Hank, sixtyish and built like Santa, glanced over his shoulder. Just under the band of a navy-blue knit cap, a snowflake stuck to one bushy black-and-gray eyebrow. “There you are, Seth. Been waiting for you.”
“I appreciate that.” A vague sense of disquiet fell over Seth as he studied the victim. She was petite. Her body and clothing looked youthful. Snow dusted the back of her head, jacket, and jeans, indicating she’d been on the ground before or during the previous night’s light snowfall. There was something about her that was raising the hairs on the back of Seth’s neck. Something he couldn’t quite pinpoint but instinctively knew was important. What is it?
“What can you tell me?” he asked the ME.
“She’s fresh.” Hank waved toward her torso. “I’ll give you a tighter window after the autopsy, but it appears she’s been dead less than twelve hours, but probably more than six.”
Seth did the math in his head. “So she died between eight o’clock last night and two o’clock this morning.” The estimate correlated with the previous night’s weather. The storm had started around ten, and light snow had fallen on and off until dawn, with some flurries since. “Any identification on the body?”
Hank shook his head. “Her pockets are empty, except for a ChapStick and a lollipop in her jacket.”
“No sign of a purse yet,” Phil said.
Hank shifted his soft bulk and lifted her hair. Bruises circled her neck. “Manual strangulation is a strong contender for cause of death.”
Seth leaned in to examine her hands. “Looks like she resisted. She has a couple of broken nails. Let’s hope she got a chunk of DNA under one of them.”
Straightening, he took in the empty area. Except for the three boys, there was no one in sight but law enforcement personnel. Whoever dumped her had probably assumed the park would be empty. The boat ramp didn’t get much use this time of year. If the teens hadn’t been so pumped up to do doughnuts in the snow, weeks could have passed before anyone made the gruesome discovery.
“Was she killed here?” Seth asked.
Hank lifted the hem of her jacket and pointed to purple stains that colored the skin close to where it rested on the ground. “From what I can see, lividity suggests she’s been in this position since she died.” When the heart stopped pumping, blood settled in the lowest parts of the body and turned the skin purple. “If she wasn’t killed in this location, she was dumped here soon after death.”
“When can you do the autopsy?” Seth asked.
“I’ll try to get it done today.” Hank looked up at the photographer. “Are you finished with the preliminary pictures?”
The cop nodded.
“Then let’s get her to the morgue.” Hank unfolded the body bag next to the corpse and slipped paper bags over the hands to preserve the evidence that might be lodged under the fingernails. “Want to give me a hand turning her over, Seth?”
Not really. But Seth crouched next to the body and helped the older ME gently roll her over onto the open bag. Shock snapped his head back. Instead of sightless brown eyes and white-as-frost skin, Seth was seeing a pretty brunette standing in his mother-in-law’s kitchen. He placed his hands on his knees and stared, disbelief and horror swirling in his gut. “I know her.”
“How?” Phil asked with a surprised lift to one eyebrow.
Seth stood, his mind reeling. “Her name is Amber Lynn Cooper, and she’s my brother-in-law Bruce’s girlfriend.”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Stepping back, Seth dialed Bruce’s cell phone number, but the call went directly to voice mail. He left a message asking Bruce to call him immediately. He rubbed the back of his neck, a bad feeling churning in his belly. Damn it, Bruce. Where are you?
Twenty-three-year-old Bruce Taylor still lived with his mother on the family farm. Seth, his wife, and their daughter also lived on the property, but in a separate small guest cabin. Seth worked long hours and so did his wife, Carly, a social worker. Having a grandmother on hand 24-7 to babysit had taken some of the stress off Carly and Seth’s marriage.
Seth called home. When no one answered, he dialed Carly’s cell number. But she didn’t pick up. He left a message for her too. He glanced back at Amber’s body, and his insides twisted.
“Was Bruce with her last night?” Phil asked.
“I don’t know,” Seth said. “Bruce plays guitar in a band. They don’t usually perform on weekdays, but they got a few extra gigs over the holidays. Sometimes Amber sings with them too, when she can get a babysitter.”
The baby!
“She has a kid?” Phil’s mouth flattened.
“Yes. Single mom.” Seth turned back toward his cruiser. “I need to get to Amber’s place. I could use backup.” The county was experiencing the usual holiday surge of thefts, suicides, and violent crimes. Investigators were stretched thin.