The Soul Catcher - Alex Kava [50]
“So there was nothing left at the scene that could have been used as a ligature?” Maggie asked Tully while she searched the countertops.
This time she saw him check with Racine, and she was the one to answer. “Nothing. The girl wasn’t even wearing panty hose. The purse strap was found intact and clean. Whatever he used, he took with him.”
Maggie found what she was looking for and grabbed the tape dispenser from a desk in the corner. She peeled off her gloves so she could handle the tape, then ripped off a piece, holding each end carefully.
“Stan, could you tilt her head, so I can get a better look at her neck?”
Stan handled the girl’s head as if it belonged to a mannequin. Rigor mortis was fully established and had stiffened the muscles. After about twenty-four more hours, the muscles would become pliable again, but at the moment, Stan had to twist the head in what looked like an irreverent way, but was, in fact, a necessity.
There were several ligature marks, some overlapping, some deeper than the others. The girl’s neck, which probably hadn’t contained a single age line, now looked like a road map in 3-D. In addition to the tracks were massive bruises, where the killer must have decided to use his hands, as well.
“Why do you suppose he had such a tough time getting the job done?” Maggie said out loud, not really expecting an answer.
“Maybe she put up a hell of a fight,” Racine suggested.
The girl was small, barely sixty-two inches, according to Stan’s measurements. Maggie doubted that she could have managed much of a fight.
“Maybe he didn’t want to get the job done right away.” Tully surprised her with his hushed remark. She could feel him close by, looking over her shoulder.
“You mean he just wanted her unconscious?” Racine asked.
Maggie tried not to get distracted and pressed the transparent tape against the girl’s skin, pushing it into one of the ligature grooves.
“He might simply have gotten off on watching her pass out,” Tully said, exactly what Maggie had been thinking. “It could have been part of some autoerotic asphyxiation.”
“That could explain her dying while sitting up,” Maggie said. “Maybe her position was simply a part of his sick game.”
“What are you doing with the tape?” Racine asked her.
Ah, so the good detective would finally admit to not knowing something. Maggie lifted the tape while Stan held a slide up for her to attach it to. When it was safely secure, Maggie raised it up to the light.
“Depending on what the killer used, we can sometimes pick up fibers left in the tracks.”
“That’s if he used a rope or some kind of clothing,” Tully added.
“Or any sort of fabric or nylon. Doesn’t look like any fibers here. But there is something odd. Looks like glitter.”
“Glitter?” Stan was suddenly interested. She handed him the slide and went back to the girl’s throat.
“He must have used something strong and thin.” Maggie pulled on a fresh pair of gloves. “Probably a cord. Maybe something like a clothesline.” She examined the sides of the neck. “Doesn’t appear to be a knot.”
“Does that mean anything?” Tully asked.
“It could help us if he’s done this before. We might be able to match up something already on VICAP. Sometimes killers use the same kind of knot each time. That was one of the identifying factors of the Boston Strangler. He used the same knot on all thirteen of his victims.”
“O’Dell, you sure know your trivia about serial killers,” Racine jabbed.
Maggie knew she meant it as an innocent joke, but snapped back, “It wouldn’t hurt you to know some. You can bet the killers know.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them.
“Maybe I need to come to Quantico and take a couple of your classes.”
Oh, wonderful, Maggie thought. That was all she needed—to have Julia Racine as a student. Or was that what Racine was hoping for? Did the detective have aspirations of being an FBI agent? Maggie shoved the thought aside and concentrated on the girl’s throat.
She ran an index finger over the deep, red scars. As she did this,