand raised to his shoulder, pounding three more times before giving up on the prospect.
“Down,” he said, dropping his voice into command tone, waiting as Billie lowered herself to the floor, seemingly content not to go any closer to the obscene sound spilling out around them.
For a moment Reed felt almost envious of her as he pushed inside the lab, the music rising several more decibels, the bass turned up high enough that he could almost feel his rear teeth rattling against each other.
At a glance the space appeared close to what Reed normally encountered. To his left sat a row of stainless steel examination tables, all lined up tight against the wall. On the opposite side sat a small grouping of tables, each holding a zippered black bag waiting to be worked on.
In the middle of the room an enormous light fixture extended down from the ceiling, casting an unnatural luminescence over everything.
Parked directly beneath it was an examination table with a body placed upon it, the chest of the deceased cut open in the standard Y-cut pattern, the skin flaps flayed back, the sternum cracked to expose the internal organs.
All of that was as Reed expected it to be.
What he had not foreseen - in addition to the music - was the person dressed in a surgical gown behind the body, a clear plastic mask descended down over his face. Bits of bone and blood spatter covered the front of him, a scalpel clutched in his hand, raised to his face as an impromptu microphone.
In perfect synch with the music he sang along, his entire body writhing to the beat, oblivious to Reed’s presence, or of the solemnity of the task he was performing.
For a moment Reed stood watching the spectacle, hoping the man would catch him standing nearby, that it would be enough to snap him from whatever delusion he was embroiled in.
After an entire run through the chorus of the song they were listening to though, it was apparent Reed was to have no such luck.
“Hey!” he yelled, letting his vitriol at the scene bleed into his voice, pushing his tone up much higher even than the music being heard.
On cue the man snapped his attention toward the door, the scalpel still clutched in his hand. If there was any embarrassment at all at being caught he didn’t show it, a scowl forming over his face as he dropped the instrument onto the small steel table beside him.
Moving in exaggerated steps, he went slowly to the stereo system along the wall and turned off the music, a clear void present in the wake of the booming notes.
“You’re not supposed to be down here,” the young man said as way of a greeting.
Feeling his ire rise a bit more, Reed extracted his badge from the pocket of his jacket and wagged it before him. “And you’re not supposed to be playing Rock Band with the victims, either.”
The scowl remained in place as the man moved back over to the table, resuming his previous post, careful to have the examination table separating the two sides. “Why? It’s not like they notice.”
For the second time on the day Reed felt his disgust for a twenty-something spike within him.
“Besides, that was One-D,” the young man added, as if that might make what was taking place okay.
Taking a step forward, a dozen things pushed their way through Reed’s mind, beginning with a lecture on respect for the departed and ending with the need to preserve the integrity of active investigations. Instead he managed to shove them all aside, wanting to get what he came for and be on his way before he ended up having to explain to Grimes why he had assaulted the medical examiner.
“I’m Detective Reed Mattox, I’m here to discuss the body that was pulled from the Olentangy last night.”
The look remained in place a long time, the young man trying to appear tough, even thrusting his chin out a bit as if to look down his nose at Reed, before giving up on the prospect and nodding.
“Yeah, the Chinese girl,” he said, raising a gloved hand and pushing the shield back from his face.
Without the covering, Reed could see that the young man was a bit older than he had previously thought, the assumption based more on his actions than appearance. While short hair and a beard buzzed down to stubble tried to convey someone still in college, a few lines around his mouth and eyes gave away that he was actually closer to thirty-five than twenty-five.
“What makes you say Chinese?” Reed asked, allowing a sliver of animosity to bleed out from his voice.
Right now he had precious little to work with. If there was anything the doctor could offer that would jumpstart the case, give him a clear direction to start pushing, he was more than willing to overlook the previous display.
As if sensing the shift in demeanor, the doctor stared at him a moment, seeming to debate something internally. He remained rooted in place as he worked through it in his mind, staring at Reed before raising a finger and motioning toward the metal drawers lined up in a three-by-three grid along the back wall.
“Name’s Dr. Ben Pope,” he said, walking over to the center container of the grid and grasping the metal handle affixed to it. “They sent me over from downtown to cover for the week.”
Coming to a stop on the opposite side of the drawer, Reed nodded once. “Good to meet you.”
“Yeah,” Pope replied, raising his eyebrows once as he jerked on the handle, breaking the air seal on the drawer, a plume of cold air carrying the unmistakable scent of death with it.
Swinging the drawer all the way back, Pope grasped the end of the tray table and pulled it out just a couple of inches before stopping it abruptly.
“See here,” he said, leaning over at the waist and pointing to the bottom of her feet. “I’m no handwriting expert, but those look Chinese to me.”
Matching Pope’s stance, Reed folded himself in half at the waist, rotating his gaze to follow where the doctor was pointing.
Tattooed to the bottom of either foot was a single line of text. On either one was five symbols, a couple of them repeating themselves, the two lines quite different from one another.
“What the...?” Reed asked, wrinkles appearing on his forehead as he stared at the bottoms of the girl’s feet.
“Don’t know,” Pope replied. “I can tell you as someone with a good bit of ink myself though, that the work was high-end, and that it was done fairly recently.”
The words just barely registered with Reed as he stared at the tattoos. Never before had he been exposed to any Chinese characters, having no idea what the two clusters before him said.
There was no point in speculating until he was able to get them translated, the possibilities simply too infinite.
“Okay,” Reed said, raising himself up to full height. “What else?”
Grabbing the tray table at the end, Pope jerked it once, allowing the entire thing to slide open along the metal rollers. It reached the end of the track it rested in with a bang, the girl’s body atop it sliding an inch or two from the abrupt change in direction.
Standing on the opposite side of the tray, Reed kept his face aimed down at her, only his eyes rising to glare at Pope.
“I don’t know who this girl is, but she pissed somebody off royally,” Pope said. Grabbing her by the wrist, he raised her hand up off the steel table, allowing Reed to see the full extent of her injuries.
The Partnership Page 7