Part 12 (1/2)
He wanted to curse roundly. No wonder she was messed up. Small towns and their secrets. ”Were there any more cases like yours, at the time?”
”You mean, did they look for the man who did it,” she interpreted. ”Yes, they did. But he wasn't known locally. He didn't leave a trail that anyone could follow. Even if he had, my grandmother convinced the police chief at the time to bury the file.”
”That was stupid.”
”Yes, it was,” she agreed. ”He might still be doing it, somewhere.”
”If he's still alive, he probably is,” he agreed coldly. ”Men who do inappropriate things to children don't ever stop.”
It was worse than he knew, but she didn't talk about it to anyone outside her family. She felt dirty when she discussed it.
He saw her discomfort. ”Grace, it wasn't your fault.”
”Everybody says that,” she bit off. ”But he said it was! He said it was because I wore shorts and halter tops and...!”
”G.o.d in heaven, what sort of normal man is tempted by a child, whatever she wears?” he exploded.
That made her feel better. She searched his angry face. ”I don't suppose normal men would be,” she conceded.
He made an effort to calm his temper. It hurt him that a grown man could have approached a child that way, especially Grace. ”Have you ever talked about it?”
”Only to Dr. Coltrain.”
So that was it. That explained her relations.h.i.+p with the redheaded doctor. He'd been her confessor. ”I'll bet he gave your grandmother h.e.l.l about covering it up.”
She managed a smile. ”He did. But she gave it right back to him. She said it wasn't anything I couldn't get over.” That was a joke, but he wouldn't know.
He nodded. ”Most women come to terms with it, eventually. Counseling helps.”
”So they say.”
His eyes narrowed. ”You don't go out much, do you?”
She shook her head. ”I told you. I don't like being touched.”
He pursed his lips, remembering the growing excitement of the kiss they'd shared earlier. ”I'm working on that,” he drawled.
She laughed, surprised, delighted, by his att.i.tude. He accepted her limitations without anger, without question. It was the first time she'd felt she could trust a man closer than arm's length.
”You're a nice man,” she commented.
His eyebrows arched. ”Nice? I'm extraordinary!”
She laughed and started to reply when his pager sounded.
He pulled it from his belt and read it, grimacing. ”d.a.m.n.” He got up and went to the desk where he'd placed his cell phone. He punched a number into it and put it to his ear. ”Grier,” he said.
Someone spoke to him. He looked solemn. He nodded. ”Yes, I can do that. When? All right. I'll meet you there. Better call Marquez. Fine.”
He snapped the phone shut and glanced toward Grace. ”I have to go. The medical examiner's starting the autopsy on the child. I need to be present. There'll be trace evidence to secure, in addition to the information the autopsy will give us.”
She gasped. ”You have to watch?!”
”It isn't something I look forward to, but yes, I do occasionally need to watch. We gather forensic evidence while it's going on. The chain of evidence is important. If we break one link, if we ever catch this SOB, we won't be able to convict him.”
”Oh. I see.” She was picturing the child's body, sliced and broken and beaten. She swallowed down a wave of nausea.
He bent and brushed his mouth gently over her soft lips. ”At least you're still in one piece, Grace,” he said quietly. ”Improper touching is unpleasant, certainly. But what happened to this child was infinitely worse. You were lucky. You didn't die.”
Lucky. She would have laughed, but he wouldn't have understood. She'd misled him. She had only herself to blame. ”I suppose I was lucky,” she agreed. She was still alive. That was lucky.
”Want me to carry you down the hall before I leave?” he asked. ”I may be late.”
She smiled. ”It's okay. I have a cane that Miss Turner found for me. I'll be fine. I'm sorry you have to see that.”
”I've seen worse,” he said flatly, and he was remembering things he wished he could forget. ”Sleep well.”
”I could go home,” she began.
He gave her a speaking glance. ”You and the coyote don't get along. You'd better stay here for a day or two, until you're fit for battle.” He grinned, and winked at her, as he went out.
She tingled all over. He wanted her in his house, in his life. They both knew she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, but he liked her here. She could have floated. Life wasn't bad, all of a sudden. It was sweet and heady and full of hope.
THE MEDICAL EXAMINER, Jack Peters, was doing the autopsy. He was a forensic pathologist, and widely known in law enforcement circles for his attention to detail. His forensic investigator observed. The investigator was someone that Garon knew from another case, last year. Alice Mayfield Jones had worked as a crime scene technician for a long time before she took the courses that would allow her to work as an investigator for the medical examiner's office.
”Well, if it isn't one of the Grier boys,” Alice murmured dryly. Her short, dark hair was under a cap, and part of her face was covered by a mask, but her s.h.i.+mmery blue eyes were unforgettable.
”How many of the Grier boys do you know, Jones?” he chided.
”Your brother Cash worked out of the D.A.'s office here,” she recalled. ”He was a lot cooler than you are.”
”I can see that he wears his heart on his sleeve,” the M.E. replied dryly, giving Garon a wry look.
”No. Cooler!” Alice corrected. ”His brother wore a ponytail and an earring.”
”h.e.l.l will freeze over before you see me wearing an earring,” Garon obliged.
Marquez disguised a chuckle as a cough.
Alice glanced at him over the autopsy table. ”Do you wear an earring, Sergeant. Marquez? It would go nicely with your hair. Something dangly and un.o.btrusive...”
”If you don't shush, Jones, you'll be wearing one through your lips,” the M.E. told her firmly. ”Shall we begin?”
He drew the sheet off the small body. Garon had to grit his teeth to keep from cursing. He noticed that his companions were feeling something similar. There were no more jokes. This was deadly serious.
The M.E. pulled down his microphone and began describing the patient, from her height and weight and age to the stark recital of her wounds and the damage they did. While he worked, Jones photographed the body in all stages of the autopsy. She'd already taken the sheet and body bag that had covered the victim downstairs to the crime lab.
With a slight movement of his hand, he covered the child's face with a cloth after Jones had photographed it. ”It's easier like this,” he said, faintly sheepish. He'd done so many autopsies that they hardly bothered him, but he had a daughter this age and this job was painful.
He made the initial ”Y” incision and Jones handed him a pair of cutters to sever the rib cage with, so that he had access to the soft tissues inside the body.