Page 18 of Twin Threats In Austin
“Not to the medical examiner.”
Rochelle took a deep breath as she parked at the medical examiner’s office.
Camden exited first and then circled around the vehicle to open Rochelle’s door for her out of habit. Chivalry had been deeply ingrained in him, but it was always his companion’s choice as to whether or not he opened doors. Rochelle didn’t seem to mind as she was busy reading the text from her supervisor while he came around the front bumper.
Side by side, they walked into the medical examiner’s lobby, then the lab after a quick couple of taps on the door.
Rupert Sanders, aka Sandman, had the whole Einstein look-alike bit down. He had to be approaching seventy by now.
Sandman waved them in and then motioned toward the wall where scrubs and masks hung. He had on full gear and was in the process of conducting an autopsy on a female that Camden assumed to be Izzy. The coroner’s glasses sat low on the bridge of his nose, and he looked like he’d just rolled out of bed andshowed up at work with his uncombed hair, wrinkled clothes, and unmatched socks.
“Have you determined how long the victim has been dead?” Rochelle asked after perfunctory greetings and confirmation this was, in fact, Izzy Hopkins.
Sandman nodded. “Ms. Hopkins has been deceased for seven days.”
“The victim was declared missing two weeks ago,” Rochelle reminded them.
The bastard kept his victims alive for a week?
Chapter Seven
It took Rochelle all of two seconds to do the math. At best, they had five and a half more days to find Justina. At worst, she’d tried to escape or fight and was already dead. Somewhere in between now and five and a half days, Justina’s life would end.
Were there signs of a struggle?
Sandman frowned, nodded. “There have been. See here. She basically lost all the fingernails on her right hand. There are significant contusions and bruising in various parts of her head and body, which would indicate blunt-force trauma.” He pointed to areas on the victim’s head and chest as he spoke.
“Fingernails were removed?” Rochelle asked as Camden studied the victim. “Wouldn’t that indicate she was tortured?”
“If it happened on both hands I might agree with that assessment.” Sandman used his knuckle to push his glasses onto the bridge of his nose. “Considering the fingernails solely on the right hand have been removed, the indication for a right-handed person is that someone meticulously removed them before dumping the body so that no DNA could be extracted.” He shot a look of apology as he said the worddumping.
Rochelle involuntarily shivered. She’d been a detective for three years now and had been in law enforcement many more years than that. However, the brutalization in cases like these haunted her. The fact that another victim was out there, with time running out, haunted her. And a third victim was just beginning to live in a deranged person’s twisted fantasy.
Was it too late to save the second kidnapping victim?
The clock on the wall ticked louder than usual as Rochelle studied the victim’s body. Then, she realized it wasn’t the clock at all. Her toe tapped the floor as she hugged her elbows into her chest. This part of her job, the part where she studied a corpse, turned her stomach. Showing her pictures made it easier to detach her emotions from the reality of what she was looking at. Being in the room with a victim was much more difficult. In theory, it shouldn’t be.
Try convincing her stomach.
In the next second, Camden was by her side. His strong presence made her want to lean in closer, absorb some of his strength as she listened to Sandman making voice notes on his cell.
“Multiple lacerations behind the left ear,” he continued as bile climbed the back of Rochelle’s throat. There were other words spoken that she filed away as Sandman recorded the details in a long list.
When he was done recording, she asked for a copy of the file, so she didn’t forget any of the details. A small detail could break a case wide open. Plus, they’d been standing there long enough. Time was wasting and they needed to get back into the field and start canvassing.
Camden gently touched her elbow. The move caused warmth to flood her as electricity sparked at the point of contact. It would be a mistake to look into his eyes right now, so she didn’t. Instead, she said goodbye to Sandman and walked out to the SUV.
After reclaiming the driver’s seat, she checked her phone. “I didn’t realize a text came through from my supervisor. It says we should head to the Maple Road substation, where two bouncers and several bartenders and waitstaff are either heading that way, or waiting for us to interview them.”
“That was fast,” he said as he buckled in.
She studied her screen. “Looks like the social-media call netted a decent number of responses, including the employees.”
“Okay, then,” he said, impressed. “Let’s roll.”
The drive to the substation only took eighteen minutes, a miracle in Austin’s traffic. A few text messages came through on Camden’s phone. He spent the ride engaged in conversation with someone.
She parked in the lot and turned to him. “Everything okay?”
