Chapter Forty Three
Agent Turner resisted the urge to kick futilely at the dirt when he exited the black SUV. There was nothing that screamed FBI Investigation! like a bunch of black SUVs barreling down the street in a uniformed procession. Along the way, somebody had even yelled out from the sidewalk, “Hey, has there been another killing?”
They pulled up to the standard crime scene: red lights, blue lights, white vans, and a cordoned off square of property where the body was. He resisted the urge to kick at the ground beneath his feet again. It never got easy violating dead bodies. It sounded harsh, the word violate, but it was how he saw it.
All victims deserved the utmost of respect, but inevitably would be poked, prodded, and cut open. Their clothing would be removed and every inch of their body examined. He’d slammed one ME into the wall when he’d made a crude remark about a dead woman’s anatomy years ago. The man was still scared of him, but he never disrespected a corpse in front of Agent David Turner again.
Rene had never told him, but when she saw him slam that bastard against the wall she had fallen in love with her partner all over again. Even though the badass part of it had been a turn-on, his respect for the dead impressed her the most. These people still mattered.
“Hey, agents.” A member of the Louisville PD strode in their direction, nervously straightening his hat. “I kept everything the way it was, didn’t touch nuthin’. Body’s over here,” he pointed over his shoulder, rapidly walking in the direction of the small cordoned-off area. Both agents knew he was a rookie and eager to please. It worked for them. Better than a seasoned one trying to solve the case and fucking up their crime scene.
The agents put gloves on as they followed him. There was no rush now. Sadly, the victim’s days of having anywhere to go were over.
Both agents knelt down to study the body, frowning at the bits of shredded gauze on the ground where the wrapping appeared to have been torn away. Rene gently explored the body’s exposed fingers, noting, “Her nails are done, but not overly done. Nothing fancy. Neutral polish. She kept them short. Tasteful.”
“This one’s different. I’m thinking maybe a suburban housewife this time around. Definitely not another hooker.”
“No wedding ring,” Rene observed.
“She has a tan line there, though. Either she’s in the middle of a divorce or our guy took it as a trophy.”
“Yeah, I heard they all like ‘em.”
“Excuse me?” Agent Turner scowled at the officer, who was now two inches from his face and excitedly nodding his head up and down like a bobblehead. The officer was clearly too excited about his first big crime scene to realize he was invading anyone’s personal space or pushing the limits of crime scene protocol.
“They do,” Rene agreed. “They like to go back in their mind and relive the victim’s final moments.”
The officer gave Rene his full attention, listening for anything that could teach him how to solve a big crime someday. He eagerly bounced his head up and down while her partner scowled.
Turner closed his eyes and slowly shook his head. He pulled back the flap of gauze at the victim’s neck. “The gauze has been disturbed. Animals may have gotten to her before she was found. Look at this, here at her neck. The ME will need to confirm this, of course, but it looks like he strangled her with his bare hands.”
This time when he shook his head it was in compassion for a woman who’d had a life to live and probably had a family that was going to miss her.
“What about sexual assault?” Rene asked.
“We won’t know until the ME is finished with the examination, but, um,” the officer gulped, then continued, “the way this Mummy guy wraps his victims usually allows for it. And as you can see…” He cleared his throat and gestured awkwardly at the hole in the gauze at the apex of the victim’s tightly wrapped thighs. The hole allowed for vaginal penetration if someone was determined enough. The traces of blood visible on the edges of the fabric told the victim’s horrifying story.
“Did the DNA from the last one get a hit in the database?” Turner asked, knowing the answer would be no. If there had been a match, he would have gotten the call long before now.
“No. We’ve got it for comparison when we do make an arrest, but whoever this is just isn’t in the database.”
Rene chimed in, “So this is either a new hobby, or he’s just really good at not getting caught.”
“Pretty much.” Turner had to admit to being surprised. This guy treated the bodies like his own personal cum dump, but it did them no good because he hadn’t had any run-ins with law enforcement that would have gotten his DNA registered…yet.
They stepped aside as the ME arrived on the scene and took over custody of the body. A strange silence reigned while his assistant took photos and the grim-faced ME did his initial work.
Sometime later, as two ME staffers shifted the body in preparation for transferring it into a body bag, the ME lowered down to a knee to examine the underside of things. Holding up a hand, he gestured for the body to be held in place. Another long silence ensued, then he shook his head in disgust, stood, and gestured for the body to be sealed in the bag for the ride to the morgue.
As the ME’s assistant scurried over to confer with his boss, the rookie officer strolled by, slowing his footsteps while he listened. When the caravan of vehicles finally pulled away from the scene with the body safely ensconced inside the lead vehicle, he hurried back to Turner and Rene, eyes wide.
“What was that about?” Rene asked the officer, whose chest puffed importantly as he prepared to impart information that no one else had.
“Well, he said the wrapping was disturbed at her, um, behind too. Like, he did her anally too.”
Rene’s lips tightened with displeasure as her features became arctic. “He…did…her.”
“Well, no. I mean, yes. I mean, he, well….he raped her. Anally, that is. ‘A bloody mess’, he called it. But not free-flowing blood. It looked like the attack was, um, post-mortem. She was already dead when he…did that part. He said the killer had to have been at it a long time to make such a mess.”
“Necrophilia. Great.” Rene exhaled harshly and reached up to squeeze the bridge of her nose.
The officer’s eyes were glued on Rene, hoping for, if not her approval, then a kernel of wisdom that would make him a better cop later on. He was new, eager, and had big dreams for his career. All rookies were. It would take years for the layers of idealistic thinking to be worn away by the cruel reality of the streets.
Agent Turner left Rene to wrap things up with the rookie cop. He stepped aside to the edge of the road. With his arms crossed over his chest, he watched the progress of the taillights of the ME’s caravan as it made its way downtown.
The fucker was escalating, and he’d continue to rachet up his efforts until he was stopped. Stopped dead in his tracks, quite literally. The U.S. government had ingrained in Turner a deep and abiding reverence for the checks and balances of the Justice system: you let the process run its course; everyone deserved their day in court. His lips curled into a silent snarl. Not this one. He was going to fix this.
This victim had been brutally violated before and after she was suffocated. Having witnessed countless autopsies, Turner knew her ordeal of being violated was only just beginning. Feeling Rene’s concerned gaze on his back, he slid his hands onto his hips and hung his head as he sent up silent words of regret to a suburban housewife who was beyond worrying about such things anymore.