I went
straight from the therapist’s office to the autopsy lab. Doc Werner was sitting
at his desk; thick glasses perched on the end of his nose. His hair, normally
parted carefully and combed over his rapidly expanding bald spot, was instead
combed straight down, exposing his scalp like a strange egg in its nest.
“Werner?”
He looked
up. “It’s about time, Davies! Come on, get in here!”
“Jeez,
Werner, what’s the problem?”
He closed
the door behind me and stalked over to the refrigerated doors which held the
bodies whose cases were still under investigation. Werner popped the catch on
one and pulled out the tray.
“Aida
Deorwine, maiden name Reem, aka Braidy. DNA and fingerprints proved it’s her.”
Aida Braidy
was fifty five at the time of her death, but might have looked at least ten
years younger. Her brown hair was long enough to brush her shoulders and framed
her face in an appealing way. Her features were well defined; she would have
made a striking figure in life. In death, now that Werner had washed the blood from
her, I was able to see the brutality that had been exacted on her; I counted at
least five stab wounds, or maybe they were just cuts, on her upper body alone.
Her skin, specifically her breasts, arms and stomach, was burned black, and
several chunks appeared to be missing.
“She was
cut dozens of times,” Werner said, reading my mind. “And stabbed at least as
many by a large bladed weapon; my money’s on hunting knife, but I can’t know
for sure until you bring me something to try and match.”
“Any way to
tell which was the fatal blow?”
Werner
shook his head. “Too many of the stab wounds would have been fatal in and of
themselves to be certain.”
“Jesus.”
“It gets
better,” Werner said and turned to another drawer. “Obviously she had a
blowtorch used on her.”
“Sure about
it being a torch?”
“Well since
we didn’t find her in the oven, I would say yes. There were also traces of
burned fuel on her skin, propane, to be exact. See the missing chunks?”
I swallowed
hard, afraid of what he was about to say. “Yes. Are they what I think they
are?”
“Bite
marks. The sick bastards were eating her. I hope to God she was already dead
while they were doing it.”
I
shuddered.
“But wait,
there’s more, detective.” He turned to another drawer, opened it, and pulled
another body out.
“This is
the woman we assumed at the crime scene was Ashlea, Aida’s daughter.”
His words
took a moment to soak in. “Wait, what do you mean ‘assumed’?”
“Exactly
what you think, Detective. DNA and fingerprints came back on this one, labeling
her as Viviana Yursa. Her name came up on the missing persons database. She’s
been missing for five years now. How did she turn up suddenly at the Braidy’s
house, dead and posed as Ashlea?”
“That’s a
damn good question, Werner. I see it and raise you this one: If Ashlea Braidy
wasn’t killed with her mother, where the hell is she?”
“I do know
one thing about her, detective. She was dead after Aida.”
“You’re
sure?”
“Yes. She
took part in the torture of Aida and...Well, let’s just say her stomach
contents confirm that suspicion.”
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