Anatomy by Carolyn McCray Page A

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gathered here would see her gesture as a sign of weakness. And with all of the
media attention? She couldn’t risk a random cellphone snapshot of their
intimacy.
    This investigation had gone from a local police matter to a
statewide manhunt to, now, a national cause celebre . And the
longer the investigation stretched out, the more intense the media coverage
became. Which wasn’t making any of this easier. It was a little hard to keep
your head in the game when Nancy Grace was calling you an incompetent
ham-fisted Fred Flintstone of detectives.
    Nicole waved a fly away from her face. It persisted, landing
momentarily on her shoulder. She tried not to think of what its tiny feet left
behind on her blouse. The grit of the crime scene crept under her clothes,
mixing with the sweat streaking down her back. There weren’t enough showers in
the world to wash the desperation from her skin.
    Ruben turned his attention from the roof to the medical
examiner kneeling by the body. “Time of death?”
    The ME chewed at the butt of a cold cigar and read from one
of the labels. “Specimen collected at 9:52pm Central Standard Time.”
    Her partner’s jaw muscles worked overtime, yet he somehow
modulated his tone so as not to sound as exasperated as he clearly was. “That
was her capture time. I need time of death .”
    Shoving the cigar butt over to the corner of his mouth, the
ME spit onto the pavement. Not exactly hygienic or conducive to a proper crime
scene, but the ME was the oldest of the good ole boys. Dr. McGregor did as Dr.
McGregor saw fit, and you’d best like it.
    “I really don’t know why they haul my ass out here to the
body,” McGregor grumbled. “When have I, or any ME ever in the history of crime
scene investigations, been able to tell you anything but… ‘I’ll have to see
once I get the body on the table?’”
    “Anything you could tell us about the time or cause of death
could be a help,” Nicole answered, as Ruben’s lips pressed down into a firm
line. They both knew that the CSIs wouldn’t find any forensic clues. This
killer was far too sophisticated to make a clumsy error. Their only hope to
catch the killer was to jump on any lead they could get, such as time of death,
and hope it opened up a new avenue of investigation.
    The ME scanned the crowd, then nodded to an EMT as she
gathered up her gear. “You.” Nicole had met the young EMT before. She had an
androgynous name. Jaime, maybe? She had been one of the first responders at the
crime scene.
    “Me?” the EMT squeaked out. Her eyes darted around her,
obviously hoping that McGregor was talking to someone else.
    “Yes, you,” he said, waving her over. Reluctantly, Jaime
came over. “Now could you please tell these fine detectives when and how this
victim died?”
    The EMT’s eyes flickered to Nicole, then Ruben, then the ME,
then even to the photographer. She found no solace from any of them. “I
wouldn’t know.”
    McGregor didn’t let it go. “Shocking,” he mocked. “Why don’t
you just guess? Apparently Detective Torres wants something, anything, Accurate
or not.”
    “We get the point, Dr. McGregor,” Nicole said, trying to get
the poor EMT out from under everyone’s glare and close this conversation before
Ruben said something he would regret. Hell, even she was getting to the point
of wanting to test if McGregor could take it as well as he dished it out.
    “No,” the ME said. “No, I don’t think you do.” He turned
back to the young woman. “Well? No theories? Postulations? Informed guesses?”
    Surprisingly, the EMT’s shoulders squared and she kneeled
next to the body. “If this killing holds up to the others, she was lured to a
remote location, injected with a cocktail of paralytics, then…dissected.” The
woman gulped. Nicole knew how the EMT felt as the she continued. “Cause of
death will most likely prove to be a combination of severe shock and blood
loss. However, The Professor has gotten better