"If we could just wait twelve hours," said Andie, "I think we would all benefit from Agent Santos's examination of the body before autopsy."
Kessler paused, thinking. "Well, perhaps we could postpone some of the more invasive procedures. But I would at least like Dr. Fitzsimmons to proceed far enough to rule out suicide. If we're going to explore the possibility of a serial killer, we might as well know if this woman was in fact the victim of a homicide."
"I can answer that question right now," said the doctor. Kessler looked at him curiously. "How?"
"Look here." He shined a spotlight on the side of the victim's neck. Both Andie and the detective walked toward the head of the table for a closer look. "See the narrow bruise around the neck?" asked the doctor. "It's a straight line all the way around, matching the pressure of the rope. Those markings indicate strangulation by ligature. With a hanging, you typically have a very well-defined inverted V-shaped bruise. Think of the way the noose fits around the neck."
Kessler said, "But she was found hanging in a tree. Why no inverted-V bruise?"
"Bruising requires blood flow," said Andie.
"That's exactly right." The doctor seemed impressed. Andie leaned over, inspecting the neck. "Doctor, are you saying she was dead before her body was strung up?" "Yes. Strangled, to be precise."
"So we're not talking suicide?" said Kessler.
Dr. Fitzsimmons shook his head. "More likely Homicide."
Kessler nodded. "Committed by someone who wanted it to look like suicide."
"Possibly."
Andie rose, chilled by her thoughts. "Or by someone who delights in displaying his kill."
Gus's Mercedes cut across Seattle in record time. The attendant greeted him at the door and took him down the hall that led to the autopsy room. Gus had been expecting to go to the morgue and have his wife rolled out of a drawer, like on television. Lately, nothing had been going according to his expectations.
"Please wait here," said the attendant as they reached the waiting room.
Gus sat alone on one of two Naugahyde chairs that shared a vintage seventies smoked-glass coffee table. The lighting. was bad fluorescent, the kind that bothered the eyes. Gus had never practiced criminal law, but suddenly he had an appreciation for the stakes, the drama. He felt as though someone in the next room literally had life-or-death power over him. Yet it wasn't as if the medical examiner had a juror's prerogative to change the outcome. Either it was Beth or it wasn't.
He'd know in a minute.
His mind flooded with fond thoughts for his wife. The romantic dinners in San Francisco while he was in law school. The weekend hikes around Mt. Rainier when they'd first moved to Seattle. Their honeymoon in Hawaii, cut short by a phone call from Gus's supervising partner. The birth of their daughter, which had come two weeks early, while Gus was in Hong Kong on yet another business trip that Beth had begged him not to take. They'd loved each other once, though he couldn't put his finger on the exact sad moment when she'd realized that he loved his job more.
"Mr. Wheatley?"
He rose eagerly.
"I'm Andie Henning, FBI."
He stepped forward and shook her hand. "What's the FBI doing here?"
"I'd like you to come inside and make the identification, if you can. I should warn you. The body is not in perfect condition. We've prepared it so that when Dr. Fitzsimmons pulls back the sheet, you'll see only the right side of the head and face. I think that should be enough."
Gus felt a lump in his throat. "Okay. Let's do it."
Andie led him inside. Gus felt a definite chill on his face and hands, but the change in room temperature barely fazed him. He entered slowly, one step at a time, eyes fixed ahead on the stainless steel table in the center of the room. Beneath the bright lights, a clean white sheet covered the body. It seemed to rise for one breast but not for the other. Likewise with the feet. His hands shook. That must have been what Agent Henning had meant when she'd said the body wasn't perfect.
He stopped beside the autopsy table. Andie was to his right. Detective Kessler stood on the other side, beside Dr. Fitzsimmons.
"Are you ready, Mr. Wheatley?" asked Andie.
He blinked nervously, then nodded.
Dr. Fitzsimmons pulled back the sheet, exposing the head.
Gus's eyes filled with tears. He could barely speak. "It's not Beth," he said, then quickly turned away.
Chapter Six.
Andie watched from behind as Gus headed for the door. The transformation had been sudden and remarkable. One moment a bundle of nerves bouncing off the walls; the next, a beaten man sinking through the floor. For friends and relatives, accounting for a missing loved one was always the same painful roller coaster.
It certainly put a screwed-up wedding in perspective. "Mr. Wheatley?" she said as Gus opened the door. He stopped in the doorway. "Yes?"
"Would you mind waiting in the lobby for a few minutes? Detective Kessler and I will be right with you."
He hesitated. "I'd really just like to pick up my daughter and go home."
"Just five minutes. Promise."