The Hangman (The Forgotten Files 3)

She shrugged off her jacket and suited up. By the time she reached Novak’s side of the table, Tessa was making the Y incision.

Novak’s gaze might have been focused on the autopsy table, but she knew he was thinking of her. Call it a cop’s instincts, but she knew when people were paying too close attention.

The technician pulled away the sheet, revealing Lana’s naked body. Julia flinched and steeled herself against the image.

Lana’s head rested in a white plastic headrest that tipped her chin up and exposed her neck. Bleached blond hair flowed over the back of the table. Scrubbed clean of makeup, Lana looked older. The last year had aged her a decade. The ropes had been removed, but their ugly imprints on her chest, arms, legs, and of course neck remained.

Dr. Kincaid pulled the microphone closer to her lips and began. “Lana Ortega is an eighteen-year-old Hispanic female.”

Eighteen. So the kid had lied about her age. That would have put her at sixteen when they met. Damn it.

Dr. Kincaid began her exterior exam. “The technician photographed the victim’s bindings, and they have been sent to the state forensic lab.” The doctor cleared her throat. “The subject has four tattoos: a heart on her right ankle, MR encircled by a heart on her right arm, a key on the inside of her left wrist, and a star on the back of her neck at her hairline. No needle marks on her arms or between her fingers or toes. She does have several scars. Several old ones on the underside of her left wrist.”

“She told me she tried to kill herself when she was fourteen,” Julia said. “She never said why, only that she took a straight razor to her wrist.”

“You knew this woman?” Tessa asked.

“I met her when I worked undercover. Lana’s boyfriend and his boss were my targets, and in an effort to learn more about them, I befriended her.”

The doctor nodded. “There’s a scar on the victim’s cheek that was expertly closed with stitches. And there are small circular burn scars on her arms.”

“Cigarette burns?” Novak asked.

“Most likely,” Dr. Kincaid said. “Her teeth have veneers.”

“She told me Benny gave her the new teeth as well as breast implants.”

Dr. Kincaid frowned. “I’d say she’s at least fifteen pounds underweight, and her dry skin suggests she was vitamin-deficient.”

“She lived on cosmos and luncheon meat,” Julia said.

“How long did you work undercover?” Tessa asked.

Aware of Novak’s sharp gaze, she kept her focus on the doctor. “About three years. I had built a pretty good network in the underground beach community. When a task force was looking for someone to work in Benny’s bar, I was a natural choice.”

“I can’t imagine what that must have been like,” Dr. Kincaid said.

“It taught me to always think twice before I spoke,” she said, forcing a smile. “Until a couple of weeks ago, I was still circling the block until I made the final trek home.”

“Circling the block?” Dr. Kincaid asked.

“Hard to maintain a tail on someone if they take three or four right turns. Following anyone that closely will get you spotted.”

“Good to know,” Dr. Kincaid said.

“There are visible signs of bruising all over her body that match the ropes that bound her,” Dr. Kincaid said. “The bruising around her neck is particularly pronounced, and that is due to the ropes that were bound there. There’s also bruising on her wrists and ankles. Again, from ropes. And there’s a deep slice to her left Achilles tendon. A cut like that would have incapacitated her immediately.”

“In the original cases, the victims didn’t suffer any cuts,” Julia said.

“Maybe twenty-five years has slowed him down,” Novak said.

“Unless I see something during the autopsy or in the tox screens, my first guess is that she suffocated,” Dr. Kincaid said. “With her neck wrapped so tightly and her hands suspended, breathing would have become increasingly difficult.”

“How long did it take?” Novak asked.

“Hard to say exactly, but at least a couple of hours.”

Julia tried not to imagine the young woman’s last hours.

Dr. Kincaid rolled the victim to her side. “Note her back is clear of any signs of bruising or lividity. However, her hands and feet are a dark purple, suggesting she was hanging when her heart stopped beating.” Using the sharp tip of a scalpel blade, she flayed the lifeless flesh. From the underside of the right breast, Dr. Kincaid removed and inspected the large breast implant before laying it in a silver basin.

