Page 42 of 1st Shock
* * *
An hour later, I'm standing over the young woman's body. A sheet covers her to the top of her neck, obviously hiding the damage. Until we identify her, she'll be known as Jane Doe. That alone twists me into fierce knots that damn near double me over. My head is throbbing, my ears buzzing as rage fires in my core and spreads to my limbs.
Devante Bales.
I can't help but think this is his work. It can't be a coincidence that yesterday I poked and prodded at his research, asking questions about Mickey and now we have yet another victim.
"Meg?"
Dr. Gentry's no-nonsense voice interrupts my internal hissy fit. I force my gaze away from the woman on the table and turn toward her. "What do we know?"
She's wearing her usual scrubs and lab coat and the skin under her eyes sags from a lack of sleep. She's no doubt been with this woman's body most of the night.
"Not a lot. We're processing evidence. You shouldn't be here. I'm sure you know that."
I nod. "Thank you for letting me in."
Dr. Gentry folds her arms. "I like you. I'm sure you know that too. And forgive me if I'm being condescending, but I worry about you. You get too emotional. Too attached to the victims."
She's been to this show with me before. Every time we have a cold case, I come looking for her. Picking her brain, begging to see the body. Anything that’ll help me with a reconstruction. "Someone has to."
Dr. Gentry lifts one shoulder. "I agree. But you go too far. It's not healthy."
I look back at Jane. JaneDoe. I understand the need for the generic identity, but I still despise giving a victim a meaningless name when she's already had her life stolen.
It's disgusting.
To me anyway.
“She has loved-ones somewhere. I need to do something," I choke out the words, pushing them through my dry throat.
"Weare. We're working on identifying her. One step at a time, Meg. That's all we can do."
She sets her hand on my shoulder and the weight slaps at the rage swirling inside me. Unlike earlier, with my sister and JJ, I allow Dr. Gentry to coddle me.
"Go to your office," she says. "I'll update JJ when we have something. I can't have you here."
I meet her eyes and all I see is warmth. She must be a mother. The realization hits that I don't know this woman at all. Not in the way it counts. Not on a personal level. "Can I—" I inhale, and the sharp, antiseptic odor burns my nostrils. I clear my throat. "Can I have a minute with her? Before I go."
Dr. Gentry sighs. "Ah, Meg. You're hopeless, aren't you?"
I know what she means. We're both aware she could spend hours trying to convince me I get too involved, that I need to put my emotional armor on and not open myself up.
It'll never happen. That's what makes me good at what I do. If it means I'm hopeless, I'll live with it.
"Two minutes," I say. "And I'm out of your way. I promise."
"Two minutes. Then I'm kicking you out. Don’t touch her."
"Yes, ma'am."
She shuffles out, her rubber soled shoes squeaking against the tile. The door closes behind her and I look back at Jane. Needing something to do with my hands, I fold my arms. That feels too...cold. Distant. I drop them back to my sides.
The sheet that covers her reveals the ugly, jagged wound that destroyed the long column of her neck. I shift my gaze to her sculpted cheekbones and full lips. In life, she had to have been a stunner. A model maybe.
"I'm sorry."
It sounds lame. Even to me. Still, she deserves to hear it. To know she didn't deserve this. Intellectually, I know her death isn’t my fault. Even if Devante Bales is a copycat killer and my questioning him caused a psychotic break. It's his.
