Murder in the Mist by Loretta C. Rogers Page A

with the yellow crime scene tape. He began his crime scene log—listing everyone present, those who would go past the perimeter and enter the crime scene, and the reason for their presence. He also did a rough sketch to show the scale and dimensions in a way photography couldn’t. Later on he would turn the drawing into something better, either that or work with a forensics artist to improve the details of the sketch.
    Clear evidence showed the ground had given way, probably when the tree uprooted and loosened the earth, aided by the weight of Laura’s body. Inside the hole lay a fully clothed skeleton with a purse tucked neatly at its side. Mitch said, “Laura, before Dr. Musuyo examines the corpse, I’d appreciate it if you would take pictures of the crime scene.”
    Her voice grim, she agreed. “Fine.”
    She stepped close to the edge of the grave, lifted her camera, and clicked away, taking pictures at different angles, zooming in and out. “Dr. Musuyo, is there anything specific I need to home in on?”
    “Let me take a closer look, first.” He eased into the hole, straddling the corpse. Everyone watched while he squatted. He pulled on a pair of latex gloves and then removed a small voice-activated tape recorder from his shirt pocket. He identified himself as the Cole Harbor coroner and recited the date, time, and location. “From the purse, what’s left of the victim’s clothing, shoe size, the size of the skeletal bones in the hands, and with preliminary examination, our victim is female.” He leaned closer. “The angle of her head suggests a broken neck. Closer examination required to confirm cause of death. Remaining remnants of clothing suggest the victim’s occupation was in the medical field. Perhaps a nurse.” He lifted the right hand. Then looked up, an odd expression on his face.
    “What is it, Doc?” Mitch asked.
    Musuyo again spoke into the recorder. “The first joint on each of the four fingers and thumb appears to have been removed. Since the body was unearthed at approximately three o’clock on the afternoon of”—again he repeated the date—“it is unlikely the removal of the metacarpal phalangeal  joints was done by an animal. Further examination needed to draw a more accurate conclusion.”
    He asked Harmon to hand him a measuring tape. “Approximate height, five foot four inches. Age of victim, and approximate weight, inconclusive at this time.”
    Mitch tipped his hat back. “What kind of sick-o cuts off his victim’s fingertips?”
    It was a rhetorical question.
    The doctor placed the skeleton’s hands on the chest cavity. “Laura, zoom in and get a shot of the manus. Excuse the medical jargon…hands.”
    Although the weather had cooled, sweat trickled between Laura’s breasts. She felt hot and cold at the same time. She didn’t want to puke. She honestly did not want to puke. She sucked in deep gulps of air, lifted her camera, and snapped several more shots. She also clicked pictures of the uprooted tree and the crime scene perimeter.
    After securing a plastic bag around each hand to keep the bones intact, Musuyo carefully opened the purse and read off the contents. “Wallet, notepad, pen, lipstick, perfume, small hair brush.” He opened the wallet. “No driver’s license, credit cards, nothing to identify the victim. Hmm, she wasn’t a victim of robbery.” He counted, “Two hundred dollars in twenty-dollar bills.”
    Mitch took a deep breath. “What about car keys or a cell phone?”
    “No. Neither.”
    “Okay, bag it.”
    Musuyo placed the recorder back in his pocket. “This is off the record. Since she’s fully clothed, my guess is she wasn’t sexually assaulted. Of course, we’ll know more once the ME does his examination.”
    As an investigative reporter, Laura knew the protocol. Once the remains arrived at the ME’s, the body would be logged in, remains of clothing and shoes and other possessions inventoried. The skeleton would be weighed, and