He squinted at the jeans a full minute, then straightened.
“Hair?”
“Possibly.”
“Human or animal?”
“That’s one for your trace guys. But I’d start asking about family pets.”
“Son of a bitch.”
I dug a handful of plastic vials from my pack, labeled one, tweezed up the filaments, and sealed them inside. Then I rescanned every inch of clothing. No more fireworks.
“Lights?”
Galiano removed his goggles and hit the switch.
After marking the remaining vials with date, time, and location, I scraped muck into each, capped, taped, and initialed. Right sock, exterior. Right sock, interior. Left sock. Right pants cuff. Left pants cuff. Right shoe, interior. Right shoe, sole. Ten minutes later I was ready for the blouse.
“Overheads, please?”
Galiano killed the lights.
The buttons were standard-issue plastic. One by one, I hit them with the Luma Lite. No prints.
“O.K.”
The room lit up as I slipped each button through its hole, peeled back the fabric, and exposed the blouse’s interior.
The object was so small it almost escaped my notice, tangled in the recess of the right underarm seam.
I grabbed my magnifier.
Oh, no.
I took a deep breath, steadied my hands, and eased the sleeve inside out.
Another lay five inches down the sleeve.
I found another, an inch below the first.
“Sonovabitch.”
“What?” Galiano was staring at me.
I went straight to the scene photos, dumped envelopes until I found the right set. Racing through the stack I pulled out the pelvic close-up and magnified the mysterious specks.
Dear God.
Barely breathing, I examined every inch of pelvic bone, then worked my way through the other shots. I spotted seven in all.
Anger rushed through my body. And sorrow. And every emotion I’d felt in the grave at Chupan Ya.
“I don’t know who she is,” I said. “But I may know why she died.”
7
“I’M LISTENING,” GALIANO SAID.
“She was pregnant.”
“Pregnant?”
I held out the first pelvic photo.
“That speck is a fragment of fetal skull.”
I shifted prints.
“So is that. And there are fetal bones in the blouse.”
“Show me.”
Returning to the table, I indicated three fingernail-sized fragments.
I was startled by his vehemence, and didn’t respond.
“How pregnant?”
“I’m not sure. I’d like to scope these, then check a reference.”
“Sonovafuckingbitch.”
“Yeah.”
