“Okay.” Jenna’s voice sounded scratchy through the intercom.
Wolfe uncovered the torso of the woman with the severed limbs set out around her. The ghostly bluish-white skin and open staring eyes looked ghoulish even to him. He did a cursory examination. “We have a Caucasian female, approximately twenty years old, well-nourished, five-five, dark hair, blue eyes. I’ve documented tattoos of various designs on arms, small of back, and face. The fingernails are dirty and broken. I’m running a soil comparison analysis on the samples from under her fingernails to discover where she was at the time of death. I can tell the samples from under the nails contain a decaying vegetation mixture usually found in wooded areas but it will take more investigation to determine if it is Scobey soil, which is found in Stanton Forest.” He glanced up at Jenna’s tap on the glass.
“Any sign of sexual assault?” Jenna frowned. “Cause of death?”
Wolfe examined the body and took swabs. He handed the swabs to Emily, who made the slides and stood to one side while he peered into the microscope. He walked back to the gurney. “No sign of sexual assault, no semen in the vaginal cavity. We have no clothing to test for trace evidence and the killer packed her in snow. All the external swabs I’ve taken during the thawing have yielded no foreign human DNA.” He moved to the head of the torso. “There is an exit wound below the clavicle consistent with a gunshot wound. The entry wound is in the back at C5. If she was running away, I estimate the shooter is at least five-ten, as the bullet trajectory is in a downward motion, although the damage to the nails could indicate she fell or was crawling through a forest at the time of death. I will complete a full autopsy to confirm, but this injury has likely severed the spinal cord resulting in immediate paralysis. If this assumption is accurate, she couldn’t have crawled away after receiving the injury. The cause of death in this case would be asphyxiation from the paralysis caused by a gunshot wound.” He glanced back up at Jenna.
“Does the pathology on the victim’s torso indicate she could have been frozen and thawed like the limbs we found?” Jenna’s gaze sharpened. “I’m wondering if he kept the limbs and torsos together?”
Wolfe turned to his interns. “Colt, tell Jenna what we discovered.”
“We evaluated the samples by microscope and an electronic image analyzer. In both victims we found extended extracellular spaces and shrunken cells resulting from the freeze-thaw cycle. In the body parts without the torso, the findings were more pronounced, which would indicate the second victim was frozen for a longer period.”
“Something else significant.” Emily looked up at Jenna. “The flesh on both victims has burns consistent with the use of dry ice.”
Wolfe smiled at her and then turned back to Jenna. “This strongly indicates the burns happened during a thaw cycle. The bodies had started to thaw and the killer used dry ice to re-freeze them. Perhaps he wanted to move them to another area. The burns are consistent with the result of dry ice on uncovered decomposing flesh.”
“Ah, that information is gold.” Kane peered through the glass at him. “If this is The Sculptor, we have just discovered how he moves his victims interstate.”
“Well, the information we have would indicate he was moving the bodies. Why else use the dry ice, a chest freezer would work better?” Wolfe leaned against the counter and looked at them. “If he’s been killing all over, it would make sense why these women aren’t showing up on any missing persons files in Montana. Of course, once I have the dental records or a DNA match, we’ll know if the victim is Evelyn Ross, out of Colorado Springs.”
“She fits the preferred type of The Sculptor and would make it two for two in Colorado Springs. The frozen woman in the lake was identified as Connie Sandford.” Kane’s gaze drifted over the body. “Both women are the same type as her. Dark hair, five-five, around twenty, and with ink. Add the freeze and thaw cycle in the majority of victims and it’s too much of a coincidence not to be him.”
“And we have a long-haul trucker waving a red flag at me.” Jenna had a satisfied expression. “I think we need to pay a visit to Claude Grady’s boss and find out where he’s been.”
Twenty-Two
“Hey, wake up.” A female voice dragged Zoe from a deep dreamless sleep.
She opened her eyes and a lightbulb hanging from a long cord in the middle of a darkened room went in and out of focus. Nauseous, she shut them again and sucked in a breath of stale, rank air. Where the hell had she slept last night and why did she feel as if she’d been eating sand? Her head throbbed as if she’d been drinking heavily. From the angry voice, she must have fallen asleep in somebody’s spot. It had happened before and she didn’t intend to cower to anyone. On the streets and homeless, she had gotten used to defending herself. Sliding one hand down to her leg, she fumbled for the blade strapped to her ankle and came up empty. Realization, that she wasn’t wearing her jeans or boots slammed into her. She opened her eyes, slowly peering through the lashes at the dark-haired young woman looking down at her. Forcing words from her parched throat, she tried to sit up but the room spun and she fell back into the pillows. “Where the hell am I?” The croaky voice coming from her lips was unrecognizable. Taking it slowly, she eased into a sitting position and peered under the covers. “Where are my clothes?”
“I don’t know, mine are missing too. I’m Ava and I don’t have a clue where we are, but we’re locked in a cellar. Here, drink this, it will help.” Ava thrust a glass of water into her hands and sat on the bed next to her. “I woke up and you were here. Did Preacher bring you?”
I’m locked in a cellar? Zoe’s heart pounded but she needed to evaluate the situation. She sipped and looked around the room. Beds, tables, and chairs—it resembled a survival shelter. The cool fresh water slid down her dry throat in a calming balm. “I’m Zoe, I don’t know anyone by the name of Preacher. The last thing I remember was getting a ride into Black Rock Falls with a biker.”
“Did he tell you he had a place for you to stay for the night?” Ava picked at her nails. “Tall, lean, muscular, with a soft voice?”
It was as if a wall in her head had blocked the memories. Zoe allowed the images of the two men she’d met previously to percolate into her mind. Not the trucker but maybe the biker was Preacher. “Yeah, he did. I guess that description fits the biker but for some reason, I can’t remember what happened after we got into town.”
“I’m sure Preacher, the guy keeping us here, uses a date-rape drug. That’s why you can’t remember what happened.” Ava gave her a solemn look. “I don’t sleep much, I’ve been too scared to shut my eyes but last night after dinner, I fell asleep and woke up this morning without my clothes.”
Panic gripped Zoe and the glass tumbled from her fingers but it didn’t smash, it bounced across the floor. “Are we his sex slaves?”
“He hasn’t touched me yet.” Ava pushed her hair into a ponytail and secured it with a band from around her wrist. “I’m pretty sure I’ve been here a few days. It’s hard to tell. I think he drugs our food when he wants to come down here. Preacher hasn’t threatened me at all. He supplies clean clothing and three meals a day but won’t say why he’s keeping me prisoner.”