“Explain.”
“In about thirty to fifty percent of the cases, the victim suffering from severe hypothermia gets confused and disoriented and actually believes they’re getting hotter. They take off their clothes. Of course this just accelerates heat loss, and they die that much faster.”
He thought about her peeling off the lightweight jacket, designed for Texas’s summer heat, and believing she was hot. He glanced at her discarded clothes and noticed the blouse had been ripped, as if she’d torn it off herself. “Be sure to run a rape kit. I don’t want any assumptions at this point.”
“Will do.”
“Signs of trauma?”
“None I’ve seen so far. No cuts or scrapes and no bruising. Like she just walked in here and closed the door behind her.”
At first glance, Rory had hung himself. Only a closer inspection revealed the hand of another. “Fingerprints?”
“I’ve not dusted yet. That comes next. But I’m sure I’m going to get a lot of prints. A place like this sees vagrants.”
“I’d like a tox screen run. I can’t believe she merely walked in here.”
Rio glanced toward her purse. “See her purse in the corner?”
He glanced toward the black bag, tossed on its side and the contents spilling out. “Yeah.”
“If she were going to kill herself, why bring in her purse? She’d not have needed it where she was headed.”
“Habit?”
“Maybe. But it seems she’d have not bothered. And her cell is missing and the interior contents missing, as if someone rifled through her bag, took it, and tossed her purse in here.”
“Maybe she lost her nerve. Maybe she was looking for a way out of here.”
Rio shrugged. “That option wouldn’t get my vote.”
Bragg nodded. “What about a driver’s license?”
“By the purse.”
He moved to the purse and spotted the license lying faceup. He shot a picture with his phone. Straightening, he studied the image. Sara Jane Wentworth. Age thirty-two. No denying the victim was Sara Wentworth.
The old picture of Greer and Rory came to mind. “Find any pictures at the scene. Photographs?”
“No.”
“Make sure you bag all the clothes and her belongings. I want to go through them all.”
“Sure. And did the officer tell you about the tape?”
“What tape?”
“An audiotape was playing when the officers arrived.”
“What was on the tape?”
“A woman’s voice. She kept saying, ‘I love you, Sara.’”
“What did the voice sound like?”
Rio glanced toward the officer outside the freezer door. “Key up the tape.”
The officer nodded and seconds later they all heard, “I love you, Sara.”
Bragg listened, almost fearing he’d hear the rusty, whiskey quality of Greer’s voice. But this voice was older and the Texas accent deeper.
“Any idea who the voice belongs to?” he said.
“None. That’s for you to figure.”
He nodded. “How long do you think she’s been in here?”
“The cold will make that a hard one to pin. At least hours.”
He studied the icy walls now dripping with the heat streaming in from the door. “What powered the freezer?”
“A big generator with enough gas to run for another twelve hours.”
“I’ll leave you to the scene. I want to go outside and trace the steps into the building.”
“Will do, Ranger Bragg.”
Bragg threaded his way through the growing number of cops assembling in and outside of the warehouse. This bizarre death scene would soon make the news.
He spotted Winchester as the other Ranger pulled up in his black Bronco. Out of his car, Winchester stopped and surveyed the scene. The Ranger’s scowl deepened as he studied the warehouse.
Bragg shrugged, knowing soon the heat of the day would make getting around tedious. “It’s like DPS said. Female frozen to death in a freezer.”
“It’s going to be one hundred and ten today.”
“Officers tell me the temperatures in that freezer dropped below zero.”
“Frozen to death in the Texas heat. Do you think she did it on purpose?”
“No.”
“We need to talk to her family and find out if she had a history of suicide attempts.”
“Agreed,” Bragg said. He gave him the victim’s details.
“And you are sure it’s Sara Wentworth?”
“If the victim is not her, then she’s her twin.” He pulled off his rubber gloves. “Look at the generator used to power that freezer and find out if anyone in the area has bought one recently. Got to be easier to track than the rope.”
Winchester’s gaze cut through the crowds, searching. “Where’s her car? If it’s here, it should be roped off.”
“Hasn’t been found.”
“She sure didn’t walk here.”
“No, she did not.” Bragg stared at the dilapidated building, listened to the rush of cars from the interstate as the heat intensified the rotting scents of nearby garbage. “We need to find it.”
“Sure.”
Bragg shook his head. “Hell of a place to end up.”
It wasn’t hard to locate Sara Wentworth’s parents. They lived ten miles north of Austin in the Hyde Park area, an older upscale area reserved for those with money.
He drove past the neighborhood’s stone entrance, over a brick arched bridge spanning Waller Creek’s near-dry bed and toward a Spanish-style home built at the turn of the last century. The front yard was green and lush, and stood in stark contrast to the dry brittle grasses surrounding his rented home. The recent water restrictions didn’t apply here.
Bragg parked at the top of the driveway and went directly to the front door. He rang the bell and waited barely seconds before the door opened to a petite Hispanic woman dressed in a blue uniform.
“I’m Ranger Bragg with the Texas Rangers. I’m here to see Mr. or Mrs. Wentworth.”
The woman’s slight frown indicated his visit was unwelcome. However, she nodded politely and stepped aside so he could enter. The entryway was tiled with a light marble and an arched niche across from the door housed an angel statue.
He removed his hat, glancing through a doorway leading into a sitting room with wood floors and light fussy furniture. Above a stone fireplace hung a picture of a young Sara.
The sharp clip of heels and loafers had him turning to face a gray-haired couple. The man wore khakis and a white starched shirt with the letters RW monogrammed on the front pocket and the woman wore dark slacks and a short-sleeved white shirt. Simply dressed, but high quality.
The man stood a good foot taller than his five-foot-two-inch wife. Frowning, he did not extend his hand as he faced Bragg.
“I’m Ridge Wentworth. This is my wife, Mandy. What can I do for you, Ranger?”
“Ranger Bragg, sir, ma’am. Is there somewhere private we could talk?”
Mr. Wentworth’s scowl deepened but he ushered Bragg into the sitting room where the portrait hung. “Why the visit?”
Death notices were never easy. And when the notice involved telling a parent about a child it always dug in his craw. “I have bad news about your daughter, Sara. Her body was found in a warehouse in East Austin.”
Mrs. Wentworth’s hand rose to her mouth. “Sara is dead? I don’t believe that. She never goes to that part of town.”
“We found her driver’s license next to her. It’s a clear match.”
Mr. Wentworth draped his arm around his wife’s slender shoulders and she leaned into him. “What happened?”
Bragg shoved his emotions deep. “We’re still trying to figure that out.”
Mrs. Wentworth shook her head as if this was all a terrible mistake. “You must be wrong.”
“No, ma’am,” Bragg said.
Mr. Wentworth’s eyes flashed with anger. “You are ver
y, very sure it was our Sara?”
“Yes, sir.”