“That’s what I was thinking.”
The dark glint in his eyes sent a jolt of fear through her. Instinctively Lana balled trembling fingers into a fist and reared back to hit him. As she raised her arm, he zapped her again.
Her entire body constricted, and she nearly vomited. He dragged her down the concrete sidewalk to a van. The side door slid open, and he dumped her inside and climbed in beside her.
“Benny,” she rasped. “Did he want me killed?”
He quickly bound her hands and feet. “Benny knows you talk when you drink too much.”
She tripped and struggled to right herself. Her head was spinning. “I didn’t talk to anyone.”
White teeth flashed. “You talked to that cop last year. He knows you were the one who betrayed him to the cops.” He shoved a rag in her mouth.
She shook her head as a scream rumbled in her throat. She didn’t know that bitch had been a cop until it was too late. If she’d known, she’d never have talked.
She shook her head no.
“You shouldn’t have talked.” He stunned her again, and she crumpled. “Time to play, Lana.”
CHAPTER NINE
Tuesday, October 31, 8:00 a.m.
Julia arrived early outside the medical examiner’s office. She’d closed up the bar after midnight and then spent a couple of hours reading the Hangman case file. And when she had closed her eyes and nodded off to sleep, she’d dreamed again of apples and blood. She’d awoken twice last night, her nerves rattled and her hands trembling. Now, her eyes were burning and the countless cups of coffee weren’t putting a dent in her fatigue.
In the lobby she showed her ID and took the stairs to the basement. After one final swig of java, she dumped her cup in the trash. She pushed through the doors to the autopsy suite.
Dr. Addison Kincaid, one of the top medical examiners in the country, was tugging on latex gloves when she looked toward Julia. The doctor had pinned her hair in a neat bun and wore a face shield that accentuated bright-green eyes full of curiosity. The medical examiner’s technician wheeled in the sheet-clad remains and positioned the gurney under the overhead light. Behind the gurney was a long stainless-steel sink equipped with bottles filled with solutions, extra supplies, and instruments.
“Agent, which autopsy are you here for?” Dr. Kincaid asked.
“I understand you’re autopsying Rita Gallagher’s remains now.”
“That’s correct. Is this your case now?”
“No. She belongs to Detective Novak. I’ve an interest in the case, and he’s letting me tag along.”
“Ah.” Questions lingered behind the statement, but Dr. Kincaid rarely bothered with the jurisdictional questions of an investigation. She already had enough to worry about.
Julia shrugged off her jacket. “Is Novak here yet?”
“He called to say he was hung up at the forensic lab. He should be here any minute. Generally, you can set your clock by him.”
Julia pulled a hair band from her wrist and coiled her hair on top of her head. Then she suited up.
The technician pulled back the sheet, revealing the yellowed bones of Rita Gallagher. The clothes were gone, and the bones had been laid out in anatomical order. The mandible gaped as empty eye sockets stared sightlessly toward the ceiling.
“Where are her clothes?” Julia asked.
“They’ve been sent to the state lab for processing,” Dr. Kincaid replied.
That explained Novak’s visit to the lab. Honestly, she was glad to be here first. Gave her a moment to get her bearings and shore up her barriers. Novak was very perceptive, and if anyone picked up on her fatigue, it would be him. She straightened her shoulders, determined it would not happen.
The doors opened to Detective Novak. He wore a dark suit, crisp blue shirt, and a red tie. Shoes polished. Always so pulled together.
“Agent Vargas and Dr. Kincaid,” he said. “Sorry I’m late. I was at the forensic lab.”
A glance at the clock nailed him as one minute late. “No problem,” Dr. Kincaid said.
“Just started,” Julia said. “You checking on the victim’s clothing?”
“Spoke to Natasha about them. She’ll have something for us in a few days.”
“Great.”
Novak slid off his jacket and carefully laid it over a chair before donning a gown and pulling on gloves and eye protection. Julia stood across from Dr. Kincaid, while Novak slid into the spot beside her. His aftershave was barely noticeable, just like an expensive aftershave would be.
“Any theories on when she died?” Julia asked.
“There was a clothing receipt in her pocket that Natasha was able to enhance,” Novak said. “It dates to November 1, 1992. Because the line items match the clothing she wore when her body was discovered, we believe it confirms Ms. Gallagher was still alive until that day. Your aunt said Gallagher went missing after your father died. She also didn’t make her rent in November. My guess is she died around the first of November.”
“Any family?” Julia asked.
“A brother. Still trying to track him down.”
Julia shifted her attention back to the bones. “Twenty-five years alone and forgotten in that room.”
“Let’s see if we can find out how she died,” Dr. Kincaid said.
Dr. Kincaid moved up to the exam table and positioned the overhead microphone closer to her mouth. She leaned in and asked her assistant for tweezers. She spoke her name, the date, and the names of the persons in attendance. “We took X-rays of Rita Gallagher’s skull and body. As was noted at the crime scene, she suffered a blunt force trauma to the back of her skull. A closer look reveals she wasn’t hit once, but twice in the same spot. The blows would have been enough to knock her out and likely cause severe cranial hemorrhaging.” She turned to the X-ray pinned to the lit monitor. She pointed to the fractures, which were the size of quarters and slightly overlapped. “Note there are two sets of edges, indicating two strikes. One would have knocked her to the ground, and the second was so violent it caused this small fracture that radiated up to the center of her skull.”
“Did the second blow immediately kill her?” Novak asked.
“If it didn’t, I think she would have died of her injuries within hours. I doubt a team of surgeons could have saved her.”
“So she might have been alive when she was left in the root cellar room,” Julia said.
“It’s possible,” said Dr. Kincaid.
“The killer would have taken a big risk walking Gallagher into the house, surrounded by close neighbors, down into the basement and then bludgeoning her in such a small, cramped dark room,” Novak replied.
“Other injuries?” Julia asked.