“What’s a psychological autopsy?” Mason asked as he avoided looking at the young girl on the metal table.
The medical examiner had just mentioned the possible need for an unfamiliar type of autopsy. Dr. Campbell stood back as he watched his assistant stitch together the gaping chest incision that the examiner had created an hour before.
“It’s an investigation to discover the state of mind of these girls before their death. Right now I can’t even classify these deaths. They could be accidental, suicide, or homicide. I know the results of the tox screen will indicate what stopped their hearts and respiration, but it’s not going to tell us how it got in their system. Did someone else put it there, or did they take it willingly?”
Mason was familiar with the NASH classification for deaths. Natural, accidental, suicide, or homicide. Natural was easy to rule out in this case, but the ME had a good point. They needed more information. As soon as these girls were identified, they’d have a place to start. Dr. Campbell had efficiently sped through the first girl’s autopsy, from the Y incision, to the tissue samples, to peeling back the scalp to remove part of her skull and examine the brain. When the doctor had moved down the table to take a vaginal swab, anger had burned through Mason. The girl was almost a child, defenseless on the metal table. He offered up a prayer that her soul had left the room and wouldn’t witness the indignities her body would suffer. Mason had stared at the light fixture and films through most of the procedure.
Autopsies were impersonal, the essence of the victims departed, but it took a lot of effort for Mason to be present for many of his cases. The autopsy suite was one of his least favorite places in the world. He’d hoped that over the years he would have grown accustomed to the sights and smells; he still waited. Each autopsy rattled him and visually stuck with him. He saw his role in the autopsy suite as honoring the victim. He’d stand at attention, respecting the science that would help bring justice. He was an honor guard starting his work for the victim. Often the victims were alone at their moment of death; they didn’t need to be alone for this final affront.
“Who does the psychological autopsy?” he asked.
“I have a couple of psychologists who I’ve worked with in the past. Usually it’s the type of situation where information is needed to settle estate issues or insurance cases. They do in-depth interviews with family, friends, and witnesses. They’ll look through social media and emails if they can. Even look at the victim’s preference in books and television shows. They have a list of suicide indicators they look for.”
Doctor Campbell’s definition sounded a lot like Mason and Ray’s job. He raised an eyebrow at the doctor.
“Oh, I know.” The doctor nodded at him. “That’s stuff you’ll be doing. But I’ve got to say, I’ve never had a case so up in the air from the very start. Did they kill themselves? Did someone give them something lethal without them knowing? Or was it an accident? A bunch of girls trying out something cool they didn’t know would take their lives? It’s too early to say we’ll need one for certain, but I’m going to keep it in mind if we struggle to figure out why this happened.” The older man shook his head and Mason sympathized at the sorrow in his eyes. The doctor had four more autopsies to do.
“What’s the word on the sixth girl?” the doctor asked.
“I haven’t heard anything for a while. So I’ll guess ‘no change.’ I asked them to call immediately if something happened.”
Ray stuck his head in the autopsy suite. “I just ran into Dr. Peres,” he said with a nod at both men. “She’s got a teen neighbor who thinks she knows one of the girls.”
“So does half the city,” muttered Mason.
“Dr. Peres’s neighbor says her friend went to Forest Park for a photography session yesterday and now she can’t reach her. Also says the missing girl has long dark hair. The neighbor is out front with Anita.” Ray stepped just in the suite and stared at the hair of the young girl on the table. He didn’t move any closer. “She told Dr. Peres that there’s a photographer who wanted teen girls with long dark hair to model for him.”
“Jesus Christ,” said Mason. “I wonder if that’s who Simon Parker saw with the girls. He didn’t say anything about photography equipment, but the man was carrying a bag. That’d be a good hook to get teenage girls to go with you. Doesn’t every girl want to be a model at some point?”
Ray nodded. “I know Kirstin loves to watch that model competition show and can’t keep her nose out of fashion magazines. Dr. Peres’s neighbor goes to high school with the missing girl.”
“She ever meet the photographer?”
“No. And Victoria took her to the missing girl’s home, but there’s no one there, and she doesn’t know how to contact the parents. She brought her to the office, so we can talk to her.”
“That’ll be a starting point. I’ll be there as soon as I can,” said Mason.
“We’ve got upset parents starting to arrive,” added Ray. “How do you want to handle this?”
Mason looked to the ME.
“I’ll have Anita write up a quick questionnaire for the parents to fill out so we can make some immediate eliminations. Questions about height, weight, scars, hair, tattoos, and eye color. What they think their kid was wearing. Plus it’ll give these parents something to do. Nothing is worse for them than standing around.”
