Page 26 of Snow Creek

“We’ve got a homicide.”

What else could it be?

“Cause?”

“Blunt force trauma to the back of the head. Dr. Andrade suspects the claw end of a hammer. Skull had tool marks from the blow. Besides the fracture, of course.”

“That’s brutal,” I say. “Anything on tox?”

“Too early.”

“How about prints?”

“They pulled palms, but the fingertips were burned pretty bad. Nothing there.”

“Just the fingers?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Some burns on the face too. Andrade thinks a blowtorch was used.”

“Torture?”

“Likely post mortem.”

That’s a relief, I think. Getting beaten with a hammer is beyond belief, using an acetylene flame on a woman is the stuff of slasher films.

“Still processing the truck,” he says. “More on that in a day or two. Pretty backed up down there. We’re lucky they processed her as fast as they did. We have two rape kits that have been on ice there for almost six months. Prosecutor pushes, but they’ve got so much backlog and not enough staff.”

“That’s an excuse,” I say. “They spend their money where they want to. Guess rapes don’t mean as much as new highway projects.”

“And murders,” he adds. “Those still move the needle down there.”

I can feel where this is going and it’s all my fault. I opened the door. Jerry is on the edge of a rant about government waste. I shift the conversation back to the murder victim.

“Send me all you’ve got.”

“I already did. One step ahead of you, Detective.”

I go on to the county server, enter my credentials and password. In my folder I find a pdf of the reports from Olympia. I get the printer humming and head down the hall to the coffee room. Sheriff is pressing the button on the candy machine when I arrive.

“Damn thing never works,” he says.

“Maybe that’s a good thing.”

He ignores my remark.

“How’s Snow Creek doing?” he asks.

“Printing out the coroner’s report now. Give me a bit to absorb it. I’ll swing by later.”

He nods, and I take my coffee and leave. I can hear him back at the machine as I return to my desk.

I read through the report page by page. Dr. Andrade’s words tell a complete story, yet it’s his photos that really hold my attention. The victim’s burns had to be post mortem. They were so clear, so precise. I flip through them one by one. The face. The arms. The back of the head. When I get to her feet, I do a double take. I pull the photocopy a little closer. I can’t be sure, but it appears that the victim is missing a toe.

I see no mention of that in the report.

Gulping some coffee, I dial Dr. Andrade’s office.

He’s on the line right away.

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