14 - J. T. Ellison [14]
“A clit ring?”
“Yeah,” Sam replied, a bit of disgust in her voice. “You’d be amazed at how many I see. Not someplace I’d particularly enjoy having a needle shoved through, but hey, that’s just me.”
Taylor shuddered at the thought. Ouch.
“Here it is.”
Taylor’s heart sank as she watched Sam ease a small package out of the girl’s vagina. Wrapped in cellophane, it was coated in junk—blood, sperm and whatever else—Taylor really didn’t want to know. Sam eased the package, no bigger than a business card, onto a stainless-steel tray. She gestured to Taylor.
“It’s all yours, if you want.”
“No, I think I’ll let you dissect it for me, but thanks.”
“You’re never going to get the hang of this, are you?”
“Sweetie, that’s the reason I didn’t go to med school and you did. Open it up, let’s see what we have.”
Sam picked the packet open gingerly, putting aside the cellophane for later testing. “Trace is going to have a field day with that,” she murmured.
Taylor gazed at the body. What was it about this one that felt different?
“How long had she been dead, Sam?”
“By the time I got there? No more than an hour.”
“So we just missed him. Why did he change his MO?”
“Beats me, T. You’re the detective. Detect.”
Taylor gave her a brief smile, then grew serious again.
“How is no one missing this girl? All three of the other victims had missing-person reports on file. She looks maintained—fresh manicure, eyebrows shaped, hair’s healthy and well cut. She got drunk somewhere, with someone. She’s not lost. We should have a report on her.”
“You’re right, we should. She’s younger than the earlier victims. Look at her X-rays over there. The dental series shows that her third molars are still developing. If I had to wager, I’d say she was between fifteen and seventeen. I don’t know, sweets. Maybe the system just hasn’t been updated, or her parents are out of town and don’t know she’s missing.”
Sam finished tweezing out the contents of the little cellophane package. It was a piece of paper, newsprint. They both knew what it would say once they got it open.
They were right.
Murder in Nashville
Snow White Killer Strikes Again
The date on the article was December 14, 1986.
Sam was staring at the body, a troubled expression clouding her face. Taylor watched as she bent over the girl’s neck, then stood abruptly and walked out of the suite. She disappeared for a moment, came back bearing a large magnifying sheet. She held it over the spot she’d been staring at before, her lips white.
“Sam, what is it?” Taylor bent over the girl’s neck wound and looked through the magnifier. Her finger shook as she pointed toward the lower edge of the slice, horrified.
“Is that what I think it is?”
Sam’s face was pinched. “I’ll have to do a swab, but it looks like it.”
That was enough for Taylor. She held up a hand in apology, scooted to the nearest sink and lost the latte.
Twenty minutes later, once she was feeling better, Sam handed her the details of the LCMS findings. The amount of slick material on the earlier bodies had been minute, but their newest victim had plenty to test thoroughly. The base compound was an arnica emulsion. There were traces of other ingredients; more tests would be needed to confirm all the components of the matter. But two listings from the LCMS stood out from the rest.
Frankincense oil and myrrh oil.
Taylor sipped a pygmy-size ginger ale and reread the LCMS findings. “What in the world do you think this is about, Sam? Should we be looking for three wise men?”
“You’re hysterical, you know that? Feeling better?”
Taylor swallowed hard and nodded. She despised throwing up.
“If I had to guess, there’s something sacred about the oils. But its base is arnica cream, which is a common homeopathic remedy for bruises and sprains and such. Those are the initial findings, they could be off the mark. Without a control sample and more tests, I can’t