Damaged by Pamela Callow

camera from a metal table and circled the body, taking photos of the naked corpse. “You’ve got a tough case,” he said. “No clothes which might have trace evidence.” His glance fell on the severed joints. “Not having her limbs is really unfortunate. I usually find excellent trace evidence under the nails.”
    Ethan looked at the girl. At Lisa . She looked inhuman without her limbs, like a mannequin. Yet she was all too human: the still-childish features, the defiant stripe of bleached blond in her hair.
    “No sign of external injury on the torso,” Dr. Guthro said, bending forward. “But the neck is a different matter. She was strangled. See the bruising?” It radiated from a thin red line around her neck.
    “Looks like he used a ligature,” Ethan said.
    “I agree. The bruising shows even pressure was applied.”
    “Is that the cause of death?”
    Dr. Guthro nodded. “Most likely. See the petechiae?” He gestured toward small red blotches that marred her neck. “They are quite extensive, around her mouth and—”he pulled down her lower eyelid “—in the lining of her eyes.” He gently rubbed a large cotton swab around the ligature marking, then placed it in an evidence envelope, noting the case, site and date. “Hopefully there is some residue left on her skin to indicate what the killer used to strangle her.”
    “Let’s hope,” Ethan said, his eyes tracing the smooth line circling her neck.
    The M.E. and the Ident guy circled her body, looking, searching. The assistant turned the girl on her side. Then the other side. The killer had to have left something, some sign, on her body.
    There was nothing. No semen, no hair. Nothing. Ethan shook his head. He couldn’t believe it. Who was this guy who killed her? Clean dump site, clean corpse. He tried to ignore the sinking in his stomach.
    “All right, let’s see if anything was left in her hair,” Dr. Guthro said encouragingly in the silence. He picked up a small black comb—it looked like the ones sold at the dollar store—and began to systematically comb through Lisa’s hair. “Ah.” Dr. Guthro used a pair of tweezers to carefully remove something. Ethan’s pulse surged. Between the pincers was a thread, about a millimeter in length. “This looks promising.”
    “Right on,” Lamond breathed.
    Dr. Guthro dropped it into an evidence envelope and again jotted the case, site and date.
    Ethan tried to not get his hopes up. “We’ll have to rule out her clothes or her house.” He allowed a small smile. “But it could be from the kill site.”
    The M.E. nodded. “We’ll send it to the forensic lab for processing.” Lisa’s hair now lay neatly combed about her head. He plucked a hair with the tweezers and placed it in another evidence envelope.
    Ethan stared at Judge Carson’s daughter. “Did she fight the killer?”
    Dr. Guthro shook his head slowly. “I don’t think so. I don’t see any sign of self-defense injuries. No abrasions, no cuts, no blood smears…”
    Ethan frowned. Had she known her attacker? Or had she been drugged? “You will check her out for sedatives or date-rape drugs?”
    “We’ll do a full screen on her,” Dr. Guthro said. “But you know as well as I do, if the killer used ecstasy on her, it won’t be in her system now.” Ecstasy was the drug of choice for rapists who wanted compliant victims, because it only lasted in the victim’s system for about twelve hours, and they often had little memory of what happened. “For now, we’ll get some swabs, see if any trace shows up.” Ethan watched him swab around her mouth and around the gaping joints where her limbs used to be, using a fresh swab each time. He hoped one of those swabs would reveal under microscope the trace evidence they couldn’t see: skin cells, semen, saliva. Something.
    Dr. Guthro nodded to the assistant, who turned the body onto its side. “Lividity in the lower lumbar region and buttocks.”
    “What’s lividity?” Lamond