Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 114820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
She nodded. “Glue, yes. From tape.”
“Messy?” he asked.
“Sorry?” she asked in return.
“Did you find a lot of it?”
“There was an attempt at cleanup, but not much. So I suppose.”
More evidence this was definitely copycat and not CK getting sloppy.
He might one day get sloppy.
But not this sloppy.
“The bleeding, bruising and internal injuries indicate she was raped while she was alive.”
“Is there evidence of more than one person assaulting her?” Rus asked.
“Yes, and no. Yes, in the sense I believe she was physically assaulted by a penis, both vaginally and anally. And yes, in the sense that she clearly sustained a prolonged assault. But a possible no, because she was penetrated by something else a single assailant could use to keep assaulting her even if he wasn’t able to sustain an erection. I found latex proteins internally that are consistent with a prophylactic. Silicone doesn’t leave a residue, but whatever was used was much larger than even a very well-endowed penis.”
“So somebody else could have been there,” Rus stated. “And it could be any gender.”
She shook her head. “I can’t rule that out. I found no hairs or other organic matter on her body that weren’t hers. But even though they didn’t clean her up down there, that isn’t entirely out of the ordinary. Especially if condoms and gloves were used and she was moved around. Hairs could have fallen away. And I found latex powder around her wrists, ankles and neck, also in her hair. Someone touched her in these places wearing gloves. Gloves don’t carry that much powder, so either a single assailant wore multiple pairs, or there were multiple assailants wearing gloves.”
The hairs fell away, or at least one of them did.
They’d gone to the coroner’s office from the lab. He’d seen the dark pubic hair himself. They were now far more closely examining the hairs and anything else combed from the carpet.
Ezra Corbin had dark hair.
And there was someone else there.
Rus would stake his career on it.
“Tox screen indicates she was given a mild sedative.”
Rus’s attention sharpened on her.
Her eyes wandered to Brittanie. “I wish I could say it was enough she didn’t feel or know what was happening to her, but it wasn’t. Though, it was enough to render her incapable of real struggle, and definitely she couldn’t have fought back.”
Christ.
Not even a fighting chance.
“Anything else you got for us?” Moran asked.
She watched Moran ask the question, but on her answer, again, her gaze drifted to Brittanie. “In this case, I’m afraid it’s what you see is what you get.”
“I appreciate you working on a Saturday, Dr. Pfeiffer,” Moran said.
“I’ve been working Saturdays for seven months, Sheriff,” she replied. “Too many stupid people doing too many stupid things. I’m sorry it took me so long to get to her. The three ODs, the road rage idiot, the two Darwin Award nominees who tried to make a trail bike into a motorcycle then climbed on for the test drive, and the guy who had no idea how to clean his brand-new gun came in first.”
“You sure they’re not all Darwin Award nominees?” Moran asked.
“No,” she replied shortly.
Moran’s lips quirked and he said, “We gotta get back to the station. Thanks again.”
Rus lifted his chin to her, and Moran and he started to walk away.
“Special Agent?” she called.
He turned back.
“She’s not a subject. I did everything I could for her. But she’s safe here and she has been from the minute I got her.”
“I didn’t mean to imply differently.”
“I know, I just want you to know, I did all I could for her.”
He studied her.
Yeah.
Brittanie ate at her too.
“Obliged.”
She nodded.
They left.
FOURTEEN
The U S of Fucking A
In the genetic pool sweepstakes, for her short life, Brittanie Iverson was a clear winner.
Rus knew this, standing at the viewing glass, watching a twenty-eight-year-old calm, composed version of Cade Bohannan sit and study Dakota Iverson as he prowled the room, punching air, kicking walls and making empty threats.
Dakota was thin, weaselly, short, already losing his blond hair, and Rus would guess they didn’t have running water up in that hunting cabin, because he looked like he hadn’t taken a shower or put on clean clothes in weeks.
Listening to the going’s-on, Rus didn’t know if the guy loved his sister, or he was pissed at the world and using this as his excuse to do something about it.
“Whaddare’ya doin’, sittin’ there?” he demanded of Jesse Bohannan, and he did this slamming a chair into the table opposite where Jesse was sitting.
Jesse, lounged back, one forearm on the table, which was fortunately bolted to the floor, one hand resting on his thigh, long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, didn’t move a muscle.
“What the fuck!” Dakota stabbed a finger at the wall. “My sister’s killer is walking free, asshole.”
“What I’m not doing is kicking a wall. A wall didn’t kill Brittanie,” Jesse replied, cool as Brad Pitt playing poker in Ocean’s Eleven.