“Your psychology degree is showing,” I said.
“I like to dust it off every now and then so it doesn’t feel like a complete waste of time or money.”
“I definitely think you got your money’s worth,” I said, coming to a stop as we rounded the dumpster and got our first clear look at the victim. “Maybe you could do a quick profile of our killer since you’re dusting it off.”
“Wow,” Jack said. “Sick. Definitely sick.”
Chapter Two
“Is that your professional opinion?” I asked, carefully maneuvering my way around the victim’s intestines that had spilled out across the pavement.
“I could go with whack-job or psychopath too,” he said. “I don’t like to paint myself into a corner.”
“Plank was right,” I said. “This crime scene is a mess.” The area reeked of alcohol and vomit where Thomas Chapman had lost his buzz. “It looks like he tripped over her. And there’s been some rodent activity. It doesn’t take long in an environment like this.”
Jack inched his way behind me so his back was to the brick wall, and he held my bag down so I could dig inside and grab a thermometer.
“She’s still warm,” I said, after taking her temperature. “There’s barely any rigor in her fingers. The guy that found her didn’t miss her killer by much.”
A crime scene like this one could be overwhelming. There were a lot of variables at play.
“She wasn’t killed here,” Jack said, shining his flashlight toward the back door of the theater and the yellow markers that indicated the smear of blood across the pavement.
“She was dragged,” I said, taking several pictures of the victim. I was careful to touch her as little as possible. “With all that blood pooled by the door he would have sliced her throat there. I can see the arterial spray on the walls. So much rage.”
I gently touched the gaping wounds at her neck with my gloved finger. “Left to right strike,” I said, pointing to the area where the knife first entered the body. “Would’ve sliced right into the carotid artery and then he jerked it down. It’s a deep wound, and it’s a smooth cut. There’s only a small amount of tissue connecting the head to the body.”
“Big knife,” Jack said. “That first slice would have covered him in blood. There would’ve been no way to avoid it.”
“No,” I agreed. “And then he stabbed her in the throat again just for good measure. She’s got multiple stab wounds in the chest and abdomen.” Her dress was in tatters. “Then he gutted her.”
“You think he did that postmortem?” Jack asked.
“I think he did it after he dragged her back here behind the dumpster,” I said. “There’s some rodent activity along the soft tissue, and these dumpsters are probably full of rats. When Chapman found her and tripped over her he probably helped the disembowelment process.”
“Hope that guy has a good therapist,” Jack said.
I grunted and picked up her hand, checking to see if there was anything visible under the nails or defensive wounds on her wrists or arms. “She didn’t even have time to defend.” I bagged both of her hands, and then went about the painstaking task of bagging her intestines.
“No visible signs of sexual assault,” I said, checking her legs and to see if she still wore undergarments. “She doesn’t appear to be missing any clothing. I’m assuming Cole didn’t find any ID on the victim?”
“You’d assume right,” Cole said. “This one’s a doozy, huh? Not at all how I wanted to be woken up in the middle of the night.”
Cole reminded me of a modern-day cowboy with his Wrangler jeans and boots. It was rare to see him without a cowboy hat, but tonight he had on his Gore-Tex jacket and a neoprene skullcap pulled low over his dark blond hair. He had a slow drawl and Southern manners that many thought made him slow in the head, but he had a brilliant detective mind and a quick wit.
Cole was a good cop, and he’d worked with Jack for a long time. I liked him and trusted him in a professional capacity. The jury was still out on the personal front. Cole had a reputation among the ladies as being irresistible for the first couple of months. Then he’d lose interest and move on to the next. He was nice about it, and he’d somehow managed to untangle himself without scores of women wanting to punch him in the face.
I’d never cared about Cole’s love life before, but it was different now because he was dating my pathology assistant, Lily. They’d only been dating a few weeks and there was a significant difference in their ages. The way Lily looked at him made me nervous, and we were all watching the pair of them like animals at the zoo to see if they were going to mate or end up killing each other.
“You and me both,” I said. “There’s not much more I can do here with the delicate state of her organs. I want to get her bagged and back to the lab as soon as possible.”
“I brought Lily with me,” Cole said. He grinned sheepishly and shrugged. “She was there when I got the call, and she figured you’d need help with transport.”
“Good,” I said, for once grateful that he and Lily were shacking up. “It saves time. Did you get an identification on the victim?”
“Sure did,” Cole said. “Juliet Dunnegan. I found her purse in one of the dressing rooms backstage. Driver’s license picture matches the victim. I ran a quick check on her. No outstanding warrants. She’s married. Address is a few miles from here.”
“Have you checked with dispatch to see if the husband called in to report when she didn’t come home for the night?” Jack asked.
“No calls came in,” Cole said. “He might have gone to bed knowing she’d be in late. It’s early yet. He might still be asleep.”
“Maybe so,” Jack said. “What do you want to do?”
Cole sighed. “What I want to do is go home and get back into bed. But I guess what we need to do is clear the scene so we can start digging through these dumpsters to see if the killer dumped the murder weapon. No point trying to pull prints from anything with it being so wet.”
I stood when I saw Lily heading in our direction, pushing the gurney we’d left back in the middle of the alley. Lily was literally one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen, and she was also the kindest and most humble. She somehow managed to make the sweats and oversized coat that clearly belonged to Cole look good.
“You ready to bag her?” Lily asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’ve got all the pictures I can get. I don’t want to roll her because of obvious reasons. I’m worried about the head staying intact during transport, and I don’t want to lose any more of her tissue than we already have.”
Lily and I worked to get Juliet Dunnegan bagged, and it turned out to be a wet and messy process. The rain was relentless. The pavement and the victim were both slippery when wet, and my foot slipped while trying to maneuver Juliet into the bag.
“Careful,” Jack said, catching me before I ended up with my backside in things I didn’t want to think about.
I was out of breath from the exertion, and I mumbled, “Thanks,” as I got my footing back under me.