Guilt tugged at her heart as she left the house and closed the door. She was halfway across the lawn when her cell phone vibrated. She glanced at the screen. Nick West, a local reporter. No doubt he was calling about the body.
Bree answered the call. “Hello, Nick. How can I help you?”
“I heard you pulled a body out of the river last night. I’m putting the story on our social media and online edition shortly. Is there anything you would like to say?”
“The sheriff’s department is investigating the death.” Bree climbed into her SUV.
“Can’t you do better than that?” Nick sounded disappointed. “Can you confirm the victim’s name is Holly Thorpe? Did she jump off the bridge?”
“Sorry, Nick. The truth is, we don’t know yet. The medical examiner hasn’t declared a cause of death.” Bree cleared her throat. “Last night, the sheriff’s department received a report of an abandoned vehicle near the bridge at Dead Horse Road. A search of the immediate area resulted in the discovery of the body of a woman in the river. The cause of death is unknown at this time. The sheriff’s department is investigating. Is that better?”
“A little,” Nick said without enthusiasm. “I assume the autopsy will be today. Can I call you later for more information?”
“You can call, but I can’t guarantee what I’ll be able to share.” Bree started the engine.
“OK.” Nick sighed and ended the call.
Bree drove to the sheriff’s station on autopilot. Her administrative assistant, Marge, met her in her office with a huge cup of coffee. About sixty, Marge had been with the sheriff’s department longer than anyone else. She knew everything about everyone.
“Thanks, Marge.”
“You’re welcome.” Marge looked like everyone’s grandma. But her soft exterior covered an iron will and a mind sharp enough to cut through bullshit like a hot scalpel through butter. “The county commissioners canceled your meeting.”
Son of a . . .
“Did they give a reason?” Bree asked.
“No. They just asked to reschedule.”
“Again.”
“Yes, again,” Marge agreed. “If they keep putting you off, they don’t have to make a decision.”
Frustrated, Bree turned to her computer to type up her reports from last night’s call. On the bright side, now she had time to prepare for Holly Thorpe’s autopsy.
CHAPTER SIX
Ten minutes before one o’clock, Matt parked in front of the medical examiner’s building. In the next space, Bree was stepping out of her SUV. Despite the grim reason for today’s meeting, he was still happy to see her.
He joined her on the sidewalk and stifled the urge to kiss her hello.
“Ready?” she asked.
“Yes,” he lied. He would never get used to seeing a human being sliced open like a fish being cleaned. Oddly, looking at the body in the morgue was worse for Matt than viewing it at the crime scene. At the scene, there were often signs of passion, rage, or other motivations that had led to the person’s death. The corpse was a person who’d had a life until something cut it short. With the violence of the crime on display, Matt would experience sadness, anger, or frustration. The morgue’s cold sterility made the victim seem less than human.
He took one final breath of clean spring air as if he was stocking up and turned toward the building. He held open the door for Bree. As she passed in front of him, the corner of her mouth turned up, as it always did when he exhibited any of the old-fashioned gestures his mother had drilled into him since birth. The manners were ingrained and as automatic as breathing for him. Her expression was surprised but pleased, but maybe also surprised that she was pleased.
They signed in, made their way to the antechamber, and collected personal protective equipment. Matt drew on a blue gown over his clothes. When the bone saws came out, bodily fluids and fragments of flesh and bone could go flying.
He glanced through the small window that looked into the autopsy suite. Dr. Jones was bent over the stainless-steel table. On it, the naked body lay faceup.
“She got an early start,” he said, reaching down to fix the elastic of a bootie.
“Shit.” Bree pulled down her clear plastic face shield and rushed through the swinging door.
Matt followed, less upset about missing part of the autopsy. As always, the smells hit him like a blow, immediately turning his stomach. He took two shallow breaths before sucking it up and moving into position next to Bree. His breath fogged the face shield, making him oddly claustrophobic.
The body was scraped and banged up. The bridge was more than thirty feet above the river. At that height, the fall was survivable and the water deep enough that the jumper wouldn’t bottom out. But a hundred feet downstream, there were boulders and other debris the body could have struck while being tumbled in the current.
The Y-incision flayed the chest like a wide-mouth duffel bag. The chest plate had been removed, and the internal cavity gaped empty. The organs had been removed, weighed, examined, and samples taken. They would be returned to the body inside a plastic bag before the incision was closed. A block under the back of the neck stretched out the throat, where the skin was neatly excised and peeled back to expose the underlying anatomical structure.
As they approached the table, Dr. Jones straightened. As usual, she got right to business.
“I’ll start with where we stand on confirming this woman’s identity as Holly Thorpe.” The ME inclined her head toward the body. “Ms. Thorpe has no dental records that I could find.”
“Her husband said she hadn’t been to a dentist since she was a child,” Bree said.
Dr. Jones continued with a nod. “Holly was thirty-four. If she hasn’t seen a dentist since she was a child, it’s possible that dentist is no longer in business or has purged their records. Dentists aren’t required to keep records that long. According to her family doctor, she’s never broken a bone. So, we could find no X-rays to compare. She has no tattoos or obvious scars. While the lack of those things matches this victim, it isn’t enough. We still need scientific confirmation of her identification. Her hairbrush contained several strands with the root still attached. We’re submitting those for DNA testing and will issue an official confirmation of ID as soon as those results are in.”
“DNA tests can take months,” Matt said. “That’s a long time for the family to wait.”
The ME wouldn’t release the body to a funeral home until she was satisfied with the identification.
“I agree.” Dr. Jones nodded. “Out of respect for the family, I contacted the lab to request a rush on the testing. I’m pushing to have results within the week.” She gestured toward the body. “So, based on the information we do have.” The ME ticked off the facts on her gloved finger. “Basic physical characteristics, the identification in her vehicle and purse, and Mr. Thorpe’s recognition of his wife’s wedding ring, we are prepared to issue a presumptive ID that this is Holly Thorpe.”
Bree said, “I’d like to speak with her family before that information is made public.”
Dr. Jones nodded. “If you would prefer to issue the press release, that’s fine with me.”