Before She Dies by Mary Burton

“Just in time, detectives. Suit up, and we can have a look at your victim.”
    The detectives donned gowns and gloves and moved toward the table. Both stiffened just a little as Henson dragged the sheet from the victim’s naked body.
    Suspended from the ceiling was a microphone, which Dr. Henson could control with a pedal under the examine table. The doctor pressed the button with her foot and said in a clear voice, “It’s October nineteenth, five p.m. and I have in attendance, Detectives Jennifer Sinclair and Daniel Rokov with the Alexandria Police Department and my assistant, Nancy Farmer. I have rolled the victim’s prints and submitted them to forensics, and we are waiting for an identification.”
    “We might have a possible on her identity,” Rokov said. “I’m waiting on a picture from DMV.”
    Dr. Henson reviewed the victim’s stats for the tape recorder as she moved up to the head of the table. “There is trauma to her hands and feet, all caused by wooden stakes being driven through her extremities. Judging by the wounds, I’d say those assaults were done post mortem.”
    “What about the tattoo on her head?” Rokov said.
    “It’s fresh. There’s slight bruising around the letters, which tells me she was alive when this was done. The letters are in a crude block style.” She pulled a ruler from the exam tray. “And measure one-and-a-half inches in height. The letters stretch the full length of her forehead.”
    Rokov drew in a breath at he stared at the dead woman’s pale, sunken face. The skin on the face was particularly thin so receiving a tattoo would have been painful. Judging by the thickness of the letters and the careful lines, he guessed the act took several hours. “What about cause of death?”
    Dr. Henson shook her head. “No gun or knife wounds. Bruising around the throat but her windpipe is not crushed. There is water in her lungs. I’ll know better when I open her up and run blood tests.”
    And so they stood watching the doctor complete a thorough external examination. She noted scars, bruises, other tattoos, moles, and any bit of information that could catch a killer. No telling what piece of evidence would be the one that would eventually catch the killer, so it all had to be collected and noted.
    Henson studied the victim’s hand and then, using a clipper, snapped off bits of nails painted hot pink. She studied the nails under a microscope. “We might have a little DNA, folks. Looks like she might have scratched him.”
    Rokov watched as she bagged the clippings. “Great. You think you can rush through the results?”
    “Backlog is high now, but I’m sure I can make a compelling argument. Still, it will be at least a week.”
    “As soon as you have DNA, I’ll run it through CODIS.” CODIS was a national database containing DNA profiles from unsolved crimes, missing persons, and the convicted. “The killer is so careful and practiced, I’ll bet money this is not his first time.”
    Once the evidence had been tagged, the doctor continued with her external exam. Only when she’d inspected the body fully did she reach for her scalpel and make the Y-incision on the victim’s chest.
    Though stoic, Rokov reminded himself that the body on the table no longer carried the soul or life of the woman. She felt nothing. She was beyond this world. And her body was no more than evidence that would help him catch her killer. And yet as the sharp tip of the blade breached the skin, he could not quite quell the anger and sense of violation. The killer had violated and terrorized her, and now it felt like they were doing the same.
    Dr. Henson reported that the victim’s heart, lungs, liver, and other vital organs all were a healthy weight. When she opened the lungs, she said, “It looks like she drowned.”
    “Drowned?”
    “There is water here. But blood tests will give me a better idea.”
    “Drowning has got to be one of the worst ways to die,” Sinclair whispered. “I