“What about showing photos?” Ray asked. “They’re already asking out front.”
“Not yet. I’ve taken good face shots, but that step comes later,” Dr. Campbell said. “I want them screened heavily. I won’t show these faces to anybody who walks in here because they know a kid who’s missing. They need to bring in their own pictures, and if they can get their dentist to email digital dental films on a Sunday, that’d help. I want secondary confirmations, either dental or DNA once we get a positive visual ID. As soon as Lacey gets here, I’ll have her put together some preliminary dental findings.”
Ray nodded. “I’ve already started a list of questions to ask the parents, so I’ll work with Anita and get Victoria’s teen neighbor to fill out a form.”
“Scars and unusual things we can note visually will help. Put moles on there, too,” Dr. Campbell said. “I’ve never had a situation with this many similar victims at once. I won’t have a screwup like that case back east with two similar-looking teen girls a few years ago. One died in a car wreck while the other one lived, but she was hospitalized and in a coma for a while. A set of parents buried the girl they thought was their daughter. Turns out she was unconscious in the hospital.”
Mason faintly remembered the case. “We won’t let that happen.”
The doctor put a hand in the middle of his back and arched it, grimacing. “I’ve got some more girls to take care of. This is going to be handled right.”
Seth Rutledge stepped into the autopsy suite in full scrubs and gown. He acknowledged the detectives with a nod and greeting. “I can give you a hand,” he said to Dr. Campbell.
“Much appreciated,” he said. “I can put you to work.”
Seth followed Dr. Campbell into the next suite and wondered what Tori was doing. Their brief run-in this morning hadn’t gone smoothly. He’d been looking out from a window, waiting for her to arrive. He felt a bit like a stalker, but he’d simply wanted to see her, study her a bit without her knowing. She was still adept at throwing up defenses. It’d been years since they’d crossed paths the last time. A forensics conference in Denver had put them face-to-face for the first time since they split in college.
They’d both been in relationships at the time. Him with Jennifer, and her with Rory. He’d been confident enough to engage her at the conference and suggest dinner. After all, they were both committed to other people. Why couldn’t they have a simple meal to catch up? What could go wrong?
What went wrong was too much wine and too much reminiscing.
It’d been one kiss.
Its indications had been explosive.
Seth shook his head, forcing the memory out of his thoughts. The night hadn’t ended well, and Tori had left the conference without saying good-bye.
He’d flown back home to Sacramento to his wife, realizing he’d failed her and their daughter. But that failure hadn’t occurred in Denver. It’d occurred when he’d agreed to marry Jennifer for the wrong reasons. He’d always known it wasn’t the right path for either of them, but it’d seemed the best for their daughter.
How wrong he’d been.
He pictured Tori as she’d walked into the medical examiner’s building earlier.
Her looks were slightly exotic with dark eyes too large for her face. Her last name was of Hispanic origin, but she’d always appeared more Mediterranean, more Proven?al. She’d eventually told him that she’d been adopted. She’d laughed and said her parents were lucky to adopt a dark-haired daughter instead of a blue-eyed blonde. Fewer questions.
In college, he’d felt instantly connected and later had wondered why he hadn’t missed her before he’d known her. Why hadn’t the giant hole in his heart been obvious? Once she’d filled that hole, he’d seen his emptiness with clear eyes.
Today he was back to square one with the gaping hole in his soul. Its emptiness resonating every time he thought of her. He missed the woman he’d clicked with so long ago. He placed part of the blame on Jennifer. She’d lied and manipulated him, capturing him where he’d been the most vulnerable. But he could have ended things better with Tori.
Or could he? A breakup sucked no matter how it was handled.
He’d asked “What if?” a million times over the years.
Now he was determined to make amends.
Dr. Campbell’s voice entered his thoughts and Seth started. “I’m sorry, what’d you say?”
The older man’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “You’re a million miles away.”
Seth smiled. “You don’t know the half of it.”
“Dr. Peres?”
Dr. Campbell noticed more than he’d let on.
“Yes, she’s part of it,” he admitted.
“You two have a history? Is it something to keep you from working together?”
The question had been on Seth’s mind. “Yes, we have a history. But I don’t think it’s an issue. It is something I need to talk to her about. If I’m going to make her uncomfortable, then I won’t take the position.”
Dr. Campbell strolled over to study the X-rays of his next subject. He rubbed at his chin, his gaze on the black-and-white images. “Victoria’s the best forensic anthropologist I’ve ever worked with.”
