If I Should Die_ A Novel of Suspense - Allison Brennan [83]
“I think Ms. Kincaid should go back to the beginning,” Marty Strong said. “How certain are you that the body you found was actually dead?”
“I was an assistant forensic pathologist for the D.C. Medical Examiner; I know a dead body when I see one.” She sounded defensive, but she wasn’t expecting to walk into a quasi-hostile environment. She tried to remember that these people were grieving for their colleague. “The next day, when I realized the local cops weren’t taking me seriously, we went down to the mine to photograph the scene.”
“Yet you collected evidence.”
“As I explained, the life cycle—”
“You’re not an agent yet,” Strong said. “What qualifies you in evidence collection?”
Noah rose from his seat, hands on the table. “If you feel the need to inspect Ms. Kincaid’s credentials, talk to me after this meeting. For now, let her get through the facts of the case before you jump down her throat.” He looked around the table before sitting down.
Lucy appreciated the support, but it intimidated her as well. She’d been questioning her decisions the entire flight here.
She told them everything she’d told Candela yesterday. She explained how the body was positioned, why she believed that the body had been naturally frozen in the mine, and how she determined, because of the clothes she wore, that the victim had been killed elsewhere. It took her more than twenty minutes, with only a few questions for clarification.
Everyone was staring at her. She glanced at Noah. He gave her a barely perceptible nod.
“It was the flower that suggested that the killer showed remorse. Someone placed a flower on her chest. I found it on the floor.”
“Now she’s a profiler,” Marty Strong mumbled.
“Actually,” Lucy said clearly before Noah could admonish the agent, “I have a master’s in criminal psychology, and my brother is Dr. Dillon Kincaid, a renowned forensic psychiatrist who consults for the FBI and other agencies. I do appreciate the fact that everyone in this room has far more experience in the field than I do. But one thing I know better than most people is how killers think.”
She walked to the white board and picked up a marker. She was hardly an artist, but she drew the body as best she could. “She was flat on her back. Her arms were crossed like this.” She marked the drawing. “Crossed at the wrists. No one dies naturally that way.” She drew the flower between the victim’s hands.
As Lucy looked at her crude drawing, she had an epiphany. She didn’t know why she hadn’t seen it before, but it was clear now.
“Whoever put her body here felt a deep remorse. Not only did he have a religious upbringing, but he probably considers himself religious. He laid her out as if in a coffin because he couldn’t give her a proper burial. He went to the mine to visit her corpse, to pray and ask forgiveness for his crimes. She was his Snow White, but unlike the fairy tale, true love wouldn’t bring her back.”
Lucy’s skin tingled painfully, as if a million ants were trailing up her body. She could barely stop herself from shaking the imaginary bugs from her skin. She was being watched, and worse, she had lost herself in her analysis, forgetting where she was, forgetting that she was standing in front of her future colleagues. She was the freak show. There was no doubt in her mind that they would find out exactly who she was, if they didn’t already know what happened to her seven years ago.
Normal was so foreign to her she didn’t even know what it meant anymore. All she knew was that it wasn’t her.
She put down the marker and faced the room, even though she wanted to bolt. It was one of the hardest things she’d ever done—to stand there and be stared at.
Noah spoke, and Lucy quietly returned to her seat. He took her hand under the table and squeezed it, then let go. The gesture stunned her, and she didn’t know how to respond.
He’s just giving you a nonverbal pep talk.
She must have looked terrified for Noah to be so bold.
“Remember,” he said, “besides Agent Sheffield, there was another victim to get out of the