Daddy's Little Killer

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

 

Maya Winslow stopped dead in her tracks and stared for a moment. She shook her head lightly and rubbed her eyes. "I don't believe it."

"Nice to see you too, Dr. Winslow."

"Jesus Christ and General Jackson. Who called the feds in on this one? Not that I'm complaining or anything. I'm... stunned. How are you, Eriksson?"

People don't really want the truth when they ask that question. It's a social nicety. Look at me. I care enough to ask how you are. Do me a favor and lie. Say "fine" or some other placating nonsense. I really don't want to get sucked into your world.

As a different breed, I grinned at her. "Same shit, different day. How did you end up in Darkwater Bay?"

"Power," she slammed the back door of the van and gave a stern look to her techs. "Don't touch anything until I get inside. Got it?" I noticed that she added a wink after the harsh order. 

"You're in charge out here?"

"You're looking at the chief medical examiner." She struck a Marilyn Monroe-esque pose. "How do I wear it?"

"I figured you'd be in Maryland forever."

"No chance of promotion," she said. "I got to leap from the lower middle rung all the way to the top by relocating out here. Never mind that I've delved into the ninth circle of hell."

"I wasn't aware there were nine of them."

"Probably more. I just have uncovered nine of them since I moved here six months ago. So this case warrants a federal intervention, eh?"

I noticed the ears around us perking with interest. "Walk with me," I said. My voice lowered to a scratch above a whisper. "It's not common knowledge yet."

"What isn't?"

"I'm not with the bureau anymore, Maya."

"Since when?"

"Monday morning."

"No shit?"

"How well versed were you on water cooler gossip before you left Maryland?"

"Please," Maya stepped through the front door of Foster's home. "I had more work to do out there than most. I didn't have time to play telephone with the drones. Why? Did I miss something good?"

"This probably isn't the best place to discuss it. In any case, here I am. George Hardy asked if I'd be willing to consult on a few cases from time to time. I didn't realize I'd be dragged to a crime scene straight off my flight."

"Billy gave me the run down on this one on the way over here." Maya crouched beside the corpse. "Everything photographed, Forsythe?"

"We're done with this room."

"Good." Maya started moving the truncated right limb. "She's barely in rigor. This is a fresh kill. Six maybe seven hours tops. Of course I'll have to do a lot of other things to pin it down to something more definite than that, but for now, I'd say we're looking at five, maybe six last night for time of death."

"And theories on cause?"

Maya looked up at me. "You're joking, right?"

"Not really."

"I can tell you she didn't die from exsanguination. I estimate blood loss at three liters tops. Unless she's got some super absorbent carpet padding under this shag, what you see is what you get. This blood seeped out postmortem due to gravity. So dismemberment wasn't the cause." Maya lifted the hem of the skirt as I had done nearly an hour ago.