Page 16 of Just Now

She knew Connor hadn’t forgotten about what he wanted to ask her. About Ethan. But she guessed that since they were on the way to discuss autopsy results, he was cutting her some slack.

“Pathologist’s offices aren’t too far away,” he said, glancing at the main road as he strode to the car. “Further out of town. We’ll be going against the traffic. Should get there in ten minutes.”

Cami nodded and followed him to the car, the knot in her stomach growing tighter with each passing moment.She climbed into the car and breathed deeply, trying to calm herself, even though she already felt her anxiety surging.

The drive took less than ten minutes. The area where Maxwell’s office was located, consisting of small homes and offices, changed to a suburban area of larger homes with treed yards. And then, veering down a side street, Connor headed out of this pretty suburbia and into a starker area of light industrial buildings and warehouses. Ahead, a small, official-looking signboard on the steel fence advertised the pathologist’s office.

It was a grim-looking building that seemed to cling to the ground, painted in gray, with a high gate protecting it. The guard checked Connor’s ID before opening the gate and directing him to a parking lot on the side. Several vehicles and two coroner’s vans were already parked there. Cami took another deep breath as she saw them. The deep breathing wasn’t working so well right now, but she persisted.

As they entered the building, Cami breathed in the smell of disinfectant that was so strong it burned her nostrils. She shook her head, trying to clear it, and focused on following Connor into the building. Inside, the stark, sterile environment didn’t ease her anxiety. The hallway was white, with a gray tiled floor and light fixtures overhead that cast a cold bright hue.

“Here to see Dr. Hargreaves, please,” Connor said in a brisk but friendly tone, showing his ID to the receptionist, who was busy juggling two phone calls and what looked like a large pile of admin work on the side.

She nodded. “Autopsy room three. Down the corridor.”

Connor handed Cami a mask, which she put on, hoping he didn’t notice that her hands were shaking. Then they walked down the corridor to door number three.

The pathologist, Dr. Hargreaves, was waiting for them at the entrance to the room. He was a middle-aged man, with a balding head and glasses perched on his nose above the mask. He wore a lab coat and gloves and had a brisk, professional air.

“Good to see you, Connor. Been a while. At least three weeks since we last discussed results, I guess?”

Cami was sure that in terms of serious crimes, three weeks without seeing a pathologist for a postmortem was noteworthy.

“I was here last week, but speaking to other docs. If I remember, you were taking a few days of vacation? I don’t have to ask if you’ve been busy since you got back,” Connor said. “This is Cami Lark, assisting with the case.”

Dr. Hargreaves gave her a respectful nod. “Come on in. I’ll show you what I found.”

Feeling as if she was walking through glue, Cami forced her reluctant feet over the threshold and into the brightly lit room, where the smell of disinfectant and formalin was even sharper.

In the middle of the room, a steel table dominated. A body covered by a sheet lay on it. Cami felt her heart race and her hands shake, but she forced herself to keep her eyes fixed on the table as they approached it. This was what she needed to overcome.

Dr. Hargreaves pulled back the sheet to reveal Kate Minnett’s body, and Cami’s stomach lurched at the sight of the woman’s pale, lifeless face.

She forced herself not to avert her eyes, even though it was the hardest thing she felt she’d ever done. She was going to pay this woman the respect she deserved. She was going to be strong.

But she only managed a few seconds of staring into those cold, blank eyes before nausea roiled inside her and she had to look down, feeling ashamed as she stared at her own sturdy, black Doc Martens.

“What I noticed with both these victims is that their stomachs were empty, and they were also slightly dehydrated before their deaths, as if they’d been without water for a day or so. Furthermore, both their throats were slightly inflamed. I noticed it with our first victim, and this one confirms it.”

“I see,” Connor said.

Cami stared at him questioningly. He seemed to be reaching a conclusion that she hadn’t made yet. What was it?

“They were both held somewhere for a while, and must have screamed for a long time, hoping that someone would hear,” Connor explained, and now Cami’s stomach lurched violently. A wave of nausea hit her as she took in this reality, causing her to have to breathe deeply as she felt a cold sweat spring out on her forehead.

She was not going to throw up, she told herself. She was not. Disturbing as this was, sickening as the image was, she reminded herself that it had been far, far worse for the women. They hadn’t survived. She was here and now needed to catch their killer, and she couldn’t do it if she rushed out of the autopsy room when valuable evidence was presented.

“I see,” she said in muffled tones, as icy perspiration crawled its way down her temples.

“Not tied up for long—there’s faint evidence on the wrists, but I would guess it was just for the journey and then removed,” the doctor said.

“Locked away without water. So either a basement, or a soundproofed room, or else somewhere out of town, more remote,” Connor was saying thoughtfully, as Cami still reeled from the graphic reality that the throat inflammation was from screaming. Screaming for help while the killer listened and nobody else heard. This was awful!

“No trace evidence, unfortunately, but definitely some signs they tried to escape,” the pathologist said.

“Show me?” Connor asked.

Trying to distract herself as the two men then discussed the torn fingernails and bruised hands, evidence of struggling to get out and perhaps struggling with the killer, Cami’s gaze fell on the piles of clothing. She stared at them, noting absently how similar they were.

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