No One Heard Her Scream

—maybe try and reconstruct facial features. We'll collect some mitochondrial DNA and retain it to compare against any known relation to the deceased. That'll be your job to find next of kin.'

'My best hope to speed up the ID process will be to check into missing persons. The body had to be buried in this theater while it was under construction or during some kind of renovation. Maybe that'll help narrow the time period for my search. We could get lucky.'

She made notes in her casebook. With a grimace, she rested an elbow on her knee, and said, 'I came here as a kid to see a ballet once. It really creeps me out to know that while the crowd gave a standing ovation, this guy was buried in the wall near the stage.'

'Yeah, back in the day, I heard it was murder to get a front-row seat.'

Becca shut her eyes and shook her head. A collective groan rumbled through the techs standing behind her.

'Everyone's a critic.' The CSI team leader shrugged.

'Hey, Sam. Wouldn't the smell of the body be detected once it was time for curtain call at the Imperial?'

'Yeah, but construction or renovation work takes time, right? Crews coming in and out. Time for a body to decompose depends on temperature, moisture, and accessibility to insects. In the summer, an exposed human body can be reduced to bones in nine days. Now granted, this type of setup would've taken longer, but it's conceivable only bones attended opening night. No tux required.'

With more of the wall removed, he craned his neck and directed his flashlight into the makeshift tomb. 'Looks like we're gonna have to rethink the gender thing. Check out those hips.'

With a tilt of her head, Becca turned to stare at the senior CSI. 'You need to hang out with people who're partial to breathing. In case you haven't noticed, this is a pile of bones. What hips?'

'I used the word 'hips' for your benefit. I didn't think—'Hey, check out that sciatic notch'—would get your attention. Am I right?'

When she scrunched her face, Sam explained and pointed to the lower vertebrae.

'The sciatic notch spreads as a woman gets older, allowing the pelvis to make room for childbirth. If I had to guess, this sacrum and pelvic rim are from a young female. And the partially erupted molars back me up. I'd say the victim was late teens to early twenties at time of death.' He pointed a finger to the brow of the skull. 'Another thing, check out the forehead. It's almost vertical. Men's tend to slant more, develop a browridge. And with the narrow mandible, definitely female.'

'So my 'he' is a 'she'?'

'Yep, looks like it.'

When Becca peered deeper into the stone vault, markings caught her eye.

'Hey, what's this?' She inched closer and directed her flashlight to the left. 'Oh, God. Are those what I think they are?'

Jagged scratches lined the inside of the stone vault. Layers of them overlapped in no discernible pattern. Thin striations mixed with deeper gouges. She felt the group of men move closer. Silence made the air feel thick and oppressive. Motionless. With her discovery, it became harder for her to breathe. Finally, Sam confirmed what she already suspected. By the solemn tone in his voice, she knew it struck him, too.

'Scratches. Probably from her fingernails. Looks like she was buried alive.'

Becca closed her eyes to block the images, a gruesome strobe effect triggered in her mind. Tortured screams. A mouth gasping for air. Sheer panic. She pictured Danielle dying an unthinkable death, walled away in darkness with no one to hear her cries for help.

'No one heard her scream.' She hadn't realized she'd spoken the words aloud until Sam consoled her with his reply.

'Until now.' He sighed and stared into the hole.

Danielle's face haunted her. As a homicide detective, Becca had witnessed the perverse nature of the human condition, carried to the extreme. But the varying degrees of cruelty one human being inflicted upon another never ceased to amaze her. The day it did would be the day she'd quit. Still, she knew this case would brand her psyche for years to come.

'You all right?' Sam nudged her shoulder, his voice quiet and reassuring.

It took her a long while to answer.

'Yeah. I'll be okay.' The words coming from her mouth sounded trite and mechanical, lacking any real conviction.

'Think I found something to cheer you up.' He reached into the tomb and navigated through the tight space. After shining a light on what he retrieved, he said, 'Maybe a lucky charm.'

Sam held a thin necklace with a trinket dangling from it. The metal had been discolored with the years, and dirt clung to the delicate chain.

'What's that?' She narrowed her eyes to get a better look at the jewelry she took from his hand. Holding the evidence toward the light, she answered her own question. 'In the shape of a heart. If this isn't some cheap bauble, it might lead somewhere. Good eye, Hastings.'

Sam smiled. 'Yeah, my wife says I have an eye for the expensive stuff. It's pretty tarnished, but it doesn't look cheap to me. And if I'm not mistaken, there are small diamond chips on it, too.'

Becca stood and handed the necklace back, making another note in her book.

'Who's the arson investigator?' she asked.

'Rick Gallegos is workin' lead. You know him?' When she nodded, he pointed to the far wall. 'Try over there.'

Before she left, the CSI grabbed her arm and pulled her aside, out of earshot from his crew. Concern lined his face.

'You and your family are in my prayers ... if there's anything I can do.'

She smiled. 'With what we do, prayers seem like a Band-Aid on a hemorrhage.'

'Don't get me wrong. I come from a long line of scuba-diving Protestants. Most of my family only surface on church holidays. But I found it . . . helps me.'

'Thanks, Sam. You're a good friend, but really, I'm all right. I'll be in touch on our Jane Doe.'

Complete denial. She heard it in her voice. 'I'm all right,' my ass. Her life had mired in her sister's tragedy and she knew it. But the murder victim's family needed her to function on all cylinders. They deserved her best.

'Guess prayers can't hurt,' she muttered as she walked away. 'Maybe God still listens to other people.'

Gallegos was one of the best arson investigators with the city. The man had extensive experience and training, with an education in chemicals. He'd also been part of a bomb squad at another police station. With the pairing of Rick Gallegos and Sam Hastings on this investigation, maybe she hadn't drawn the short straw after all.

Rick was her height, with thick dark hair and skin the color of rich mocha. His eyes were almost black, and he possessed a piercing stare, the kind that unnerved the guilty. But for those having the pleasure to work with him, he showed warmth and good humor in his gaze. A diligent investigator and a thorough one. She liked him from the first day they had met, several years ago.

'Hey, Rick.' She lowered the beam of her flashlight, leaving his face partially lit. 'This case is gonna be tough enough. Glad you're working the fire. How's it coming?'

'Getting close to wrapping up, but I've got something for you to see. Follow me, Becca.' He waved a hand and led her through the burned rubble.

He took her toward a back door and into the bright sunshine. Becca shielded her eyes with a hand, but it felt good to be out from under the oppressive darkness of the charred Imperial. Parts of her skin were caked with a layer of dust. Feeling gritty, she ran a hand over her chin, only to find her gloves smeared with soot. No telling what she'd find on her white blouse.Just great! She'd clean up in the car. It wasn't her day. Becca filled her lungs with fresh air and let Rick talk.

'Arsonists believe fire destroys evidence, but not if an investigator knows what to look for. They forget only the vapor burns, not the liquid part of the fuel. So if any material is saturated with an accelerant, the wetness prevents the cloth from burning, leaving behind evidence for us to connect the dots. If we match the fabric to something on the premises of a suspect, we've got a link to the crime scene.'