“Knowing whether she was in the water or in the mud when she was stabbed will be instrumental to my investigation.”
She furrowed her brow. “Are you being a smart-ass, Agent Trent?”
“Based on how you asked that question, I think my answer should be no.”
Sara laughed. “Good call.”
“Thank you, Dr. Linton.” He looked around the embalming suite and gave a shiver. “It’s cold down here. Aren’t you cold?”
She realized he was wearing the same clothes from yesterday but for the black T-shirt, which he’d changed for a white one. “Didn’t you bring a coat?”
He shook his head. “I’m in an awful situation with my clothes. I need to borrow your mom’s washer and dryer tonight. Do you think she’ll mind?”
“No. Of course not.”
“Have you heard from Frank Wallace today?”
She shook her head.
“It’s starting to annoy me that he hasn’t bothered to show up. Does he normally let Lena do all the heavy lifting?”
“I don’t know how they work together now. She used to go back and forth between Frank and my husband, whoever needed her at the time.”
“I’m just wondering if she’s reporting back to Frank or if they’re both doing their own thing.” Will gestured toward the gurneys. “Can I help you with anything?”
“What’s your squeamish level?”
“I don’t like rats and I’m bad around vomit.”
“I think we’re safe on both points.” Sara wanted to get started so she wasn’t here past midnight. “Can you help me get Allison onto the table?”
The joking camaraderie from before quickly turned into a more serious collaboration. They worked in silence, rolling the gurney into the freezer, lifting the body in unison. There was a scale in the floor. The digital readout already took the gurney into account. Sara rolled the bed onto the plate. Allison Spooner had weighed 102 pounds.
When Sara put on a pair of surgical gloves, Will followed suit. She let him help unzip the body bag and roll the girl left, then right, to slide the black plastic out from under her. He held one end of the measuring tape so she could get the girl’s height.
Will said, “Sixty-three inches. Five foot three.”
“I need to write this down.” Sara knew there was no way she could remember all these numbers. There was a whiteboard mounted to the back wall over the counter. Sara used the marker hanging on a string to record Allison’s height and weight. To be thorough, she then added age, sex, race, and hair color. The girl’s eyes were open, so she noted that her eye color was brown.
When Sara turned around, she found Will looking at the numbers. Sara had used abbreviations that even a reading person would have trouble understanding. She pointed to the letters. “Date of birth, height, weight—”
“I got it,” he said. His tone was as close to curt as she’d ever heard.
Sara resisted the urge to talk about the elephant in the room, to tell him that it was foolish for him to be ashamed. He had spent a lifetime hiding his dyslexia, and she wasn’t going to fix that by confronting him about it in the basement of the funeral home. Not to mention that it was none of her business.
She walked to the tall locker beside the office, assuming Brock still kept his supplies in the same place. “Crap,” she mumbled. The camera and all its pieces were laid out on velvet cloths covering two shelves. She picked up a lens. “I’m not sure I know how this thing goes together.”
“Mind if I try?” Will didn’t wait for her response. He picked up the lens and twisted it onto the camera, then bolted on the lights, the flash, and the metal guide that recorded depth. He pressed several buttons until the LCD display blinked on, then scrolled through all the icons until he found the one he was looking for.
Sara had two degrees and a board certification under her belt, but hell would have frozen over before she would’ve been able to figure out anything to do with the camera. Curiosity broke her earlier resolve. “Have you ever been tested?”
“No.” He stood behind Sara, holding the camera in front so she could see. “Zoom here,” he said, flicking the toggle.
“You could probably—”
“This is macro.”
“Will—”
“Super macro.” He kept talking over her until she gave up. “Here’s where you adjust for color. This is light. Anti-shake. Red-eye.” He clicked through the features like a photography instructor.
Sara finally relented. “Why don’t I point and you shoot?”
“All right.” His back was stiff, and she could tell that he was irritated.
“I’m sorry I—”
“Please don’t apologize.”
Sara held his gaze for a few moments longer, wishing she could fix this. There was nothing to say if he wouldn’t even let her apologize.
She told him, “Let’s start.”
Sara directed him around the table as he photographed Allison Spooner head to toe. The warm-up jacket. The stab wound that went through to her neck. The sliced material where the knife had cut through. The teeth marks on the inside of her lip.
She folded back the torn jeans, exposing the knee. There was a half-moon-shaped tear, the skin hanging on by a flap. A dark bruise outlined the area of impact. “This kind of laceration comes from blunt trauma. She fell very hard on her knee, probably with her full weight, definitely on something hard, like a rock. The impact busted open the skin.”
“Can we look at the wrists?”
The jacket had bunched up around the girl’s hands. Sara pushed up the material.
He took a few photographs. “Ligature marks?”
Sara leaned down for a closer look. She checked the other wrist. The veins were an iridescent blue. Lines of red shot through the skin where clots held the blood in place.
She explained, “Bodies start to float anywhere from two hours to two days after they’re in the water. Decomposition starts quickly—as soon as the heart and lungs stop, the body turns on itself. Bacteria leaks out of the intestines. Gases build up, causing buoyancy. The cinder blocks would have kept her from floating to the surface. The cold water would’ve retarded decomposition. I don’t know what the temperature of the lake was, but we can assume it was close to freezing. She was probably facedown, her hands hanging in front of her. Livor mortis settled into her fingertips, pooled up into her wrists. I suppose you could mistake the discoloration for ligature marks. It would’ve been dark that time of morning.” Sara couldn’t make any more excuses for Frank. “Honestly, I thought Frank was lying to me when he said it the first time.”
“Why lie about that?” Will asked. “The stab wound is evidence enough that something was seriously wrong.”
“You’ll have to ask Frank.”
“I’ve got a lot of questions for him if he ever shows up.”
“He’s probably with Brad. Frank has known him since he was a kid. We all have.”
Will only nodded.
Sara put the ruler by Allison’s wrist so he could take a photograph. When he was finished, she turned the hand over. There was a faint scar along the crease of the wrist. She checked the other hand. “She tried to kill herself before. A razor, maybe a sharp knife. I’d say within the last ten years.”