Part 12 (2/2)
Garon could see for himself what the knife the perpetrator used had done to her small, thin body. Her internal organs were destroyed, from her lungs to her liver and intestines. The cuts were done with some force, as if the attacker had been in a rage.
”Were these wounds pre or postmortem?” Garon asked quietly.
”Pre,” the M.E. said curtly. ”She was tortured. You can tell from the bleeding. If they were postmortem, they wouldn't have bled. The heart stops pumping at the moment of death.”
”You should watch more television, Grier,” Jones piped. ”They show all this stuff on the forensic shows.”
”Don't get me started,” Peters snarled at her. ”All that high tech gadgetry, millions of dollars worth of equipment, and look what I'm working with!” he exclaimed, nodding around him at aged gurneys and an old porcelain sink and a microscope that seemed to be patched with gray duct tape. ”What I wouldn't give for just one of those computers...!”
”They did give you a super investigator, though,” Jones reminded him. ”And I'm much better looking than that woman on TV who plays the M.E.'s a.s.sistant...”
”Stop while you still have work,” Peters muttered.
They cataloged the evidence, placing tissue from under her fingernails in one evidence bag, and swabs from her genital area into another.
”With any luck at all, DNA will catch him,” Garon said tautly.
”Only if the perp's DNA is on file,” Marquez interjected.
”It's amazing to me,” the M.E. commented, ”how many molesters aren't in any database. What gets reported is just the tip of the iceberg.”
”That's often the case,” Marquez agreed.
Finally the ordeal was over and the M.E. readied the body for pickup by the funeral home.
”Poor kid,” the M.E. remarked. ”And her poor parents. I hope the mortician's good at his job.”
Jones rolled the victim away while Marquez and Garon spoke with the M.E.
”I'll send this downstairs to the crime lab,” he told them, indicating the evidence bags. ”Unless you want to do it?”
Garon shook his head. ”I've initialed all the vials that have swabs. Marquez can pick them up when you finish and put them in his property room at San Antonio P.D. for safekeeping.”
Marquez nodded. ”We'll take good care of everything.”
”Just make sure somebody signs for it.”
”You'd better believe it,” he said. ”If we catch the miserable excuse for a human being who did this, I don't want him to walk on a breach of the chain of evidence.”
”When will you know something about the DNA?” Garon asked the M.E.
”Get Jones to sweet talk the evidence technicians downstairs,” the M.E. suggested. ”She has pull.”
”I bribe them,” she remarked, overhearing them. ”I can make eclairs. The head tech is crazy about them. I used to work with him. I know his weaknesses!”
They laughed. It was a nice break from the somber atmosphere of the autopsy. Humor was how they coped with the horrible sights they carried home with them. It kept them from giving in to the pain. They were the victims' advocates. They had to be able to do the job.
”I'll get this report written up sometime tomorrow,” Peters told the men. ”You can call and make sure it's ready. But I can tell you, based on what I've seen, that the child died of asphyxiation. The knife wounds would have been fatal, but they weren't the primary cause of death.”
”You're sure she was asphyxiated?” Marquez asked.
The M.E. pulled away the cloth over the child's face and lifted one of her eyelids. The eye under it was blue. Probably it had been a soft blue, full of hope...
”See these little hemorrhages?” Peters asked, indicating the small red dots in the white of the eye. There were more in the skin of her face. ”They're capillaries that ruptured due to sudden, drastic pressure on the neck. We call the condition petechial hemorrhages. They're a hallmark of strangulation. I'm guessing, due to the amount of skin tissue I found under her nails, that she fought for her life. Her attacker will have scratches all over his hands from her attempt to free herself.”
Marquez nodded, knowing that it was unlikely they'd find a suspect before those scratches healed and faded away. ”We use similar techniques in law enforcement to subdue dangerous perpetrators; the bar arm hold and the carotid hold.”
”I know,” the M.E. replied. ”They collapse the carotid artery and induce unconsciousness. I get a victim of it occasionally. Usually kids practicing wrestling moves on each other without supervision. If it isn't done right, it can be fatal.”
”Don't remind me,” Marquez sighed. ”We try everything else first, to subdue a lawbreaker. But sometimes everything else doesn't work, and our own lives are in danger.”
”I hope you can find the person who did this,” Peters said, indicating the child.
”We've got to find him,” Garon said simply. ”He'll do it again.”
GRACE INSISTED on going home the next morning. Thanks to the quick treatment Garon had given her sprain, she was walking with barely a limp. She had to go to work or she wouldn't be able to pay her bills. She didn't want to tell him that. He wouldn't understand her sort of poverty. From what she'd heard people say about his brother Cash, she knew the family was wealthy.
Garon looked oddly relieved when she asked him to drop her by her house. He was having second thoughts. He'd spent a long, sleepless night thinking about how sweet it was to kiss Grace, and it had left him irritable. He wasn't going to risk getting involved with her. Never again, he told himself.
She was oddly disappointed that he took it so easily, even smiling as they finished breakfast. Maybe he would have kissed any woman he'd brought home. Or maybe he just felt sorry for her. He'd guessed a little of her past. He probably thought he was helping her adjust to men.
Her own thoughts were confusing her. She got into the car with him without a word, waving at Miss Turner. All the way to her house, she stared out the window without speaking.
He let her out at her front door. ”Don't chase coyotes,” he said firmly through the window.
She gave him an indignant look. ”Are you a wildlife advocate? I won't hurt him unless he hurts my cat.”
He laughed in spite of himself. ”If you need us, call.”
”You can do the same,” she told him pertly, and grinned.
That grin made him feel warm inside. He hated it. ”That'll be the day,” he muttered, throwing up a hand as he pulled out of the driveway.
She watched him drive off with a sinking feeling. Things would never be the same again. He shouldn't have touched her.
He was thinking the same thing. Which was why he phoned Jaqui Jones, Mrs. Tabor's niece, and told her he'd be at the party the next night, which was Friday.
AS CASH HAD HINTED, the founding families of Jacobsville weren't in attendance at the party. Only a few obvious outsiders turned up. Garon felt oddly out of place with these people. Especially with Jaqui, who rubbed against him at every opportunity, almost panting with desire. He didn't like public displays of affection, and it showed in his face.
She laughed breathily. ”You're an odd one,” she told him as they sipped c.o.c.ktails beside the buffet table. ”Don't you find me desirable?”
”You must know you're beautiful,” he said easily. He smiled. ”But I work at a conservative job, and I'm uncomfortable with blatant invitations.”
Her eyebrows went up. ”And I took you for an unconventional free spirit,” she purred.
”Looks deceive,” he said, lifting his gla.s.s to toast her.
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