I-35.’
‘Always an accident on that stretch of road.’ He eyed the still, white sheet that draped the body of the fourth victim they’d found yesterday. ‘A few minutes here or there won’t make much difference.’
Dr. Watterson reached for a file perched on a stainless-steel table. ‘I gave Beck a preliminary rundown when he called this morning. Want to hear it?’
‘Shoot.’
‘We’ve not analyzed the skeletonized remains yet. We’re waiting on dental records and X-rays. But I hope to get those in a day or two.’
‘That’s fast.’
‘When Harvey Lee Smith’s name is attached to a case it gets bumped to the front of the line.’ Watterson moved toward the stainless gurney holding the sheet-clad remains of the most recent body. He reviewed the stats. ‘She was in her early twenties, stood five foot six and weighed about one-twenty. I’ve identified three tattoos: the butterfly, which I understand Dr. Granger spotted on her inner left wrist. She also has a tattoo on her back right shoulder blade. It’s the initials CTB. Pierced ears and belly. An old scar on her right hand that was stitched. Blond hair, though her natural color is darker. No implants or any visible surgeries.’
‘Jo thinks we have Christa Bogart.’
‘I was able to get a partial print from her right thumb and index fingers. I’ve sent both off for analysis.’ Brody shifted his stance as the doctor reached for the sheet and pulled it off the victim’s face. ‘Should have an identification in the hour.’
‘There was a significant amount of dirt in her nostrils and mouth – consistent with being buried alive. Her fingernails were caked with dirt and her skin marked with rope burns as if she struggled and tried to dig at the dirt around her. When I open her up I’ll check her lungs and stomach for dirt.’
Brody shook his head. ‘Hell of a way to die.’
‘She was not sexually assaulted. No vaginal bruising. No semen. No foreign DNA on her body.’
‘She was missing for several weeks before she died.’
‘Yes. But whoever had her did not assault her physically.’
The doors to the autopsy room opened to a frowning Santos. ‘Traffic is a bitch this morning.’
‘That’s what you get for living in San Antonio,’ Brody said.
‘I’d be up in Austin but my sister, Maria, is a senior in high school. Don’t want to uproot her.’
‘She lives with you?’
‘Has since our folks died five years ago. All my gray hair can be traced right back to raising a teenaged sister.’
There’d been times over the years when Brody had tried to imagine Jo’s and his kid. Those thoughts always came around the time of her due date in May. If their daughter had lived she’d have been thirteen. ‘Can’t imagine what it’s like.’
‘Some days I swear it’s the worst and other days the best.’
Brody tried to picture himself as the father of a teenage girl now. He couldn’t imagine how differently his life would have been. ‘Sounds like she’s lucky to have you.’
‘Cuts both ways.’
The Rangers shifted their attention to the body. Within minutes, Watterson made the Y-incision in the victim’s chest. The doctor added more details to the victim’s profile. She’d not had children. Organs healthy and normal. Fit Christa’s profile.
Santos studied the dead woman’s face. ‘Now that she’s cleaned up, even with the decomposition, she looks like she could be Christa.’
Brody reached for his cell and dialed Austin police. ‘Let’s see where they stand on the prints.’ Seconds later he was connected. ‘Detective Royals, this is Sergeant Winchester with the Texas Rangers. The medical examiner sent over prints and pictures this morning of a Jane Doe in the morgue. Have you had a chance to look at them?’
‘Just did. Looks like we have a match. You found Christa Bogart.’
Brody nodded. ‘Thanks, Detective. Once I’m done with the medical examiner I’d like to catch up with you and your
‘Always an accident on that stretch of road.’ He eyed the still, white sheet that draped the body of the fourth victim they’d found yesterday. ‘A few minutes here or there won’t make much difference.’
Dr. Watterson reached for a file perched on a stainless-steel table. ‘I gave Beck a preliminary rundown when he called this morning. Want to hear it?’
‘Shoot.’
‘We’ve not analyzed the skeletonized remains yet. We’re waiting on dental records and X-rays. But I hope to get those in a day or two.’
‘That’s fast.’
‘When Harvey Lee Smith’s name is attached to a case it gets bumped to the front of the line.’ Watterson moved toward the stainless gurney holding the sheet-clad remains of the most recent body. He reviewed the stats. ‘She was in her early twenties, stood five foot six and weighed about one-twenty. I’ve identified three tattoos: the butterfly, which I understand Dr. Granger spotted on her inner left wrist. She also has a tattoo on her back right shoulder blade. It’s the initials CTB. Pierced ears and belly. An old scar on her right hand that was stitched. Blond hair, though her natural color is darker. No implants or any visible surgeries.’
‘Jo thinks we have Christa Bogart.’
‘I was able to get a partial print from her right thumb and index fingers. I’ve sent both off for analysis.’ Brody shifted his stance as the doctor reached for the sheet and pulled it off the victim’s face. ‘Should have an identification in the hour.’
‘There was a significant amount of dirt in her nostrils and mouth – consistent with being buried alive. Her fingernails were caked with dirt and her skin marked with rope burns as if she struggled and tried to dig at the dirt around her. When I open her up I’ll check her lungs and stomach for dirt.’
Brody shook his head. ‘Hell of a way to die.’
‘She was not sexually assaulted. No vaginal bruising. No semen. No foreign DNA on her body.’
‘She was missing for several weeks before she died.’
‘Yes. But whoever had her did not assault her physically.’
The doors to the autopsy room opened to a frowning Santos. ‘Traffic is a bitch this morning.’
‘That’s what you get for living in San Antonio,’ Brody said.
‘I’d be up in Austin but my sister, Maria, is a senior in high school. Don’t want to uproot her.’
‘She lives with you?’
‘Has since our folks died five years ago. All my gray hair can be traced right back to raising a teenaged sister.’
There’d been times over the years when Brody had tried to imagine Jo’s and his kid. Those thoughts always came around the time of her due date in May. If their daughter had lived she’d have been thirteen. ‘Can’t imagine what it’s like.’
‘Some days I swear it’s the worst and other days the best.’
Brody tried to picture himself as the father of a teenage girl now. He couldn’t imagine how differently his life would have been. ‘Sounds like she’s lucky to have you.’
‘Cuts both ways.’
The Rangers shifted their attention to the body. Within minutes, Watterson made the Y-incision in the victim’s chest. The doctor added more details to the victim’s profile. She’d not had children. Organs healthy and normal. Fit Christa’s profile.
Santos studied the dead woman’s face. ‘Now that she’s cleaned up, even with the decomposition, she looks like she could be Christa.’
Brody reached for his cell and dialed Austin police. ‘Let’s see where they stand on the prints.’ Seconds later he was connected. ‘Detective Royals, this is Sergeant Winchester with the Texas Rangers. The medical examiner sent over prints and pictures this morning of a Jane Doe in the morgue. Have you had a chance to look at them?’
‘Just did. Looks like we have a match. You found Christa Bogart.’
Brody nodded. ‘Thanks, Detective. Once I’m done with the medical examiner I’d like to catch up with you and your
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