Strawman's Hammock by Darryl Wimberley Page B

looking at the possibilities.”
    â€œWell, let’s see what we can do to eliminate a few. First thing I’m going to want is an identification for the victim. A name links to people and places. Friends. Family.”
    Midge nodded. “I’ll do what I can. But you know as well as I do, Bear, that if this young woman came here with migrant workers she’s more than likely not going to have a fingerprint on file. She’s probably not going to have a green card, either. No social security number. No dental or school records.”
    â€œYou got somebody who can reconstruct her appearance?” Bear asked. “Somebody good enough to give us a composite?”
    â€œNobody in our shop,” Midge shook her head. “And Tallahassee’s crew are swamped. It’d be weeks. But maybe…”
    â€œCome on, Midge.”
    â€œI might be able to find somebody.”
    Barrett knew better than to press. “Just see what you can do,” he urged.
    â€œI’ll need the sheriff’s approval.”
    Barrett chewed that one over a moment.
    â€œDo it on my authority,” he said finally. “We’ve got to know what Jane looks like if we’re to have a hope in hell of making an ID.”
    â€œWhat about Lou?”
    â€œWell. As General Powell used to say, it’s a whole lot easier to ask for forgiveness than it is to ask for permission.”
    Midge nodded. “I’ll call our guy first thing.”
    Barrett was not sure, even with a good reconstruction, how easy it would be to identify this young woman. There would be a great and natural reluctance for any illegally entered Latino to volunteer information for criminal investigators. A code of silence prevailed. And there was another factor, too. Women and girls in migrating communities were, in too many cases, valued only for their labor—for the beets they picked, the straw they raked. Women were abused by men in great numbers across all socioeconomic categories. But Latino women working as migrants from Florida to California were particularly vulnerable.
    Would a family member or friend in fear of deportation tell Barrett anything at all about this particular victim? How could he gain their trust? How could he protect them? After all, a man or woman capable of this kind of violence would not hesitate to kill again.
    Absent specific information about the victim or her killer, Barrett was left with general trends, general information, generally occuring patterns of behavior. He didn’t like that. Generalities got you in trouble. Generalities were only useful to indicate the broad topography of an investigation.
    They could not be used as a compass.
    â€œThat’s enough in here.”
    Barrett followed his forensic investigator into the fresh and welcome air.
    â€œHard to believe you’d leave an office in Jacksonville for this mess, Midge.”
    She shrugged. “I like dead people.” She sealed a plastic bag. “Tell you one thing. Whoever’s done this has done it before. Or something very much like it.”
    Barrett nodded. “Occurred to me as well. I think we ought to fax the Bureau with all the details we can muster, ask them to compare the staging of this scene with others nationwide. Our killer might have a track record someplace else.”
    But when suggested to Sheriff Sessions that federal authorities be asked to assist in his investigation, Lou went ballistic.
    â€œThe hell! What have I got you people down here for?”
    Barrett stiffened. “We’ll support you all we can, Sheriff. But the feds might have seen a case exactly like this that’d help us out. They may have a fingerprint on our Jane Doe. Hell, we might get lucky and get some DNA on the perp that shows up in VCAP’s library.”
    â€œYou can run the DNA from right here,” Lou growled. “ I can run prints through AFIS. That’s all the FBI I goddamn need. What you need,