Page 18 of The Girl from Devil's Lake
“And?”
“Hyoid bone’s broken,” Deb answered. “The victim also had a perimortem contusion to the side of his head that might well have rendered him unconscious.”
“But the actual cause of death is asphyxia?”
“Yes,” Deb replied. “There’s no sign of any dental work, so using dental charts to make an identification is a nonstarter. Dr. Baldwin will be hoping for a DNA match, but that’s going to take time.”
“Any physical evidence?” Joanna asked.
“Some, and not in a good way,” Deb told her. “His fingernails had been trimmed down to the quick, so there’s no chance of finding DNA under his nails, and Dr. Baldwin found traces of bleach inside his mouth and nose.”
“In his mouth?” Joanna repeated in horror. “He was forced to drink bleach?”
“The ME thinks he was bathed in bleach after he was already deceased in an effort to destroy any DNA evidence. His clothing and shoes were also dipped in bleach.”
“This sounds like a repeat offender,” Joanna observed, “someone who’s done this before and is knowledgeable enough to cover his tracks.”
Deb nodded. “That’s what I’m thinking, too. We took photos of everything—the duffel bag, his clothing, his shoes—before bagging them and bringing them back here. I copied you on all the photos, so they should be in your email. Now we’ll have to wait to see what else Casey can find.”
Casey Ledford was Joanna’s lead crime scene investigator. In hopes of preserving possible evidence, the body had been transported without removing it from the duffel bag.
“Any sign of sexual assault?” Joanna asked.
Deb shook her head. “Not initially,” she said.
“Sounds like you’ve done everything by the book then,” Joanna said. “Good work.”
“Maybe so,” Deb said bleakly, “but without a crime scene or an identity, I don’t know where to start.”
Joanna thought about that comment for a moment. “I may have an idea on that score,” she said finally. “I’ll let you know if anything comes of it.”
Once Deb and Garth left, Joanna turned to her computer andopened Deb’s email. The autopsy process would be recorded from beginning to end, but Deb’s photos provided reference shots that could be printed out and placed directly in the murder book. The first shots were of Kendra removing the body from its duffel-bag wrap. When she pulled the body loose, it was completely clothed with the exception of a single shoe. The missing shoe—a high-topped sneaker that appeared to be two sizes too large for the boy’s tiny feet, was found in the bottom of the duffel. After Kendra located the missing shoe, Deb’s photo revealed that the shoelace wasn’t just untied—it was completely missing.
The empty duffel bag had also been photographed, bagged, and tagged. Next the boy’s clothing was removed—a faded blue plaid, long-sleeved flannel shirt, a pair of worn jeans, and a pair of white skivvies. Finally the tiny body was lain out on the morgue’s slab. Joanna had some idea of how far decomposition would have progressed by then, and that’s when she stopped looking. She didn’t need to see any more. At that point she picked up her cell phone and dialed Captain Arturo Peña’s cell phone.
“Buenos días, Sheriff Brady,” he said cheerfully. “¿Qué tal?”
“Fine,” she answered. “How are things with you?”
“Not bad. How can I be of service?”
“What about lunch?” she asked. “My treat. Daisy’s at noon?”
“Make it twelve thirty, and I’m there.”
“Okay,” she said. “See you then.”
The fact that the two officers operating on opposite sides of the border were good friends wasn’t necessarily widely known, but with the ongoing contentious nature of border relations between the US and Mexico, their quiet friendship and mutual respect were steps in the right direction.
Joanna was already seated in a far corner boothwhen Arturo arrived at Daisy’s. People in town were used to seeing uniformed US Border Patrol personnel there on a daily basis,however they weren’t accustomed to uniformed Mexican Federales. Arturo’s progress through the room was observed with a good deal of interest and curiosity, but then again, it didn’t hurt that the guy was movie star handsome.
“Good to see you,” he said, sliding onto the bench seat across from Joanna, “but from the look on your face, I suspect this lunch is more business than pleasure.”
“Correct,” she said. “We’ve got a dead kid on our hands—an unidentified four- or five-year-old boy—and he may be one of yours.”
“Interesting,” he said. “Tell me about it.”
“I will,” she said. “But let’s order first.”
