He looked in the bag. “Where was this?”
“About a hundred and fifty yards from the top.”
As he pulled a fresh evidence bag from his pocket, he noted the red scrapes on her hands. He was not her boss, her brother, or her anything, and it was not his place to lecture.
She gingerly pinched the edges of the paper and dropped it in his bag. “It’s been in the elements, so it’s pretty beaten up. But you can see the picture of a woman. She might be the victim.”
He studied the image and snapped a picture of it with his phone. “I’ll turn it over to forensics.” His tone remained even. “How are the hands?”
She involuntarily flexed them. “A reminder to be more careful.”
He opened the door to the medical building and waited for her to pass. Removing his hat, he showed his badge to the guard at the front desk, and the two took the elevator down to the basement floor.
“Dr. Christopher is waiting for us,” he said. “He should have the body prepped and ready to examine.”
“Right.”
“Are you sure you’re up for this?”
“I’ll be fine. Any luck on those files from Kansas and Tennessee?”
“They’re on the way. Too big to fax, so each jurisdiction overnighted them. Should be here first thing tomorrow.”
“I know the cases aren’t identical, but killers learn as they go. They evolve. The first time is usually planned over a long time, but the killer is also inexperienced, and the killing doesn’t always go as expected. Afterward, the offender generally evaluates his work. What could he have done better? How could he avoid mistakes in the future? Should he have chosen a different victim?”
“He’s doing a mission debriefing.”
“Exactly.” When the elevator doors opened, she stepped into the hallway. “What’s the timeline on those cases back east?”
“Kansas was last October and Knoxville in May,” he said.
“If we’re assuming the two cases are connected, Kansas to Knoxville is a west-east direction,” she said to herself.
“What’s that have to do with it?”
“Nothing yet. Just a theory that the killer could be moving west. I could be wrong.”
“Regarding the Kansas case, the victim was a sex worker, and the primary suspect is her pimp. He cut her face before he killed her. The Knoxville case involved a local Realtor. She went missing for ten days, and when her body was discovered, the medical examiner noted the facial mutilation was done postmortem.”
“Dr. Christopher made a similar comment about the Helena victim in his autopsy notes. He noted the straight lines of the blade.”
“The body in Knoxville wasn’t burned, and the victim was identified by her clothes and jewelry. Maybe he’s learned a few tricks along the way,” he said. “Assuming the killer is connected to the Knoxville case, he arrived right at the beginning of tourist season, when out-of-state plates often go unnoticed.”
“Careful and meticulous,” she offered. “He doesn’t appear anxious to stop.”
Bryce frowned as she echoed his worries. “Then we stop him.”
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and followed him into the locker room outside the autopsy suite. As he gowned up, he glanced toward her as she dutifully turned off the ringer on her cell phone and placed it in her purse hanging in a locker. She slid into her gown quickly, and he handed her gloves.
As she gingerly worked her fingers into the gloves, he noticed the scrapes and gashes on her palms. A fall in a location like that was a fast track to ending up a statistic. But again, not his place to say.
“I can hear you thinking,” she said.
“Really?”
“It wasn’t smart to go up there alone.” She winced a little as the glove’s thin skin settled on one of the deeper wounds.
“No, it was not.”
Her gaze held a mixture of defiance, independence, and maybe a little relief that he was not lecturing. It did not take a big stretch to imagine how her late husband would have handled this. He had worked with Clarke Mead once on an arson case. Bullish, determined, and focused, Mead had a tendency to lecture. Though Bryce was willing to bet that Ann had gone toe to toe with him more than once.
She was the first to the door and held it for him. Nodding his thanks, Bryce passed into the sterile tiled room perfumed with the faint scent of chemicals and charred flesh.
A sheet-draped gurney butted against a chrome sink-counter combo that was the medical examiner’s workstation. Beside the gurney was an instrument table holding a closed packet of sterilized tools. Soft classical music played from a speaker on the shelf above the sink.
Ann knitted her fingers together, her gaze magnetized on the draped body. “Doesn’t look like there’s much left.”
“Hopefully more than the killer planned on leaving,” Bryce said.
Swinging doors opened. Dr. Christopher was a tall, lean man in his late thirties who wore a tie-dye surgical cap and light-blue scrubs. He was a graduate of the Yale School of Medicine and had relocated to Missoula in his late twenties. Etched lines around his eyes and mouth were the mark of a man who spent his off hours in the sun, working a small ranch outfitted with a collection of cattle, horses, and chickens.
“Doc,” Bryce said. “How’s the posse back at the ranch?”
“All doing well. The calves born in the spring are thriving. I hear you’ve got a herd as well.”
“As a matter of fact, we are about to get a new addition to the herd, Venus. She’s five or six.”
Dr. Christopher smiled as he shook his head. “I’ve got to hand it to your brother. That’s a hell of an undertaking.”
“Dylan doesn’t mind four-legged creatures. It’s the two-legged ones that frustrate him.”
“Dr. Bailey,” Dr. Christopher said, extending his hand. “This is new for you.”
Her grip was firm, and she gave no indication her hand was tender. “It’s the theme in my life.”
“Still out at your folks’ place?” he asked.
“No. Nate and I moved into town about two weeks ago.”
“Just in time for the school year,” Dr. Christopher said.
“That’s the plan.”
Dr. Christopher’s easy banter softened the worry lines on Ann’s face as she followed the doctor toward a large computer screen. Bryce had been to his share of autopsies, but he was still shocked by what a human could do to another.
“First, let’s look at the X-rays.” Dr. Christopher pressed several keys, and the image of a human skeleton appeared. “As you can see, the victim suffered no broken bones during her murder, but about ten years ago, she suffered an ankle fracture. There is a plate in place, which I’ll remove during the autopsy and determine if there’s a serial number.”
“That might help with a faster identification,” Bryce said.
“It might. Any luck with the first victim?” Dr. Christopher asked.
“None,” Bryce said.
Dr. Christopher indicated three different marks angled on the underside of the breastbone. “These marks on the rib cage were made by the murder weapon. I believe the knife was a long narrow blade with smooth edges.”