wore no pants. Or panties. Only a dark smear of dried blood on the inside of both legs. A hot rage filled his stomach. Jackson forced himself to breathe slowly, to focus on the facts. There was something odd about the blood. It seemed to have rolled across the top of her legs instead of down her thighs. She had not stood up again after she was assaulted.
Jackson looked away from her wounds and searched for a purse or wallet. He found a brightly printed fabric bag stuffed between the front seats. It looked like something she might have bought at Saturday Market from a local artist with dreadlocks. The print was mostly green, as was her turtleneck, the blanket, and the car. He made a note that the victim liked green, then snapped a picture of the purse in its location.
A small black wallet held her driver’s license. He used his penlight to read the name: Raina Hughes. Her birthday put her at age twenty. Damn. She wasn’t even old enough to buy alcohol, and she had never had a chance to vote. An image of her parents standing in the doorway of their home as he tried to tell them what had happened to their daughter played in his mind. He could see the anguish on their faces as they realized their world had crumpled. For a moment, the body under the blanket was Katie, and Jackson was paralyzed with his own anguish. Oh, he dreaded telling her parents.
“Hey Jackson, want to step back and let me do my job?” Only Rich Gunderson, the medical examiner, talked to him like that. Purse and wallet clutched tightly in gloved hand, Jackson backed out of the car.
“Might as well, since you finally got here.” He gave Gunderson a grim smile. The man was dressed in his usual black-on-black Johnny Cash look. Cash would not have approved of Gunderson’s gray ponytail though.
“What did you mess with this time?”
“Peeled the blanket back. Touched her neck and hands.”
Gunderson grunted, then stuck his head into the Volvo. Jackson started for his cruiser, as a place to sit and look through the purse, but Parker called him over. “This dent is new, and this orange paint is an aftermarket color. I’ll call all the body shops tomorrow and try to track it down.”
“Thanks. Anything else notable on the exterior of the car?”
“The front left tire is a spare and doesn’t match the others.”
“Time to look in the trunk.”
The original tire had been tossed carelessly on top of an assorted collection of blankets, jackets, sweaters, and other warm clothing. None of the items looked new nor as if they belonged to the same person; it was more like a collection on its way to a charity organization. Jackson stared at the strange configuration of stuff. Then he pressed hard against the tire, which gave way under his thumb. Of course, it was flat, that’s why it was in the trunk. He took pictures, then made notes.
Raina Hughes carried little besides a wallet. A hairbrush, lip balm, a packet of tissues, and a small notepad with a short list of things to do:
A rap on the window startled him, and he looked out to see Detective Lara Evans. On most occasions she was an attractive woman, but tonight was not one of them. She was scowling, had no makeup on, and her short, light- brown hair was tucked under a wool cap. Jackson joined her in the cold parking lot. “Thanks for coming out, Evans. You okay?”
“I’m fine, but I think I’m catching a virus. What have we got?”
“Twenty-year-old female with a major head injury and possible sexual assault. She’s on the floor in the back seat, covered in a blanket, but naked from the waist down.” Jackson tucked Raina’s purse into a brown paper evidence bag. Where was Schak? And the assistant DA who usually came out on homicides? Had they turned off their phones because it was Valentine’s Day?
“Let’s go see if Gunderson has anything to tell us.”
The medical examiner was laying a tarp on the asphalt beside the Volvo. Parker had climbed into the backseat and positioned herself for the lift. There was no easy way to do it. Her end of the body transfer would be challenging.
“Can I assist?” Jackson asked, hurrying over.
Gunderson grunted. “Maybe support the middle as she comes out.” He handed Parker a large flat brown bag. “Fold it gently, please.”
“Always.” Parker didn’t look up or smile as she carefully removed the plaid blanket and placed it in the bag.
As Gunderson lifted and pulled under the victim’s shoulders, Jackson slid his arms under her buttocks, careful not to touch her with his hands. He wore gloves, but still, he didn’t want to dislodge any potential evidence. Parker quickly let go, unable to squat and crawl from the car while holding the weight of the body. Jackson held the bulk of her weight as they laid her down.
The sight of her small pale figure against the black tarp gave Jackson another bad moment. Ever since he had seen one of his daughter’s friends lying dead in a dumpster, he kept visualizing and internalizing Katie’s death. Now all he could think was,
“Jackson?” Evans nudged him. “Where would you like me to start?”
After a moment, he said, “Find the car’s registration, insurance information, anything of interest. Search the glove box, under the seat, everywhere. I want her cell phone.”
As Gunderson plunged a sharp thermal probe into the girl’s hip flesh in search of a core temperature, Jackson looked away. He spotted a pair of faded jeans on the floor of the Volvo’s back seat. The pants had been under the body. A quick check revealed nothing in the pockets, except a gas receipt. Jackson jotted down the day and time,
