Page 78 of Jessica's Hero
Once I get within ten feet of the river, I can see the body. Sprawled across the snow, limbs akimbo like a broken doll, the woman is motionless as she stares up at a brilliant blue sky. As I draw closer, I can clearly see the blue tint to her skin, and the violent bruises wrapped around her throat. Her face is bruised, too, and while I’m not a forensic expert, the coloring would indicate she died shortly after receiving them.
Not an accidental death, then.
My mind switches into investigative mode as I scan the scene. The snow directly around her is crisp and clean, almost like she was tossed there as an afterthought. She’s not wearing a coat, which makes me think she must have been taken from somewhere and not accosted while walking through the park on her own.
Though I shouldn’t feel a tiny surge of relief, I do. If she was killed by a person she knew, that would at least decrease the risk to the rest of the women in Sleepy Hollow. They won’t have to fear walking through town or crossing a parking lot on their own, like they would if this woman was randomly targeted.
Although there’s really no way to know for sure. Not yet. Not until we identify the deceased, get forensics out here…
But the first thing I have to do is confirm that she’s dead. So I snap on my gloves and walk even closer to the woman, then crouch down to lightly place my finger on her neck.
There’s nothing. Not even a faint thump. And from thegrowing stiffness of her skin, it’s pretty obvious there’s nothing more that can be done for her.
Next, I take a closer look at her face, searching past the array of bruises across it.
At first, I don’t recognize her. Which, selfishly, brings another brief surge of relief.
A beat later, recognition slams into me, driving the air from my lungs. I reel backwards, almost falling into the snow before catching my balance. My heart thuds in a crazed, erratic rhythm as I drag myself to a standing position.
“Oliver,” I call over. Is that my voice? It doesn’t sound like my own. It’s too reedy. Too strained. Too laced with fear. “I need to talk to you. Now.”
He glances over, his expression shifting to one of alarm as he sees me. After talking to the witness briefly, he heads in my direction, carefully stepping in the same tracks I left. “What’s wrong?”
I angle my chin down at the deceased woman. “Look.”
But not just any woman. The one we arrested less than a week ago. Eliza.
Just like me, it takes him a second. And then a rough, “Shit.”
“It’s Eliza,” I say unnecessarily. “Why is she out here? Who could—-” My throat closes up as a horrifying thought occurs to me. “People are going to blame Jess.”
“No, they won’t,” he returns quickly. Then he crouches to look at her face, scowling as he catalogs the bruises across it. “Jess was with you last night, wasn’t she?”
“Of course. And we playedTenebris Veilfor a few hours, so there are time stamps. Her friend from Vermontchatted with us. She didn’t leave the house until I brought her to work this morning.”
“So it’s fine.” Oliver stands again and turns to face me. “There’s no reason to put anything on Jess. And the marks on the woman’s neck… those are too big to be from a woman’s hands.”
“You don’t understand. People in town will blame her anyway. It doesn’t matter?—”
Shit. This can’t be my priority right now. I have to do my job—call in to the Chief, try to catch Hank before he gets here, ask for backup to secure the scene while we work the investigation…
But Oliver’s already on it, no doubt realizing I’m still reeling from our discovery. As he makes his calls, I quickly run through everything in my mind.
Eliza’s dead. Clearly a homicide. Dressed like she was indoors when she was originally attacked. Which means either she knew the person, or someone got into her apartment.
“Fuck,” I grit out. “We should have put surveillance on her apartment. We could have stopped this.”
Oliver pockets his phone. “Mike and Vince are on the way. So is Hank.”
More puzzle pieces slot together. “Her car never left her apartment. Not for the last three days. Would she have left to take a walk in just a long-sleeved shirt and jeans? Or did she lose her coat somewhere? Did she hit one of the bars to drown her sorrows? If we’d put someone on her twenty-four-seven…”
Then an even worse thought bursts to life, seizing my lungs and making my heart stutter. “What if this has to do with Jess? I know Eliza confessed to the crimes we hadevidence for, but she never confirmed the home invasion.”
“Because we didn’t have proof,” Oliver tosses back. “I’m sure her attorney told her that. Why would she confess to a crime when we have nothing to pin it on her?”
“Or what if she had an accomplice?” My heart kicks into overdrive. Leaps into my throat. “What if someone’s still out there, gunning for Jess?”
Oliver stiffens. “Call her.”
