“Riley.”
They each showed their IDs to the guard and moved toward the elevators. Riley kept pace, double-timing it to match his long strides across the lobby. When the elevator doors closed behind them, Bowman hit the “Stop” button, freezing the car in place. Her eyes bored into him, oblivious to the limited personal space in the elevator.
“We’re on the same side, Riley. I need your help.”
“Right.”
“I’m here to help.”
“Or to impede?”
“Careful,” he warned. He released the button and the elevator descended, the doors opening to the cool antiseptic air of the medical examiner’s offices and Joshua Shield.
Shield was dressed in his trademark dark suit with his shock of white hair combed off his angled face. He strode straight to them, his attention riveted on Riley. Dark eyes collected and inventoried details quickly. “Trooper Tatum. I’m Joshua Shield.”
“I recognize you from your press pictures.”
Bowman noticed that most people were intimidated by Shield. They dropped gazes, shuffled feet, or fidgeted in some way. Not Riley. She glared at him as if he were a rookie intern late for his first briefing.
Shield extended his hand to her. “Nice to finally meet you,” he said. “Mr. Bowman speaks well of you.”
Clasping hard, she held his gaze.
“Solving this case is a team effort,” Shield said.
Smiling, she shook her head. “We’ll see.”
Bowman gave her props for not pulling punches.
“Consider the advantages of my expertise,” Shield said. “My company resources helped you in the past.”
“You were an uninvited guest that I could have managed without.”
He grinned as if enjoying the sparring.
Before he could respond, Dr. Kincaid appeared. She wore a lab coat and glasses that covered slightly bloodshot eyes.
“Dr. Kincaid,” Bowman said. “We appreciate you meeting us. Sorry to get you out of bed so early on a Saturday morning.”
“Mr. Bowman, Mr. Shield, you gentlemen have friends in powerful places.” Calm and unruffled, she extended her hand to both.
Shield shook her hand. “We help each other out when we can.”
Dr. Kincaid glanced at Riley. “I’m assuming Agent Sharp called you.”
“No, it was Mr. Bowman. But I contacted Agent Sharp.”
“Good,” Dr. Kincaid said. “Follow me.” She led them down the long hallway and pushed through a set of double doors. “I understand you also want to see Vicky Gilbert’s body.”
“Correct,” Shield said.
“Your timing is fortuitous. The funeral home is picking up her remains in a couple of hours. Her mother opted for cremation.”
“And you’ve done a complete exam?” Shield asked.
“I have. I’ve collected enough samples so that we can run any kind of test conceivable in the future if necessary. The Gilbert family is anxious to have a memorial service.”
“Their daughter ran away from home over a month ago and they didn’t call the police or try to find her,” Riley said. “What’s the big rush now?”
A slight shift in Riley’s tone could have made her sound bitter. But she kept her voice monotone, effectively hiding any potential anger or resentment.
Bowman reached in his pocket and removed a slip of paper. “Dr. Kincaid, I’d like you to test for this sedative.”
“Propofol? That’s a very powerful narcotic and I don’t see it often.”
“If we’re dealing with the man we suspect is the killer, this is likely the drug he used on his first four victims. This killer is a creature of habit. The sedative is one of his signatures.”
Dr. Kincaid folded the note and tucked it in her lab coat pocket. “I’m already testing for Rohypnol thanks to Trooper Tatum’s suggestion.”
“You suggested it?” Bowman asked.
Riley met his gaze. “It made sense to test for drugs, including this particular one, which is common with sex offenders.”
Dr. Kincaid crossed to a bank of square refrigerator cubbies and opened the second one from the left. She pulled a long tray containing a sheet-draped body.
Riley moved toward the body, traces of sadness tugging at her cool facade.
Dr. Kincaid pulled back the sheet and revealed the pale, expressionless face of Vicky Gilbert.
Bowman’s anger sparked as he remembered the bodies he’d seen in New Orleans twelve years ago.
“The victim was eighteen,” Riley said. “By two days.”
“I can tell you from the autopsy that she was in good general health at the time of her death,” Dr. Kincaid added.
“Most of the Shark’s victims experienced some form of abuse before they ran away,” Bowman said. “Young girls like Vicky Gilbert are often the most vulnerable.”
Riley grew so still he wasn’t sure if she was breathing as Dr. Kincaid reviewed the autopsy summary.
“I’ve read about the New Orleans cases,” Riley said, her voice professional. “Many of the girls were missing for days if not weeks before their bodies were found. Mr. Bowman, you might know better than most what he does with them in the interim.”
Bowman pulled back the sheet a little farther, revealing the victim’s neck and the very top portion of the stitched Y incision on her chest. He was including her as much as possible because he wanted her to trust him. “We don’t know. But holding the victims for three days up to two weeks was consistent from case to case.”
Shield folded his arms, his gaze not wavering from the body.
“Was there any sign of sexual abuse in past victims?” Riley asked.
“In several cases it was clear the victims had engaged in intercourse, but there was no bruising. We ran DNA on all the samples and each originated from different persons.”
Riley tapped an index finger against the tray. “That profile fits with this victim, correct, Doctor?”
“That’s right,” Dr. Kincaid said.
“Vicky Gilbert was only missing a couple of days. Her friend Rebecca Wayne was in contact with her via phone two days before her body was found.”
“It appears the Shark is not as patient as he used to be.” Bowman stared at the deep bruising around the victim’s pale neck. How close had Riley come to dying? She wouldn’t like him protecting her. But until this psychopath was caught, Bowman was keeping close tabs on her.
“Did you come across the body of a white male in his early fifties? His name would’ve been Kevin Lewis,” Bowman said.
Dr. Kincaid glanced at Riley. “He came in yesterday.”
Riley stared at Bowman. “We haven’t released his name. How would you know about this?”
“I have it on good information that Mr. Lewis bought Vicky from Jax. I assumed the Shark killed him.”
“Really? Who told you about Lewis?” Riley challenged.
“Jax Carter.”
“He told you?”
“He did.”
Riley muttered an oath. “We found Kevin Lewis yesterday afternoon.”
“Where?” Shield asked.
“About a mile from where we found Vicky Gilbert.”