Bleeding Out

unaware Dallas had kicked another field goal.

The overall bruising pattern on Agoura and Peterson was consistent with tackle patterns. Above the knees and below the neck. The faces were relatively unblemished. Clean and legal tackles. Many of the hematomas had large, rounded edges, as if they could have been made by a bowling ball. Consistent with the size and shape of a football helmet. There were no lacerations because there was padding. Either he wore pads or the girls wore it. Maybe both. Agoura's dislocated shoulder, Peterson's broken collarbone, the contusions—all were classic football injuries. Frank remembered the cuts and gashes and myriad black-and-blue marks from playing with her cousins.

There was no evidence the girls had been slapped or hit with fists. No open hands. Legal tackles from a player on the secondary. A linesman could use his hands, a backfield player couldn't. Ever the skeptic, Frank probed her theory for weak spots. Then she quickly moved to the glass-topped table.

Forensic tests were complete for Agoura, but the lab was still working on Peterson's. Frank reread the DOJ analysis, hoping she'd missed a detail, but the report only frustratingly cited the sample colors and compositions. Upon its receipt, Frank had shipped samples to the FBI's Trace Evidence unit. They wouldn't be back for three or four weeks at the soonest. Still, the DOJ's conclusions didn't exclude the possibility that the fibers could have come from a football jersey.

Frank started pacing around the table, pausing to make notes to call a uniform shop, sports shop, talk to the lab techs, talk to Crocetti. She thought for a moment. Carver and Crenshaw, where the bodies had been dumped, both had football teams. Was it a cheerleader thing? An old girlfriend? She quickly dismissed both notions because the perp had no specific victimology. If he was fixated on a cheerleader or a particular girl, his vies would fit that mold. None did.

Okay. Let's assume you played football, and while I'm assuming, let's say you played in a secondary position, maybe a safety or a tight end. Maybe even a receiver. But you're a big guy, you'd make a good tight end. If you're as much an underachiever as I think you are, you probably never made it to college. So maybe you played in Pop Warner and high school. High school ball. Sure. Something happened to you in school, something around football. And now you're stuck there.

Frank found her notes from the meeting with Richard Clay. She grabbed a legal pad and returned to the couch. Clarifying ideas on paper, she drew lines through the less likely ones and starred her favorites. Thinking of the red-and-white fibers, Frank made a note to check the color of the football uniforms at Crenshaw and Carver. She grinned broadly, her full smile rare and genuine.

First thing next morning, Frank was at Crocetti's office. She startled his replacement when she opened the door without knocking. 'Morning. Where's Crocetti?' she demanded brusquely.

Gail Lawless sat back in Crocetti's chair, clearly appalled by Frank's lack of social skills. Frank hadn't bothered to change out of her sweats that morning, and with her yellow hair pulled back in a ponytail, and her hard, intense gaze, she looked like an East Bloc Olympic contender.

'Do you know that most people knock before they enter someone's office?'

'Sorry,' Frank said with no attempt at sincerity. 'Is he here yet?'

Shaking her head incredulously, the ME replied, 'No. He's had the flu all last week and called in again.'

The coroner watched as Frank pursed her lips and glanced around the room as if it were empty.

'Are you still Relieved of Duty?' she asked curiously.

'Yeah,' Frank answered, and Dr. Lawless offered, 'I...we— Crocetti and I—we did your suspect's autopsy.'

When Frank didn't reply, the coroner tentatively asked, 'Is there anything I can help you with?'

'I don't know. Crocetti did an autopsy for me, about six weeks ago, a sixteen-year-old Caucasian female. Name was Agoura. I've got the case number,' Frank said, producing a slip of paper. She'd left the protocol copies in her trunk, not wanting to be seen with anything resembling case work.

'Yeah, I remember,' the doctor murmured. 'I was there.'

She glanced at the number and walked across the large office to a bank of filing cabinets. Lawless found Agoura's folder and scanned it.

'What about it?' she asked, but then her green eyes narrowed suspiciously and she said, 'Hey...why are you here if you're ROD? Technically, I shouldn't even be talking to you.'

Realizing the new cutter might be able to help her, Frank dipped her head in acquiescence. 'You're right. I'm not even on the case anymore. Robbery-Homicide has it. But I had a hunch about something last night and wanted to ask a couple of questions before I go off to the big boys half-cocked and make an even bigger fool of myself.'

The doctor weighed Frank's explanation before smiling skeptically, seeming to relent against her better judgment.

'Don't get me fired while I'm still on probation,' she warned.

Frank smiled back, her winningest smile, but it didn't ease the tiredness around her eyes.

'What do you want to know?' Lawless asked.

'While you're at it, could you pull this file too? Crocetti did this one, but I'd like your opinion.'

Lawless made a reproachful face but pulled Peterson's file as well. 'Anything else?' she asked with sarcasm.

Frank offered a quick, placating nod, jutting her head toward the files in the ME's hand. 'I'm wondering what you think could have made the bruises.'

Lawless returned to Crocetti's economically contoured chair and spread out the autopsy pictures.

'I don't think we came up with anything conclusive,' she said as she studied first Agoura, then Peterson.

'Definitely similar bruising, deep, in varying stages, similar placement,' she mused. 'I remember Agoura looked like she was hit hard but because there wasn't any cutting or abrasion we thought it was with something relatively soft—'

'Or the blows could have been padded.'

Frank watched the ME carefully appraise the pictures before nodding her shiny, dark head. She had thick, straight hair in a long bob that bounced whenever she moved. Frank examined her from force of habit. Her eyes were almond-shaped, almost Asian, but she was tall and big-boned, like an Iowa farm girl. She didn't appear to have any make-up on, which was unusual in L.A., but with her dark brows and lashes she didn't need any.

She was wearing hospital fatigues. Frank noted her arms matched her milky complexion. The backs of her hands were red and rashed, a reaction to latex gloves, Frank guessed. No rings, but tiny gold scissors dangled from one ear and a matching gold knife hung from the other. There were two long scratches on her left arm, parallel to each other, almost healed. Frank thought maybe she had a cat.

Gail Lawless looked up apologetically. 'There's really no way to tell what did this. There's such contiguous bruising it's hard to find specific patterns.'

'You said they were rounded.'

'That much I can give you,' the coroner agreed, 'but as to what the specific instrument was...' She shrugged. 'Maybe a bowl, a ball, a bowling ball, who knows. It would be awkward at best to wield something like that, especially as much as your suspect did on these girls.'

'How about a football helmet?'

The ME dropped her head over the pictures again. Frank suspected she wore glasses and wondered why she didn't have them on.

'I could see that,' she said with enthusiasm. She turned the pictures toward Frank and used a pencil to point to specific bruises.

'That would be consistent with the size and shape and the extent of damage on these leading edges. And it would explain the scale of the bruising, especially if he'd been hitting them with it over a period of time like he apparently did.'

'So a definite possibility he was using a helmet on these two?'

'Yes. A definite possibility.'

'And if they wore padding, or he was in padding and hit them with pads on, that could explain the deep bruising but no gashes or abrasions?'

'That could explain it, yes.'