anyway.
As she turned away, she heard Sam say, “Oh, hoy.”
Clicking the button that would send the call directly to her voice mail, she came back to the table.
“What is it?”
“She was strangled.”
“Are you telling me the skull fracture wasn’t the cause of death?”
Sam caught Taylor’s eye. “No, I’m pretty comfortable that the beating was the ultimate finisher. But there is some very subtle bruising around the neck. If I had to guess, I’d say that the killer tried strangling her first and it wasn’t working quickly enough. It’s harder to strangle someone to death with your bare hands than you might think. If Corinne struggled or fought back, which it certainly seems she did, it would be easy to lose your grip. She was in good shape, pregnancy aside. She put up a fight.”
“So the killer loses control of the situation and resorts to beating?”
“Sure. Grabs the most convenient item and starts whaling away. The tennis racquet made a distinctive bruising pattern where the knots of the strings are tied on the outside of the racquet head. The edges could easily create those open gashes. Think about the killer standing over the body, thrusting downward, over and over.” Sam was wrapping things up now, tidying as she went, snapping lids on containers, folding closed the flaps of envelopes, handing dissected slivers of organs to Stuart for analysis. “We’ll send off the scrapings from under her nails and all the blood work, get you a tox screen as soon as possible. But it’s evident what happened.”
“There’s nothing sexual about this?”
Sam shook her head. “No sign of bruising or tearing, no lubricants. I swabbed for semen just in case, though there was none visible in the vagina or anus, and certainly nothing to indicate sexual assault. This was just a murder, plain and simple.”
Plain and simple.
“Were there prints on the tennis racquet, or the body?”
“The racquet was wiped. There were some smudges, but nothing usable. We’ll look for some around her neck, but you know how hard it is to lift good prints from skin.”
Taylor squeezed her best friend’s arm. “Now I just have to figure out who, and we’ll be all set.”
She left Sam in the autopsy suite, ditched the protective gear in a biological waste receptacle and made her way back to the lobby. The lavender scent still lingered, now joined with the sweet overlay of a familiar, pungent perfume. Michelle Harris stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by her family. Todd Wolff was noticeably absent.
They were talking quietly among themselves, pain radiating from each person, palpable as an aura to a psychic. It didn’t take any special powers to know they were hurting; the slumped shoulders, dark circles and red noses spoke volumes.
What were they doing here? Taylor counted five of them: the parents, Michelle and her sister Nicole, and the son, Derek. They were huddled together as if seeking warmth from each other’s bodies. Taylor had seen this before. Some families were forced apart by a tragedy; others drew together, working as one to help heal. The Harrises definitely looked to be the latter.
Taylor fidgeted and stalled, pulling at her bun until her hair tumbled down in waves. Annoyed, she whipped it back up into a ponytail. Large families filled her with a sense of dislocation, of longing. She’d never known what it was like to have a support system of siblings. Sam was like a sister to her, but it was different. They didn’t share blood, despite their aborted attempt to transfuse each other when they were ten years old. Silly, meaningful, yet neither had the courage to cut deep enough to really get the blood flowing into each other’s hands. Being blood sisters wasn’t the real thing.
She was about to clear her throat when Michelle noticed her. The group stopped talking, just looked at her with unfathomably sad eyes.
“Lieutenant,” Michelle said. There were a few murmured good mornings from the rest of the group.
Taylor nodded at them, then answered, “What can I do for you?”
It was the mother who spoke up. “We’re just here for Corinne. Is it…” She stood a bit straighter. “Is it over?”
Taylor nodded. “Dr. Loughley is finishing up, but yes, the postmortem has been completed. I can’t discuss any of the findings, you know that.”
“We do. We just wanted to be here for her. It’s hard.” A deep sniff, but she didn’t break. Taylor liked her a bit for it. “Hard to let your child go through something so invasive. If Corinne’s spirit is anywhere near, she’ll know we’re here for her.”
“Todd didn’t want to come?”
Mr. Harris coughed out a noise of disgust. “Todd took Hayden to his parents’ this morning. He didn’t even bother to stay, just whisked her away. He doesn’t care about Corinne. He’s just concerned with himself.”
“Daddy, that’s not fair.” Michelle came to her father’s side, touching his arm. “Todd knows you and Mom are too upset to care for Hayden. He’s trying to do you a favor.”
“Bullshit!” Derek Harris spoke for the first time, his full, thick hair falling over his forehead. He turned to Taylor. “You need to look a little closer at my brother-in-law, Lieutenant. I know he’s got something to do with this. I wasn’t so sure yesterday when we talked, but he’s acting strange. Something is up with him. I think he might be responsible for Corinne’s death.”
Interesting. The united front for Corinne certainly didn’t extend to her husband. Taylor held up a hand. “I will be looking at every angle of this case backwards and forwards, I can guarantee you that. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to make it downtown for a meeting.”
“Lieutenant?” Nicole Harris, raven hair, soulful brown eyes, thin frame bordering on emaciation, put up her hand as if she were a student seeking a professor’s attention.
“Yes?”
Nicole took a deep breath. “It’s about the baby. What’s…we want to know what’s happening with…with his body.”
“Oh,” Taylor said. “Of course. That’s going to be up to you. The folks here at Forensic Medical will issue a fetal death certificate, and you’ll have the option to bury him separately, or with Corinne. His body will be released with hers.”
The relief bled from them in waves. Michelle took her mother’s hand and looked at Taylor. “We were afraid he might be…disposed of.”
Taylor’s stomach flipped at the thought. It was horrid enough to have seen the tiny body, imagining him being thrown away saddened her deeply.
“I understand. That happens sometimes, but usually with indigent women who are early along in their pregnancies and don’t have family to claim a fetus. After twenty weeks, though, the baby is treated as a person by the medical examiner. I assure you, the baby was handled with a great deal of care.”
“Did you see him?” Mr. Harris spoke quietly, almost as if he didn’t want to hear her answer.
“I did.” Taylor’s voice cracked as she spoke. “I have to go now. Please accept my deepest condolences on your loss. I’ll be in touch soon.”
She left them there. As she walked away, she didn’t look back.
Ten
T aylor got into the 4Runner. Jesus. She rubbed her eyes hard. Buck up, she told herself. It could have been worse. You could have had to tell them their daughter was raped, or slit open, or stowed away in a barrel of acid. Unfortunately, as bad as Corinne Wolff’s murder was, it could always have been something more. Little comfort to the Harrises, she knew, but it made her feel better.
Hoping for an escape from the thought of those accusing eyes, she plugged her phone into the charger, then turned on the speaker and dialed “one” for her voice mail.
Baldwin’s deep voice spilled from the little phone, made tinny by the poor quality of the speaker.
“Just checking in, babe. Hope you’re having a good day. Call me when you get a chance. Love you.”
