Carina and Nick never made it back to the Sand Shack during the day, but Patrick called to say that he was on-scene so she was heading back there when her cell phone rang.
“Kincaid.”
“It’s Jim. We found Jodi.”
“And?”
“She’s dead.”
Carina’s jaw clenched. “Where?”
“Her apartment. In the carport.”
Carina made a U-turn and headed back to Jodi’s apartment. The entire carport area was sealed off, and several dozen onlookers stood behind bright yellow crime scene tape.
She and Nick put on gloves and shoe protectors and went into the crime scene.
“How did the killer get here unseen?” she asked the two cops who had spent all day in the area interviewing residents.
“We were across the street at the other building. We’ve talked to eighty-one people, and no one saw anything last night that seemed out of the ordinary.”
They were in the carport of Abby and Jodi’s apartment building. Jodi’s body was next to her car, discovered by a resident at nine p.m.
“Go back and get a time line. She couldn’t have been here long.”
Jim Gage was already processing the scene, barking orders to his staff, his normally calm, methodical demeanor frazzled by the brazen disposal of Jodi’s body by her killer. His team finished setting up perimeter lights, and he began to inspect her body under the artificial brightness.
Jodi had been tied in the garbage bags, but during transport they had loosened and her arm had fallen out. The responding officer had partially removed the garbage bag, revealing her face and the telltale black bandanna glued to her mouth.
Her nose was broken, twisted at an odd angle, surrounded with dark blood. Jim carefully unwrapped the body, bagging and preserving evidence as he went. The process was laborious, but necessary.
Jodi’s wrists and ankles still had ropes attached, cut with a sharp, nonserrated knife. Her legs were streaked in dried blood,
“He beat her up?” she asked Jim.
“It’s postmortem. In fact, all the injuries except gluing her mouth shut and the sexual assault were made postmortem.” Jim looked up. “She’s been dead for over twelve hours.”
“Since this morning?” Carina asked, incredulous.
“I’m guessing between seven and nine. The postmortem damage happened several hours after her death, three to six. Her muscles had already started to stiffen, but not enough for full rigor, which occurs at eight to twelve hours.” Jim looked from Carina to Nick. “Want to know my guess?”
Nick said, “She died on him and when he found her, he was angry.”
Jim looked surprised. “Exactly.”
“How’d she die?” Nick asked. “Shock?”
“She choked to death or suffocated. Dr. Chen will know for sure. I have her medical records, and she has a history of allergies to latex, and mild asthma. But shock or stress may have triggered an asthma attack, and she couldn’t breathe.”
Jim shook his head. “But,” he continued, “see the discoloration of her skin? It looks like hives. She may have died from anaphylactic shock. Maybe he wore latex gloves when he assaulted her, and she had an allergic reaction.”
“She could die from that?” Nick asked.
“Absolutely. You’ve heard of people dying from bee stings and peanuts, right? It can take a few hours, but repeated exposure can increase the reaction. I had a case where a guy died ten minutes after a wasp sting. He couldn’t find his epi pen.” Jim looked at them. “Jodi had an epi pen in her purse, which was left in her bedroom when the killer abducted her.”
“Not that she would have been able to tell him with her mouth glued shut.” Nick’s voice was laced with anger and frustration.
“There is good news,” Jim said.
“Tell me there are hidden security cameras.”
“Can’t do that. But by these wounds I think he beat her up with his hands. There is likely biological evidence on her from the killer.”
“DNA.” It was their first real hope at solid evidence.
“And here-” he pointed to the ropes.
“What?”
“There’s some fabric attached to the rope. Possibly a cotton sheet, but we can test it.”
“Did he wash her body, too?”
“Yes, but not as thoroughly as the others. There’s more blood here than with the first two victims. She was dead, heavy, awkward to move around.”
“But the killer is strong,” Nick said.
“To carry a dead body? Absolutely. Someone who works out and is physically fit.”
“Unless there are two of them,” said Nick.
“Two killers?” Jim asked, uncertain.
Carina thought about Nick’s comment. “It’s possible. We can’t rule anything out yet, but Dillon didn’t mention the possibility of a killing team.”
“Just an idea. I’m not even sold on it, but I wanted to mention it.”
Carina turned to Jim. “How fast can you get DNA?”
“DNA takes months, Carina. You know that.”
“I also know that this is a priority case.”
“I can’t even get a sample until the autopsy and we sift through the trace evidence. She’s been washed, he may have cleaned off any evidence. It’ll take a couple days. Then, if I rush it and have no court-mandated tests, I can do it in two to three days.”
“We can send it out.”
“Private lab?” Jim frowned. “Yeah, but Causey has to sign off on it.”
“I’ll worry about the chief.”
San Diego County had its own DNA laboratory, a onetime purchase by the board of supervisors. The city shared it with the sheriff’s forensic department, but they were backlogged, as usual. Too many crimes, not enough resources. When a case was particularly high-profile, they could sometimes get approval to hire an outside lab for DNA testing.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Jim said, “but it’ll still take at least thirty-six hours for the autopsy, collection of evidence, and preparing the chain-of-evidence paperwork. Maybe I can clear a machine in the lab and work it myself. If there’s even any DNA to analyze.”
“I’d appreciate it.”
“I know.” Jim stared at Jodi’s body. “I’ll be at the autopsy in the morning.”
“Saturday?”
“I talked to Dr. Chen on the way over here. He’s taken this case personally. He wants the killer as much as we do.”
The dinner hour long past, Carina and Nick ate cold pizza late Friday night in the SDPD conference room while running through their notes. Patrick and Dillon came in with a stack of papers. Both looked as tired as Carina felt. Even Dillon, the clean-cut, immaculately dressed doctor, had the sleeves of his button-down shirt rolled up, and the waves he tamed every morning with gel now fell loose across his forehead.
“Both these guys are winners,” Patrick said as he dropped the papers on the conference table.
