The First Death (Columbia River, #4)(28)

“Maybe we’ll get lucky with the forensics on this one and we’ll find some links. Do you want me to focus on the women’s cases or Ken Steward?”

Evan had already decided where he wanted help. “I need you on both. It’ll take some juggling.”

“I’m a fantastic juggler. It’s part of the job.” Her eyes gleamed as she considered the challenge.

Evan approved of her reaction. Some of the detectives grew tired of dealing with the nonstop questions and setbacks that naturally came with an investigation. Not Noelle. She thrived on a puzzle. Evan did too.

She looked at the vehicle registration on Evan’s screen. “I read Steward was an Uber driver. You’ve requested records from Uber?”

“Yes. I’ve never had to do that before.”

“Same here. I suspect we’ll be doing it frequently in the future. Rideshare is a common part of our society now. Did Steward do anything else besides Uber and the SAR?”

“The SAR aspect of his life had a lot of facets,” said Evan. “He worked with several local SAR groups, and he was involved with many dog trainers across the States.”

“Shit. A lot of spread-out people.”

“My first thought too. But the dog trainers seem to be a pretty tight-knit group considering how they’re scattered. Everyone knows everyone else, and Ken had an excellent reputation with them.”

“Lots of interviews to do.”

“Maybe,” said Evan. “I’m crossing my fingers that forensics points us in a solid direction first.”

Noelle laughed. “You’re hoping for the smoking gun? We all wish to find that in every case. How often has that worked out for you?”

“Rarely,” Evan admitted. Most of his investigations consisted of hours of phone calls, research, interviews, and legwork. It wasn’t glamorous. He checked the time. “I’m headed to the medical examiner’s now. You want to come?”

Her nostrils widened slightly, as if she’d suddenly smelled something foul, and she gave a small shake of her head. “I’ll get started here. Cell phone. Uber. Computer forensics. I’ll make some pushy phone calls and light some fires under people. And do it all with a big smile. I’m good at that.”

They all had their strengths, and attending autopsies didn’t appear to be on Noelle’s list. Most likely they made her squeamish. Evan had attended several where a law enforcement member had had to suddenly leave the room or vomit into the handy trash can. A tech always pointed out the location of the can to visitors before the autopsy started. Evan had even seen one detective crumple to the floor in a dead faint.

It wasn’t for everyone.

“Thanks.” Evan trusted her. It was good to work with someone who pulled her weight. “I’d like to head up to the river woman site around noon.”

“I’ll be ready,” Noelle promised. She stood and grabbed the binder for Ken Steward’s murder. “I’ll focus on Steward this morning and the women later this afternoon.” She strode out of Evan’s office, her heels clicking on the tile floor.

Autopsy time.





15


Dr. Natasha Lockhart had already opened the torso of the river woman by the time Evan showed up.

Evan had run a search for Oregon women with blonde hair who were missing, keeping the search to a one-year window simply because his victim hadn’t been dead for long. He had a short list of names of women of all ages and hoped Dr. Lockhart would determine the age range today. He’d also made a separate list for other hair colors, knowing the victim could have colored her hair. His lists were a shot in the dark. The woman could be from out of state or outside the country. She might have gone missing years before and just died. But the lists were a start.

The autopsy suite was cold. Evan had pulled a sweatshirt over his collared work shirt before going in, remembering how many times in the past he’d stood shivering as he observed a procedure. The thin, papery gowns provided by the ME didn’t add warmth. Evan put on a mask, a face shield, booties, and gloves even though he planned to keep his distance.

The medical examiner stood on a low platform next to the table. Dr. Lockhart was petite, and the tables didn’t lower enough for her. An assistant held a clipboard, making notes as the doctor removed and weighed various organs. Fleetwood Mac played in the background. Over the years Evan had learned he liked her taste in music.

“Good morning, Detective,” Dr. Lockhart said as Evan approached.

“Good morning. Anything new so far?”

“No time for small talk?” the doctor said, the corners of her eyes crinkling behind her shield.

“Not today, no. I have a lot to do.”

“Her hyoid bone is broken, and she has petechiae,” Dr. Lockhart told him, following his request to get to business. “Strong signs that she was strangled. I haven’t found any other physical injuries, but there is adhesive on her wrists. I suspect it will come back as duct tape. There is also a faint pattern in her flesh that duct tape often leaves behind.”

“Labs?”

“Her initial blood labs showed nothing of interest, but I will run more.”

Evan stared at the victim’s feet. The flesh was pale, and a thick outer layer had detached, making it look as if her feet had been dipped in wax and it could easily slip off. Being submerged in the water had created the effect.