CHAPTER SEVEN
There wasn’t the slightest room for negotiation. Cami knew that her entire future rested on a knife edge. Feeling sick, trying to block out the memories and shadows of the past, she opened the door. It led into a short, brightly lit, squeaky clean corridor that smelled strongly of disinfectant. Ahead, a door opened, and Cami saw a masked, gowned, and gloved woman whose face she could barely see, but who looked fair-skinned and petite. This must be Dr. Minnett.
“Connor. Good to see you,” the woman was saying enthusiastically. Come through.” She gave a polite nod at Cami.
Connor didn’t introduce her by name.
“This is a temporary worker, co-opted for the case,” he said.
Minnett opened the door, and a wave of cold air washed over Cami, letting out the sickly smell of disinfectant with another odor that she could clearly pick up and which made her gut twist.
“I have the report here.” Dr. Minnett pulled a file out of a steel drawer near the room and started to run through the details.
Breathing deeply, Cami tried to quell her nausea, even though the room felt as if it was spinning. She had to do this. She had to be strong in here, even though it felt like the worst experience of her life. She leaned against the wall, sucking air in through her mask, hoping that the room would slow down before the walls tilted too far over.
The atmosphere was what she expected: frigid, clinical, and unwelcoming. Her eyes shifted away from the two steel examination tables. Shrouded forms were on both. But she was sure, at least, the covers wouldn’t be pulled back. Not if the examinations had been done.
“The first victim, Liz Hughes, is thirty years of age. Height, five-foot-five. Weight, one hundred and twenty-five pounds. Cause of death, asphyxiation. No signs of struggle or bruising.”
“And the other details?”
Through her panic, as Minnett spoke again, Cami could ascertain that now Connor sounded intrigued, engaged, and fully on board. It was as if he was in his element here. As if he could not wait to hear more. As if all this input, in this chemical-smelling room, was for him the building blocks that would solve this case.
“The killer is a man of average strength. From the marks on both victims’ throats, it’s clear he’s right-handed. Look here.”
To Cami’s horror, Dr. Minnett now detoured briskly over to the examination table. She drew the sheet back, and Cami flinched. For a moment, she thought she really would black out. She dug her fingers into her palm, and the painful bite of the nails helped ground her.
“You see here on the body of Adriana Knight in particular. There’s evidence of pressure on the right side of her windpipe, and from the thumb marks, we can ascertain she was attacked from the front. But because she would have had a headset on, she wouldn’t have known ‘till it happened.”
Cami stared, horrified. On the slab was a woman who didn’t look a lot older than herself. Although Cami could see she was a different league. A different life.
She felt chilled by the look of her, by that blank stare. And yet, there were features that reassured her, that grounded her in her panic.
The number of piercings in her ears. The short, edgy hairstyle and the splash of deep blue among the cool bronze hair color. This woman had liked her accessories, even though the earrings had been removed. The tattoos on her forearms were pretty. She had an owl and an eagle, expertly done. She hadn’t been scared of what society would think. She’d done what she wanted, and in a weird way, Cami wondered if she might have been a friend. She felt a connection with this victim and suddenly, these killings felt more personal.
“Any prints, any trace?” Connor was saying, his voice urgent and intense, as if this really mattered.
“Nothing yet,” Minnett said sadly.
Suddenly, Cami was like a zombie, holding back tears and fighting the urge to bolt. The memory of her sister surged again. Desperate for a distraction, she walked over to the tray that was placed on a table to the side of Adriana’s body.
There was the evidence, neatly stacked in the metal tray. The clothing she’d worn. All her jewelry carefully itemized. She’d liked silver, too, Cami saw.
And a phone. That was interesting.
“Thanks,” Connor said. “You’ve been a big help.”
“Always happy to help the FBI,” Dr. Minnett said, looking at Cami with a slightly curious smile. “You taking a look at the other evidence? New agents are always so eager to get involved.”
Already, as she reached for the phone, she could sense Connor’s disapproval, hitting her like a tidal wave.
“She’s not an agent,” he snapped.
“Can I have a look?” Cami asked. Finally, she was on familiar ground. Finally, there was something she could actually focus on, something she could do, without needing PPE or a degree in anatomy or years of experience in staring at corpses. The phone felt like a friend. Her area of expertise.
“Sure, you can. But it’s locked. There’s a passcode needed.” Minnett sounded regretful. “It was on her person at the time of death, in an inside jacket pocket and hidden under her when she fell. It was turned off at the time we found her. There was no phone at the other murder scene, so we assume the killer took it, but didn’t find this one.”
“Cami, don’t interfere,” Connor said, sounding exasperated. “It’s a waste of time.”