Seth understood what the man hadn’t said out loud. “I don’t want to hurt her,” he replied.
The ME turned and took a long look at Seth. The ME’s scrutiny was intense, and Seth fought not to squirm. “You’re divorced, right?”
“The divorce process started quite a while ago. They take time.”
Dr. Campbell nodded. “Is it going to be messy?”
Seth took a deep breath. “It could get that way. That’s part of the reason I left. I need to be away from her while this happens. It doesn’t help her to see me. She needs to go on with her life and not trip over me once a week somewhere.”
“What about your daughter? She’s what, eighteen?” The older man’s eyes were fierce, flashing concern for the innocent girl in the divorce
Seth swallowed. “I waited until she was off to college. I’ve talked with her over and over about the divorce. She’s my primary concern, and she’s fully aware of the type of person her mother is. She told me she was surprised I stuck it out this long. She says she understands.”
“They always say that. They don’t want to hurt you.”
“I know. But she’s at least accepted it on one level. I don’t know if any child of divorce totally gets over it, even in the smoothest divorce. But she’s a smart kid, and I really believe she’ll get through it. She knows her mother and I still love her. We just can’t live in the same house. Or city.”
Dr. Campbell studied Seth for a moment, evaluating him as deeply as the X-rays. He had a hunch the doctor didn’t miss much. In that case, the ME would see no deception on Seth’s part. He’d left a marriage that’d been doomed from day one, and he was simply starting a new chapter in his life.
“I don’t know how retirement is going to treat me.” Dr. Campbell’s tone lightened as he turned back to the films. “I’ve always had my finger on the pulse of this operation. I know the ins and outs, the dark corners, and where the dead bodies are buried,” he joked. “I hope this office and I can adapt to having my input abruptly cut off.”
“Maybe you should ease your way out,” Seth offered. “Work part time for a while.”
Dr. Campbell shook his head. “Sometimes a clean break with a fresh start is the healthiest way to handle the changes in life. People step up to the task when they are faced with challenges. Letting go slowly, hoping to smooth things out, often doesn’t help anyone.”
Seth silently exhaled, grateful for the doctor’s understanding.
Victoria skimmed the email from Anita and silently cheered. There was a reason the woman was the office manager. She could find anything and work miracles. Even though parents and press were clamoring for identities on the dead girls, Anita had managed to hunt down the location of the remains of the women found in Forest Park decades ago.
Victoria was one lucky anthropologist.
The three sets of skeletal remains were boxed in the cold case storage. No cremains.
She fought the urge to do a happy dance in her chair. The women could have been cremated and stored in canisters. Or buried. Instead, someone long ago had reduced the remains down to skeletal and placed them in boxes and stored them away, hoping their mystery could be solved in the future. Now they waited for Victoria to read them and search out answers about their identities.
The main question in the old case still ate at her. How could three women not be claimed? She tapped her glasses on her desk, her chin resting on her hand. Didn’t they have families missing them? She’d caught the latest news update, which had expanded to include the event of so long ago. The three who had been identified had previously been runaways or suspected prostitutes. None of them had originally been from the Portland area, but their families had all stated that they’d deliberately left home. Two had fought with their parents and ran off. The third had informed her family she was leaving for greener pastures.
No doubt the similarities of the new case would send reporters digging deep into archives. Perhaps some fresh exposure would trigger memories or reach people who hadn’t known about the three unidentified women. In her opinion, the two similar cases had the potential to go viral on the Internet. It had the key ingredients—tragic death, young women, and nearly identical occurrences decades apart.
Ugh. That wasn’t the type of publicity the examiner’s office needed right now. Hopefully the sensationalism would stay out of the way. She scribbled the reference numbers for the storage room on a scrap of paper, her curiosity level hovering somewhere in the stratosphere.
Her cell phone vibrated on her desk. Intending to ignore the call, she stood and was pushing in her chair when the name on the cell screen caught her eye.
Oh, come on. Not now.
Her ex-husband was calling. Again. She spoke with Rory about once a month since the divorce two years ago. They were still friends—well, they were still acquaintances. She never felt the urge to meet him for a drink, and she only tolerated his phone calls. She classified that type of relationship as an acquaintance. Why was he calling so early on a Sunday? The Rory she knew should be sound asleep from being out too late last night.
Had she mentioned her ex-husband still thought he was in college?
Her hand hovered over the phone. And hit Ignore.
She headed for the storage rooms.