“We also found beard stubble with the blood and tissue.”
“Just confirming,” Sean said to his partner.
“So if the left jug and carotid were cut, that means the assailant was probably right-handed if he struck from behind,” said Michelle.
“That’s right.” She picked up a small plastic bottle. Inside were several strands of a black material.
“Found some of these under her right thumbnail and left index finger and another caught in her hair.”
Michelle squinted at the evidence. “Looks like nylon.”
“From a mask?” Sean opined.
“The guy I saw wore a black mask,” said Michelle. “Pam reaches back, gouges at his face with her hands. She gets the nylon under her nails.”
“Did you see anything else?” asked Magoulas.
“Not really. I’m pretty observant, but the guy was shooting at me with an MP5. Came within an inch of shredding me instead of a tree. I decided it was smarter to stay alive than to get a positive ID on the shooter.”
Magoulas looked at her wide-eyed. “Works for me.”
“Anything on the letters on her arms?” Sean asked, as he indicated them on the body. They were harder to read now because of the discoloration of Pam’s decaying skin. The dead flesh seemed to be absorbing the permanent ink. Rather than letters, they now appeared to be some sort of skin disease, or else the symbols of some insane human cataloguing process.
“I’m a pathologist, not a linguistic expert. It’s black ink, probably from a broad-tipped pen like a Sharpie, written in block letters, and the penmanship, in my humble opinion, isn’t great. I’m fluent in Spanish, but that’s not Spanish. It’s not any other Romance language. It’s obviously not Chinese or Russian. Wrong alphabet.”
“Maybe an African tribal language?” suggested Sean.
Michelle said, “But like Russian and Chinese I don’t think they’d be using an English alphabet. Maybe it’s just gibberish to throw us off.”
“Okay, anything else of interest?” Sean asked.
“Yeah, that’s some serious red hair the lady had. I’ve cut up lots of redheads, but she takes the cake. I almost needed sunglasses to do the post.”
“And how is that relevant to the investigation?” asked Michelle.
“He didn’t ask for relevant , he asked for interest.” She added with a grin, “Hey, even MEs need to lighten up every once in a while. Otherwise, it could get depressing around here.”
“Okay,” said Sean. “I’ll play along. Anything else of relevance?”
“Lady’s had kids.”
“We know that.”
“Two C-sections.” She indicated the old suture tracks on Pam’s belly paralleling the Y-cut. They looked like faded zippers.
“And the third vaginally,” added Sean.
“Impossible,” said Magoulas.
“What?” Sean said sharply.
“The visual exam showed her pelvic bones were unusually configured and her birth canal was abnormally narrow: The X-ray film confirmed those conclusions. And while it’s hard to tell at the autopsy level, she appears to have had an SI joint dysfunction; she was probably born with it. Bottom line, no ob-gyn would’ve gone the vaginal route with the lady unless they wanted to lose their malpractice insurance; way too risky. She’d have to deliver by C.”
She glanced at Sean and Michelle, whose gazes were locked on Pam Dutton’s savaged belly, as though the answers they craved would float from there and into them.
“Is that relevant?” asked Magoulas, looking at them inquisitively.
Sean finally pulled his gaze away from the old surgical scars and the more recent incision. “You could say it’s of interest.”