Surprised, Aubree’s brows sling high. “My impressions?”
“Mm. I want you to look at her and tell me what you think. What you feel.”
She narrows her eyes, seemingly unimpressed by my request. But she drops her gaze to Josey and drags her bottom lip between her teeth. “I think this was a young woman on the cusp of the rest of her life. Freshly washed hair. Maintained ends. Her coloring is natural. Her skin is mostly clear. She keeps her nails short, neat, and intact. Her teeth are mostly straight, clean, and unchipped. She has two piercings in each ear, plain studs in both. No apparent infection or inflammation in either. Consistent muscle tone corroborates a moderately physical lifestyle, and although testing will confirm, I see no markers for a notable smoking habit or excessive alcohol consumption.”
Or any alcohol at all, really.
“She looks like a healthy, happy young woman. I see no unexplained or unexplainable bruising, no markers for self-harm, and despite the event that ended her life, she has no defensive wounds suggesting she saw, or expected, her attacker. Mild callusing on her distal interphalangeal knuckle, middle finger, suggests a heavy grip with a pen, or,” she lifts her hand and shows a similar marking in the same spot, same finger, of hers. “Phones. They’re getting heavier these days, and we’re able to do more with them: banking, homework, email. We’re contacting our friends and family with them more than ever, and catching most of our news exposure on them.”
Finally, she steps forward and gently takes Josey’s left hand in hers, closing her eyes and drawing a slow breath deep into her lungs. She expands her chest, fills her lungs, and widens her nostrils. Then she releases it again and meets my gaze.
“I think this was an extremely tragic death, and she was a woman whose future was bright. But instead of getting to live it, her light was extinguished by a person too cowardly to even show their face to their victim.”
She doesn’t know who did it.
She doesn’t know why.
Because Josey didn’t know either.
“Alright.” I exhale a long breath through my nose and wander toward Josey’s bottom end. I study her lean thighs, and most importantly, the lack of bruising so common amongst victims of sexual violence.Jesus, I handle too many of those cases. “Should we prepare a rape kit, Doctor Emeri?”
She carefully sets Josey’s hand back on the table, her movements slow and respectful. “We should, because it's procedure. But I don’t think this was a sexually driven crime. I think it’s…” Her brows come closer together. “It’s…”
“What?” I scan her youthful face. Her beauty. She and Josey are not even a full decade apart in age, but their life experiences are entire galaxies apart. One is a medical examiner who stumbled her way into a family rife with violence and secrets. The other was a child mere months ago, where everything revolved around school and friends and… whatever it is regular teenage girls do. “What do you think this is?”
“I think whoever hurt her was extremely angry, like they felt Josey owed them something. Or like she was a threat to them.” She shakes her head. “I don’t think this was a quarrel between lovers.”
At atap-tap-tapon my autopsy suite door, I twist and lock eyes with an abnormally composed Sophia. She’s the woman accustomed to messing with everyone around her, the one who could rule the world if she wanted to… and does, often. But while I work over a girl who deserved better, she holds herself to a higher standard and lifts her chin in summons.
Nodding, I bring my focus back to Aubs, then to the recorder still rolling on the wall-hugging counter that spans the entire length of my suite. “Start cutting, Doctor Emeri. I’ll be back shortly to assist.” I turn toward the glass door and step out of one world and into another.
Music pipes low through the speakers built into the walls…I think, and autopsy techs go about their business, pretending not to notice Preston Danes and the massive A-frame ladder he sets up in Doctor Kirk’s currently unoccupied suite.
I start toward my office.
“What happened to her?” Soph’s shoes slap against the tile as she strides a single pace behind me. “She’s just a baby.”
“She’s also a human being who deserves privacy and dignity now that she’s in my care.” I push through my office door and head straight to my desk. Plopping into my chair, I take out my phone and sift quickly through the notifications on my screen.
A rock from Archer.
A message from Mary, snitching on Steve, because he wants to go for a swim in the pool.
No.
Then a message from Justin Lawrence requesting a call back.
Definitely not.
Soph drops into the visitor chair Aubree typically sits in, slumping not at all like a prima ballerina should. “Do you know who hurt that girl yet?”
“Nope, and though I’d normally suggest you call the Copeland City Police Department if you have any questions, I’m not sure this is actually any of your business, so…”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re cranky when you’re working.”
No. I’m cranky when the arteries inside an eighteen-year-old’s throat are viciously sliced open.
“Did you need something, Sophia, or are you just lazy while everyone else works?”