Page 22 of Erased
Avery appreciated his presence. She’d lied about being almost back to normal. When she’d stripped down to shower, she’d inspected her body as best she could. She had a long bruise over her collarbone and breast where the seatbelt had tightened to save her from flying through the windshield. Better the bruise than being catapulted through glass. The bruise on her forehead wasn’t as colorful as it could have been, but it was tender. After her hair had dried, she was able to part it on the side and did a pretty good job of hiding the knot.
Beyond the bruising, her body was sluggish, as if she’d been on a drunken bender. Though she’d been unconscious for three days, she felt the undeniable need for a good night’s sleep to revive her.
But first, she had to find the woman who’d stolen her identity before she sabotaged the murder investigation.
As they neared the door marked EXAMINATION ROOM, Avery gripped Grant’s arm and whispered, “What if this woman impersonating me is the killer?”
“I was just thinking the same thing.”
“Why else would someone pretend to be me, if not to lead them in the wrong direction while she continues to kill?”
“Let’s ask her,” Grant said and reached for the door handle.
At that moment, Avery wished she had her service weapon on her—another item to add to the list of things she no longer possessed, along with her identity.
“Let me go first,” Grant said.
Knowing her reflexes weren’t at one hundred percent, Avery grudgingly held fast while Grant pushed the door open.
As soon as he stepped through, she followed closely, the scent of formaldehyde assailing her senses.
When Grant came to an abrupt halt, she was so fixated on the smell she didn’t stop fast enough and bumped into him.
He put a hand out behind him to steady her.
An older man with a shock of gray hair and wearing a white lab coat bent over a stainless-steel table. He was alone except for the body on the table.
Avery stepped forward.
The man glanced up, his bushy eyebrows rising. “Agent Hart, did you have another question?”
Her gaze dipped fleetingly before she forced a smile and said, “Yes, sir,” as she approached the man.
“What happened to the ball cap?” the M.E. asked. “You’ll need to put it back on or a scrub cap to come closer. It wouldn’t be good for your hair to turn up in the autopsy, considering it’s the same color as the victim’s.”
He waved a hand toward a box on the counter.
Avery crossed to the box, extracted a scrub cap and stretched the elastic over her head, tucking her long hair inside. Once she was covered, she approached the M.E. “I hope you don’t mind, but I brought my colleague, Grant Hayes, with me. He’s a profiler I’ve worked with on other cases. Could you tell him what you told me? I want him to hear it straight from the horse’s mouth.”
“Sure,” the doctor held up his hands. “I’d shake your hand but...”
“No worries.” Grant approached. “Nice to meet you...”
“Dr. Murray,” the man said, turning to the body on the table. “As I just informed Agent Hart, the victim is approximately thirty years old, five feet seven inches tall with blue eyes.”
Avery could see all that. What she wanted was for the M.E. to cut to the chase. “How did she die?” Avery’s chest constricted. The woman was about her age, her whole life ahead of her.
“Asphyxiation.”
“And you know that because?” Avery pressed.
The M.E. pointed to the woman’s eyes. “As you see, there are petechial hemorrhages, those pinprick red spots, in the eyes and face. She has facial swelling—edema. And if you notice, her skin has a bluish discoloration—cyanosis. The bruising around her mouth and nose indicates she was suffocated using a plastic bag.”
Avery’s stomach roiled. She swallowed hard to keep from vomiting. What a horrible death. The woman had to have been terrified and desperate.
“Anything under her fingernails?” Avery asked.
“Nothing,” the M.E. said. “If she fought her attacker, she didn’t get her fingernails into his skin.” He pointed at a computer screen with an image of the victim displayed. “From the photographs of the crime scene, she was found much like the first victim, lying in a bed of red rose petals lining a shallow grave. Like the other woman, the letters WTD had been drawn across her chest with a sharp object; I suspect a surgical knife was used.”
