“Violently.” Gunderson shuddered and clenched his jaw. “But I don’t see any semen. I think he used an object. Look for it in the car.”
Jackson shut down the horrific images of what had happened to this young woman and tried to be clinical. Just looking for evidence, he told himself again and again, like a mantra. As he searched under the Volvo’s seats, he thought he heard a faint whisper of Raina’s cries.
Evan’s voice broke through from her search of the front seat. “The car is registered to Raina Hughes and Martha Krell.”
So the car belonged to the victim, Jackson reasoned. Did her attacker follow her here? Or did he come with her? A date perhaps? If so, a very bad date, indeed. In that case, the killer walked away from the scene. Or was his first instinct correct, that she had been killed elsewhere and brought here.
He poked his head out of the car. “Parker, get prints off the steering wheel, please.”
“I tried. It’s been wiped down,” she called back from her photographic examination of the trunk. “I’ll do the rest of the inside of the car tomorrow in the big evidence bay.”
As Jackson processed that information, he found a bloody vibrator under the driver’s seat, wedged between a multiple-CD case and a tire jack. Making minimal contact, he bagged and tagged the hard pink shaft. He wondered if there was any chance of locating the retailer that had sold it. In addition to the several ‘adult’ stores in town, there had to be hundreds of Internet sites where anyone could buy sex toys. Hell, people could buy vibrators at parties with their friends, like they were handy kitchen appliances.
“I found a bloody vibrator,” he said as he squatted down next to Gunderson.
“Impotent freak,” Gunderson muttered. “She was dead or near dead when he used it on her.”
“When was that?”
“Her body temp is only thirty-eight, so she’s been dead, out here in the cold, for at least twenty-four hours. But her skin hasn’t started to discolor yet, so it hasn’t been much longer than that. I’d say your window is roughly between 5 and 8 p.m. last night. The pathologist might be able to narrow it down. But don’t count on it.”
So Raina had been out here all night and all day, and no one had seen her. In February, even the most devoted birdwatchers took a break. High headlights briefly illuminated the parking area. Rob Schakowski’s top-heavy body climbed out of his truck. Schak, as everyone called him, could be obnoxious at times, but he was dedicated and thorough. He would complain about how tedious an assignment was, but he never took shortcuts.
“Shit, it’s cold out here,” Schak grumbled as he pulled on latex gloves. “Why do you always get the outside, winter victims? Lammers must still be pissed at you.”
“You think so?” Jackson meant to be flippant but his voice fell flat. He could participate in crime scene humor when the victim was an adult male, but not with a woman or child.
“Do you think it might be the serial rapist Quince is tracking?”
“Could be. But we have new elements, one being that this victim died from the beating. If it is the same perp, his anger is escalating and his MO is changing.”
Evans backed out of the Volvo and said, “Nothing interesting in the car. A few photos in the glove box, most of the same young woman. The name Jamie is written on the back of one.”
“No cell phone?”
“Sorry.”
“Track down next of kin for me, please. Start with Martha Krell, the car’s co-owner.” Jackson reached out to take the pictures in Evan’s hand. “Raina’s wallet is in a bag in my car. There may be contact information there.”
Jackson felt his stomach tighten—as if he had swallowed something he couldn’t digest. This scene was off kilter; the crime had layers that would need to be peeled back one at a time. With these kinds of cases, the whole truth didn’t always emerge. Sometimes he had to settle for simply finding the perpetrator. He hated settling. Once he had examined a crime scene, he wanted to know every detail of what had transpired.
Jackson took more photos of the Volvo, even though Parker had already done the job thoroughly. He liked to have his own set to work with so he didn’t have to drive over to the evidence lockup and check the prints out. Eugene’s Public Safety Department was finally getting all the tools it needed to do its job in-house, but the buildings were scattered and chasing evidence still wasted a lot of time. Even though there was nothing else to be gained at this scene, Jackson stalled, waiting for Schak to report back from his neighborhood canvass.
As Gunderson and Parker loaded the body into the ME’s van, Jackson heard a vehicle speeding along Greenhill Road. He looked toward the sound out of habit. Suddenly, in rapid fire, two shots exploded in the parking lot.
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SECRETS TO DIE FOR
Amazon US
Amazon UK
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Be sure to read Book 2 and Book 3
in the Laura Cardinal Series
by J. Carson Black
