Stolen Daughters by Carolyn Arnold (e ink ebook reader .TXT) 📕

“Hi, Hans.” Amanda’s gaze went to the draped body. She glanced at a nearby table where there was a bulging paper evidence bag. It probably held the girl’s clothing as paper didn’t degrade DNA like plastic did. “Tell me we have a better idea of what happened to her.”

“We’ll get to all that, but there are a few things I’d like to discuss first.” He grabbed a small, sealed plastic bag and handed it to her. It contained the dragonfly pin. She looked from it to Rideout. He went on. “There’s an engraving on the back.”

She flipped the bag over. “‘To our dear Crystal,’” she read aloud, then passed it to Trent for him to have a closer look. “It could be her name, or she could have come into possession of the pin from someone named Crystal.”

“By stealing it, even,” Trent suggested. “It looks like real gold, and possibly mother-of-pearl in its wings?” He regarded Rideout, obviously seeking an answer, and gave the bag back to him.

Rideout took it and set it back on the table. “I’m not a jeweler, Detective.”

“I’d like to get the piece appraised,” Amanda inserted, “to find out its makeup and value.”

“I’ll make sure someone in the lab gets that done,” the ME assured her.

“Thanks.” She could use the dragonfly pin as a parameter for searching reported missing persons, but additional markers would certainly aid the endeavor. “Anything stand out about the body? Birthmarks or tattoos?”

“I’ll get to that.” Rideout’s voice was firm and didn’t allow room for negotiation, and Amanda found that strange given his normal easygoing nature. He went on. “I will be taking a dental mold that can be run through Missing Persons. But depending on when—and assuming if—a report was made, it might not be that useful to us. I’ll also be running her DNA through the system. I should have a computer-rendered photo of her for you by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Sounds good.” That would be something that she and Trent could use during their inquiries instead of showing people the face of a corpse.

“Now, I X-rayed the body,” Rideout continued, “and was able to determine the hyoid was broken. Sometimes it doesn’t show up that way. Regardless, I’ll still be conducting a neck dissection to get a better look.”

“So she was strangled,” Trent surmised.

Rideout met his gaze and nodded. “I’ve conducted more tests to confirm TOD and stand by my original assessment. The victim was dead by the time the fire was started. A closer look at the contusions on her neck tells me she was likely strangled by a man. Though I guess it could have been a woman with large hands. Whoever it was, it’s not easy to break the hyoid bone. It takes strength and determination.”

“Whoever killed her really hated her,” Trent chimed in.

“They were determined anyhow,” Amanda corrected, sticking closer to the heart of what Rideout had said. “Strangulation and choking are often involved in domestic violence cases. The abuser uses it to display their power and control over their mate. It doesn’t always need to be fatal. It’s often in the moment, considered to be a crime of passion. But she was so young…” Amanda let her words taper off, then asked, “Was she raped?”

Rideout shook his head. “No sign of recent sexual intercourse—consensual or otherwise—which is surprising.” He paused for a second, then added, “But I’ll get to that. There is something else that the X-rays revealed. She suffered numerous breaks and bone fractures throughout her short life. The oldest—a broken ulna in her left arm—probably dates back to when she was nine, given her current age approximation as sixteen. The latest injury shows no signs of healing. It was a hairline fracture to her right wrist.”

If their Jane Doe was a runaway, maybe it had been because of an abusive home life. She might have figured she’d be safer on the streets. “What could have hurt her wrist?”

“A struggle with her killer, possibly. He could have gripped her wrist and twisted. But there are no obvious signs that she defended herself. No abraded knuckles, for example. I have, of course, scraped under her nails, and the trace will be sent to the lab for analysis. I’ll also require a full tox workup to see if she was on anything.”

Amanda glanced down at the young girl, feeling sad for the short and troubled life she’d led. “Is there any sign of drug use?”

“Not that I see, but I just want to cover all the bases. There are no signs of injection sites, but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t on anything. She could have ingested a drug in liquid or pill form. Either something she took herself or was given to her… possibly in her food or drink.”

“You think her killer subdued her with something?” Amanda asked.

“Only one way to know.”

“The tox run.”

He nodded. “Now, I must tell you, in addition to the internal injuries, she has some bruising on her body, in various stages of healing. And there’s more…”

“Still more?” It was hard for Amanda to imagine that was possible. She looked down at Doe’s face again, and her heart pinched. Her lifeless eyes really stamped home the finality of the situation. This young woman would have had dreams and aspirations she’d never get to fulfill.

Rideout slowly peeled back the sheet, and Amanda watched as he bared Doe’s chest. She gasped as her gaze landed on a black-and-white tattoo just above the girl’s left breast. It was about three inches in diameter. The depiction of a crown entwined in thorny vines with the letters DC scrolled over them.

“She was a…” She gripped her throat, where the rest of her sentence had become lodged.

The images were hurtling back with fierce tenacity. Fifteen young girls in four cells. All barely dressed and living in filth and violation. Their young, angelic faces, their tearstained cheeks, their wide eyes, their terrified expressions—and most of them with this marking.

“Amanda?”

She heard her name as if it were being