“So what do you have?” Garrison said.
“I took her liver temperature and can tell you she died late Saturday or early Sunday. She has four distinct star-shaped burns on her body. Three knife wounds into the chest and abdomen. The burns didn’t kill her, and I doubt most of the stab wounds killed her.” The doctor pointed to a section of slashed skin by the victim’s neck. “This one killed her. It serrated her jugular.”
“What kind of knife would make wounds like that?”
“Long. Serrated edge.”
“And the burns?”
“Done at least a day to a few hours before the stabbing. Whoever burned her wasn’t in a rush.”
“How was she burned?”
The doctor set down her pliers, pulled off the glove on her right hand and punched a few buttons on a computer keypad. The screen monitor switched from a sandy beach to a photo of the brand. “I’d say the killer used a metal branding iron heated in a fireplace.”
“Why do you say that?” Garrison asked. “Some branding irons are electric.”
She outlined sections of the picture with her gloved fingertip. “Faint traces of ashes in the wounds. If its heat source is electricity, then there’d be no need for fire.”
Garrison moved closer to the screen and held up the bagged necklace star with the rhinestones. “An identical match.”
Dr. Henson arched an eyebrow. “Where’d you find that?”
“Lisa Black’s apartment.”
Dr. Henson returned to the table, pulled on fresh gloves and reached for a section of rib cage.
Malcolm shoved out a breath and took a step back. “Can you tell me anything about Ms. Black?”
“She appears to be well nourished, though a bit on the thin side. Nails appear healthy, no track marks, no evidence of old fractures, no birth defects.”
“Tox screen?” Garrison said.
“Prelims are clean but that could change.” Dr. Henson set the rib cage on a side cart draped in surgical batting. “I did do a vaginal swab and pelvic examination. No signs of sexual assault or recent intercourse. Judging by the shape of her uterus she’s never had children.”
“Anything else?”
Her brow knotted as she studied the brand on the victim’s belly. “When I first examined the burns I noticed they were uneven. Meaning a couple were light and a couple progressively deeper.”
“Which suggests?”
“I’m redoing my kitchen and to save money I’m doing a little stenciling on the walls.”
“Dr. Henson, do you digress?” Malcolm said.
“When, Detective, have you ever known me to make small talk with you?”
Malcolm shrugged. “Never.”
“Exactly.” She peered through her safety glasses into the body cavity at the heart. “The first burns were tentative, as if the killer was experimenting with the branding iron.”
“The killer was practicing and getting a feel for the process.” Garrison ground his back teeth.
“Makes me think this is the first time the killer has done something like this. But judging by the burns on Ms. Black, the killer gained confidence quickly.” She glanced up at him. “Which leads me to believe, he’s just getting started.”
“Why do you say that?”
“The number four seems to be a recurring theme. Four stars. A four-pointed star. Four stab wounds.”
“And so far only one victim.” Garrison shook his head. “He’s not finished.”
Garrison studied the clear brands placed in a neat circle on the victim’s belly. “Forensics scraped under the nail beds. Let’s hope they come up with foreign DNA. I can only hope the killer left something behind.”
Dr. Henson shook her head. “So far, I’ve found nothing on the body. No hair. No semen. Nothing. I’d say you have one organized killer.”
“No one’s perfect, Doc. All killers forget something. We just need to find it.”
Eva shut the water off in the ladies’ room and reached for the paper towel dispenser. It was empty. She checked under the sink and found the towels she’d just stocked this morning gone as well. What was it with paper products? There were days it felt like they evaporated into thin air.
Her hands still damp from the washing, she pushed through the door, her gaze skittering to a blond waitress behind the crowded bar. Betty, a fifty-something waitress, could keep the bar moving for short periods of time, but more than fifteen minutes and she fell behind and orders got jammed. Alcohol was King’s best moneymaker, and Eva understood that each order dropped meant lost revenue.
Still distracted by the lost scholarship and the articles she’d read about her sorority sisters, she wasn’t paying attention and nearly tripped over Bobby who stood right by the door. She yelped in surprise. “Good Lord! You nearly scared me to death.”
Bobby frowned and tears filled his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
Immediately contrite, Eva shoved out a breath. “Bobby, you’ve got to stop walking around the pub like it’s covered with eggshells.”
“I’m sorry.”
She knelt in front of him. “Don’t be sorry. I didn’t mean to scream like a little girl. I just didn’t expect you.”
“I’m sorry.”
She smiled and patted his shoulder with drippy hands. “It’s not even worth being sorry about. Hey, what are you still doing up? It’s past nine.”
“King said I could put food out for the kitten.”
“Any luck catching Merlin yet?”
His eyes brightened. “No, but I am getting close. I almost caught him today.”
“Keep feeding him, and he’ll warm up to you.”
“I will.”
“So you’re headed to bed?”
“Yes. King says lights out now. Will you take me upstairs? King is busy and doesn’t have time to check under the bed for monsters.”
King had mentioned their ritual. Every night King searched the boy’s room for monsters. “Wait just a minute while I go to the basement and get towels. And then I’ll run you upstairs.” She dashed down the rickety stairs and clicked on the light at the bottom. A bulb swung from a rope. The place smelled of must and old brick. Most of the other gals waiting tables at the pub didn’t like the basement. But it didn’t bother her. Spiders, cobwebs and ordinary frights had lost their fear factor since her journey to hell and back.
Eva found the towels on a shelf by a locked root cellar and dashed back up the stairs because Bobby hovered at the top peering into the basement, his eyes wide with worry. “See, no worries.”
A deep furrow creased his brow. “It’s dark down there.”
“Dark never hurt anybody. ”
“You’re not scared?”
“Nope.” She smiled. “Help me put these towels away and then I’ve got to get the bar prepped.”
“Okay.”
“Are you afraid of basements?” Learning any information about Bobby might help figure out his story.
“Yes.”
“Is there a basement where you lived?”
“My grandmother had a basement.”
“She did?” Another clue to his family. “Where did she live?”
“Far from here.” A note of suspicion seeped into his tone.
Back off or push? He might open up if she nudged him a little more. It might also send him deeper into silence. She’d never been one for the safe route. “Isn’t your grandmother worried about you? ”
“No.”
“She has to be.”
“She died.”
“I’m so sorry. You must miss her.”
“I do. She baked cookies when I visited.”
Eva glanced down at the child into dark brown eyes that reflected maturity far beyond his years. She laid her hand on his shoulder. “How did she die?”
He glanced up at her but hesitated before he spoke. “It was her time. She was old.”
“Her time? That sounds like something an older person would say. Who told you it was her time?”
&n
bsp; “Nobody. I heard that line on TV once.”
“Your grandmother and mother are dead. What about your father?”
“I never knew him. Mom said he died before I was born.” He pulled his gaze from her and scanned the shelves lined with boxes. “I can put the extra towels away. ”
“Okay.” She loaded the towel dispenser. “Shove the extra towels under the sink. That would be a big help to me. Then we head upstairs.”
His eyes brightened, his need to please reflected in his eyes. Her heart twisted. She’d been that way once—so eager to please that she’d have done anything. She’d been a fool.