Using bolt cutters, Dr. Kincaid clipped the rib-cage bones, lifted the heart away from the body, and set it on a small table by the body. She inspected the organ. Slightly enlarged. Next, the lungs showed signs of stress. Asthma. Dr. Kincaid noted in the microphone that Lana’s gut was inflamed. All the major organs were removed and weighed, and then tissue samples taken from each before they were repacked in the body.

“I’ve sent blood samples off for testing,” Dr. Kincaid said. “We’ll know in a few days what kind of cocktail of drugs she had in her system.”

“A year and a half ago, her drugs of choice were vodka and triple sec. Benny didn’t like her using the coke.”

Dr. Kincaid inspected the lungs. “It looks like she recently discovered meth, but the tox screen will confirm it. Not enough at this stage to affect her teeth, but that would have been a matter of time.”

The remainder of the autopsy was routine. The doctor confirmed Lana was not pregnant.

When Dr. Kincaid stepped back from the table so Tessa could close, Julia thanked everyone as she turned away, anxious to leave the room. Lana deserved a lot better.

Through the doors, she heard the doctor say to Novak, “All right. I’ll get back to you with a report in a day or two.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Novak replied.

As Novak pushed through the swinging doors, Julia stripped off her gown and reached for her jacket. Novak came up behind her and lifted the jacket’s edge so she could slide in her left arm.

“I want to walk the Ortega crime scene again,” he said.

She flipped up her collar and reached for her purse. “I’ll come.”

“Good. Mind if I grab a bite to eat on the way? I know a place near the scene.” He grinned. “I haven’t mastered the art of eating alone since Bella left for college.”

“I ate but I’ll get coffee.”

“It’s a date.”

He made it sound easy. A coffee. But he was clever and used his calm voice and relaxed manner to draw in suspects and extract information, as he’d drawn her into his life.

He dumped the gown in the bin and slid on his coat, tugging the front sides until the jacket fell into a crisp line. He held the door for her, waiting for her to pass.

She arched a brow. “Novak, you’re treating me like a lady.”

“Last I checked, you are a lady.”

“I’m a cop.”

“And a good one.” He grinned as he nodded toward the elevator. The doors closed, and they were

alone. His size, the faint scent of his aftershave, the way he rubbed his thumb and index finger together made her aware of him.

She drew in a breath, trying to ignore him and a tightening wave of desire. She had lowered her guard with him, and she’d gotten away with it. To sleep with him again risked exposing all her shortcomings and fears.

Outside, she slid into the front seat, and seconds later he was behind the wheel. He drove across the river into the Manchester district and parked in front of a small street vendor.

“Sure you aren’t hungry?” he asked.

“No. Go ahead.”

They got out of the car, and he purchased a couple of bagels and two coffees. He handed her a cup and kept the bagels with extra cream cheese. Tossing his tie over his shoulder, he bit into the first bagel. As she stood in the parking lot, she stared out over the James River at the cityscape on the other side. A small boat floated lazily on the water.

“It’s one of my favorite views of the city,” he said, wiping his mouth with a paper napkin.

“I’ve been through this area enough but never stopped.”

“I worked patrol in this district. Got to know the area well. Nice to see the new restaurants and new business.” He finished the first bagel and offered her the second. When she shook her head, he bit into it. She sipped her coffee and was pleasantly surprised to discover it tasted good.

He smiled at her reaction. “Do you think I’d bring you anywhere that made bad coffee?”

She raised the cup to him. “Is it always this good?”

“Always. And the hot dogs at lunch are the best.”

“Good to know.” She sipped and stared more at the city. “So what’s your next step in the Ortega murder?”

“We walk the crime scene. And then you know how it goes. Review credit card receipts, cell phone data, surveillance cameras. Any trail will help reconstruct her last weeks.”

“She didn’t have family in the area, but said she was from San Diego. Her whole world had become Benny.”

“Friends?”

“You mean other than me?”

He wiped his mouth, crumpled the napkin, and tossed it on the plate. “She considered you a friend?”