Chapter 45

Sadly some odors were as distinctive to their origins, as the tangy scent of an Orange was to the fruit. Death was no different: it was an aroma undeniable and unmistakable as anything else.
Swallowing thickly, I fought down the bile that burned at the back of my throat, unable even to draw a deep breath to help my situation. I covered my mouth and nose with the neck of my shirt, casting another glance at the victim.

Keeping my shirt tightly pulled toward my mouth, I almost gagged again as I peered at the flies buzzing around the bloated corpse. Huge, ragged chunks were missing from her body, where an animal or animals had used her as a meal. Damn, I’d dealt with a lot of bad shit in my line of work, but never had I come across something this disturbing.

Continuing to fight off the urge to vomit, I busied myself by digging out a facial mask to help with the odor, from my back pocket. The mask would also help me keep out any airborne bacteria that could be inhaled into my sinuses and lungs. After fitting the mask in place, I watched as June continued to perform her examination. She was careful not to disturb the body or the twigs and leaves that had accumulated on and around it. Though rounded with bloat I could tell the victim, in her normal state, would have been of slight build. Her hair at one point would have been a wavy, shoulder-length, blonde. However, it was now, a deep, dark brown, matted through with dried blood, dirt, and debris. She lay on her back, almost nude. Her dark green shirt had been ripped and shredded, yet remained on her upper body. Her attacker had cast her tan shorts and panties aside, discarded in the undergrowth. The slashes on her torso revealed she’d been assaulted with a sharp object. Her wrists and ankles—bore ligature marks, showing evidence she’d been bound, and a multitude of burns adorned her flesh from God only knew what kind of instrument. Gasping, I took a step back in horror. The labia, minor and major, were both cut away, and my thoughts scattered at the sight.
All I could think of was what this poor woman must have gone through and found myself sickened at the thought. Shaken to my core at the violent assault, I peered at her broken and bloody body. Shame washed through me at what one human could do to another. No, not human, Morales was anything but human. In fact, he was the description of the word evil.

I wanted nothing more than to cover her. To give her even the tiniest amount of respect she deserved. She’d been tossed aside like garbage, to lie exposed to the surrounding elements, an act that was the ultimate betrayal of her humanity. As I’d gazed at the woman, Ethan had been busy documenting. In his notes, he would write the time of our arrival at the scene; the condition of the body and where it lay, as well as the surrounding area. He would document the positioning of the moon, the direction, and speed of the wind, and those present. Glancing again toward the victim, I watched as June stood and made her way over to Ethan. As she drew up next to him, I observed their interaction, my eyes following Ethan’s movements as he did what I’d seen him do hundreds of times before with other cases. He closed the small notebook he’d been writing his notes in and slid it into his shirt pocket. I’d seen him perform this action, time and again, when someone would come to stop by him. He never failed to repeat the ritual. At one point, curiosity had gotten the best of me and I’d asked him what the purpose was for the action. He’d shrugged, “My notes are no one’s business but my own until they’re on file.”

Now, with the notepad in place, Ethan watched June as she motioned her head toward the victim. Though June grunted with the movement, she never actually said anything. With a small shake of his head, Ethan looked away from June and toward the victim. “Been here a few days, huh?” he questioned.

June nodded. “At least,” she confirmed, breaking her silence. Afterward, stepping back over to the victim, June motioned for us to follow. “She’s somewhere between the age of eighteen and twenty-five, I’d say. However, I’ll be able to pinpoint the age closer once I do the autopsy.” Bending a little closer to the body, she used her fingers to manipulate the torn and bloody slashes. “Maggots have already eaten at her flesh, but in this heat, it wouldn’t have taken long for them to develop.” After a few more minutes, June rose to her feet, and pulling off her gloves, she turned to face Ethan. “I’d say the cause of death is blood loss. I’ll let you know as soon as I have a definite cause.”

Ethan nodded. “Thanks, June. Give us a few minutes to wrap this part up, and you can take her.”

Fifteen minutes later, they zipped the last eight inches of the zipper on the body bag: the process covering what remained of the woman’s features. With the task finally completed, the bag and body enclosed within its vinyl walls were carted out of the trees. As we watched the departing figures, it seemed the surrounding woods almost sighed with relief, the delegation of its responsibility to someone else at last. Glancing in Ethan’s direction, I wondered if he’d sensed the same thing. However, seeing no sign he had, I shook my head at the fanciful flight of my imagination.

"All right, let’s get at it,” Ethan muttered.

The next several hours passed with us flagging where the body had lain. We gathered evidence and marked every piece’s positioning. Pictures would come later for further analysis. One thing benefited us, though—with the large volume of blood the victim had lost, there had been no problem securing samples.

When we’d finished, I glanced around and grimaced. I hated cases like this one. Cold storage was full of files with crimes just like it. Cases, which had remained unsolved over the years, because either the murderers were never identified—or there hadn’t been enough evidence to convict them. Under normal circumstances, this case would have fallen within the jurisdiction of the local police. However, as this was the second murder and both victims bore particular similarities—it placed the case within our hands. Shooting another look in Ethan’s direction, I noted his slumped shoulders—their positioning revealed his thoughts were running parallel to my own about there being so little for us to go on.

With a sigh, I murmured, “I think I'll look a little further out.”