‘There always is. Is he in the Coroner’s office now?’
‘Yep.’
‘OK, I’ll meet you there . . . half an hour?’
‘Yeah, that’s enough time, see you there.’
The Los Angeles County Department of Coroner is located on Mission Road. As one of the busiest Coroners in the entire United States, it can receive anywhere up to one hundred bodies a day.
Hunter parked next to the main building and met Garcia by the entrance door. He’d seen his fair share of dead bodies after ten years as a detective, but Hunter still felt uneasy walking down the corridors in the Department of Coroner. The smell was like a hospital, but it had a different sting to it, something that burnt the inside of his nostrils and irritated the back of his throat.
Yesterday’s victim’s autopsy had been conducted in a small separate room in the basement of the building. Doctor Winston had been the medical examiner during the Crucifix Killer case; if anyone could identify the same modus operandi, he could.
‘Why are we going downstairs – aren’t all the autopsy rooms on the first floor?’ Garcia asked intrigued, as they reached the bottom of the stairs that led to an empty and creepy basement corridor.
‘This is the same autopsy room that was used during the Crucifix Killer’s investigation. As the captain said, he wants this whole thing kept under wraps. Those goddamn reporters pay informers everywhere and this place is no different. Until we make sure the nightmare hasn’t started again the captain has asked the good old doctor to use the same precautions as the original case – and that includes no access to the victim’s body by anyone except the doctor himself and us.’
As they reached the room at the end of the narrow, well-lit corridor, Hunter pressed the intercom button on the wall and smiled a silly smile at the camera mounted just above the door. Seconds later Doctor Winston’s voice cracked through the small wall speaker.
‘Robert . . . let me buzz you in.’
A loud buzz echoed through the basement corridor followed by a clicking sound. Hunter pushed the heavy metal door open and stepped inside the room with Garcia.
A gleaming stainless-steel table with a sink at one of its ends was positioned close to the far wall. A large surgical light above the table illuminated the entire room. A tray which was used for placing organs as the examiner removed them from the victim’s body sat close to the sink. The drainage tube from the organ tray was stained orange-brown. The stinging smell was stronger inside the room. Two large surgical saws and several blades of different shapes and sizes were neatly arranged over a small table up against the west wall. The faceless woman’s body lay on the steel table.
‘Come in,’ Doctor Winston said, showing them into the room.
Garcia’s gaze rested on the motionless corpse and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.
‘So, what do you have for us?’ Hunter asked quietly as if scared of waking her up.
‘Unfortunately, not much,’ Doctor Winston replied as he slipped on a brand-new pair of latex gloves. ‘My team didn’t manage to lift a single fingerprint from the house and given what we might be facing again, I’m not surprised.’
‘Yes, Carlos told me,’ Hunter said, letting out a disillusioned sigh. ‘How about fibers or something that can give us some sort of start?’
‘Sorry, Robert, the house has given us zilch.’
‘How can that be?’ Garcia asked. ‘The killer has obviously spent hours torturing that woman in that house. How come he left nothing behind?’
‘You said it before, rookie,’ Hunter explained. ‘A secluded location. The killer had all the time in the world to torture her uninterrupted. After she died the killer had all the time in the world to go over the entire house and make sure nothing was left behind. Time is on his side.’
Doctor Winston nodded.
‘How about her?’ Hunter asked tilting his head towards the body. ‘What can you tell us about her, doc?’
‘Twenty-three to twenty-five years of age, very healthy. She took very good care of herself. Her body fat was around 14.5 percent, which is athlete low. You don’t need me to tell you about her muscle tone, which means she was probably a gym rat. No operations or implants either, she still had her tonsils and appendix and her breasts were her own. Her skin still feels very smooth even after rigor mortis and the lab analysis showed a high content of humectants, emollients and lubricants.’
‘What?’ Garcia asked frowning.
‘Moisturizer,’ Hunter replied, trying to end Garcia’s confusion.
‘So she moisturized, most women do.’
‘Don’t I know it?’ Doctor Winston replied in a mocking voice. ‘Trisha spends a fortune on creams that have absolutely no effect; it’s all a big con if you ask me, but the thing about our victim is that the tests have shown a very high-quality grade of it, in other words, she used the very expensive stuff . . . just like Trisha. My confident guess is that she was well off.’
‘Why? Because she used expensive moisturizers?’ Garcia asked.
‘Do you have any idea how much they cost?’
Garcia raised his eyebrows indicating he didn’t.
‘A hell of a lot I can tell you. Also have a look at her nails, both hands and toes.’
Hunter and Garcia checked her hands and feet. Her nails looked very nicely kept.
‘I had to remove her nail varnish, standard procedure,’ the doctor continued. ‘Once again, the tests showed a very high-quality product. Her nails were professionally done, judging by the smoothness of the cut and cuticle. Now, manicure and pedicure isn’t really an expensive treatment, but it highlights how much importance the victim paid to her appearance. The hair analysis showed another high-quality-grade product and judging by its condition she probably had a hairdresser’s appointment at least once a month.’
‘Is her hair dyed?’ Garcia asked.
‘No, she’s a natural blond. Whatever she did for a living, I’d say her appearance played a major part in it.’
‘Rich husband maybe?’ Garcia suggested.
‘No wedding band and no signs that she’d ever worn one either,’ the doctor quickly dismissed the suggestion.
‘So she made good money on her own?’
‘It looks that way, yes.’
‘Was she raped?’ Hunter asked.
‘No, no sexual intercourse for at least forty-eight hours – no lubricant in her vagina or anus, which rules out the possibility of sex with prophylactics – the killer wasn’t after sexual pleasure.’
‘Any identifying marks?’
‘Nothing . . . she’s got no tattoos, no birthmarks, no scars.’
‘Fingerprints?’
‘I faxed them to your captain last night so you’ll have them when you get back to your precinct, but I can also access the Central Fingerprint Database from here – no match, she’s not in the system and as you know we’ve got no chance of getting an ID from her dental records.’ Doctor Winston walked over to his desk and quickly fumbled through a few loose pieces of paper. ‘As I’d suspected, she’d been drugged. I found traces of gamma hydroxy butyrate in her stomach, better known in clubs as GHB.’
‘I’ve heard of that,’ Garcia said. ‘The new date-rape drug right?’
‘Well, it’s not really a new drug. Kids use it in small doses to get high, but an overdose would produce an effect very similar to Rohypnol,’ Hunter clarified.
‘Which is like a blackout?’
‘That’s correct,’ Doctor Winston said this time. ‘Once the subject regains consciousness they can’t remember anything that has happened to them while under the effect.’
‘Can we trace it?’ Garcia asked.
Hunter shook his head. ‘I doubt it. GHB is basically degreasing solvent or floor stripper mixed with drain cleaner; anyone can make it at home, and you can get the correct mixing dosage over the internet.’
‘Kids are mixing degreasing solvent with drain cleaner and taking it as a drug?’ Garcia enquired in
