Chapter 4
“Sometimes I really hate this job,” Briscoe noted as they left the third
door of the morning. “Nobody should have to try to identify their loved one
from a photo snapped at a crime scene.”
“Yeah.
One more mother who can still hope against hope, though.” Green reached into a
pocket for his ringing cell phone and then punched the receive button. “This is
Green.”
“Any
luck?” Van Buren’s voice asked.
“Not so
far. We’re about to check out the fourth name on our list.”
“Liz
Rodgers just called. She’s finished with the preliminary on Jane Doe.”
“Okay.
We’ll stop in and see what she has to say.” Turning to Briscoe as he pocketed
the phone, he said, “The M.E.’s got a report for us.”
“Great,”
he sighed gloomily. “More good news.”
***A short time later, they entered one of the
perpetually chilly coroner’s exam rooms to find Rodgers peering into a
microscope.
“Be with
you in a minute,” she called distractedly.
Briscoe
purposely averted his eyes from the form lying on the exam table, even though
it was discreetly covered with a sheet. The last thing he wanted to do was take
a chance on glimpsing the face of the corpse again. After a night of fitful
sleep, the stark image was still etched indelibly in his mind.
Rodgers
sat back and tried to rub some of the tension from her neck. “You’re not going
to like what I have to say.” Motioning to the table, she explained, “There’s no
forensic evidence left on the body. Anything we might have gotten from it has
been washed away. Cause of death was strangulation with some sort of braided
cording with smooth fibers, like a soft drapery or bathrobe tie. Her wrists
have the same kind of ligature marks as her neck. Blood work said no drugs, no
alcohol in her system. She’s got a lump on the back of her head consistent with
a backwards fall onto pavement or hard ground. It was enough to stun her, which
would explain why there’s no evidence that she fought back. I probably don’t
have to tell you that she was sexually assaulted. Although there were minute traces
of semen left, thanks to the contamination of the
Green let
out a sympathetic groan and asked, “How old was she?”
“Her
wisdom teeth were another couple of years from emerging. Judging by that and
her bone density, I’d say seventeen, tops; fifteen or sixteen is more likely.”
Briscoe
exchanged a look with Green and noted, “The other three girls on our list are
older than that.”
Green
nodded. “Maybe we need to run another check. Either we missed something before
or no one had reported this girl missing when we ran the first search.”
“Can you
tell us the time of death?” Briscoe asked.
“Judging
by the level of decomp, I know she wasn’t in the water for more than twelve
hours and she died right before she was dumped.”
“How do
you know she died right before?”
She bent down
and pulled up the electrical cord attached to a lamp. Holding it up, she made a
loop and used it to demonstrate as she explained, “The killer had the cord
wrapped around her neck. He pulled it tighter and tighter, so she couldn’t
breathe. It’s possible that the breath was knocked from her when she fell or
was pushed to the ground. In any case, she had expelled all of the air in her
lungs and was unable to take in another breath. He had to have been fairly
close to the river when he raped and strangled her because the cord was still
extremely tight when she went into the water. A soft cord like the one he used
would have loosened on its own if he had transported the body any distance. My
guess is he held onto it as a way of guiding the body as he pushed it into the
river. She hit the water, face down, as the cord loosened and came off. When it
did, a very small amount of water was pulled into her lungs. It wasn’t that she
took a breath; she was dead before she went into the river. Her lungs just
returned to a more normal, restive state, if you will. Since she was a female,
she turned over to float face up as she was caught by the current. Her tongue
would have naturally settled back, blocking her trachea and preventing any more
water from going down her throat.”
“She
floated face up because she was a female?” Green queried.
Rodgers
nodded. “A man’s body floats face down, a woman’s face up since we have
built-in floaties.” With a shrug, she added, “I’m going to have to run some
tests to narrow down the time of death any more than that. When you put a human
body in moving water it screws up all the usual indicators. If you can find out
when she disappeared, it might help give me a time frame to work within.”
“We’ll
check the missing persons’ reports again and see what we can find,” Green
promised as he and Briscoe started for the door.
With a
disgusted sigh Rodgers added, “Do me a favor. Make sure you get this guy. I’d
really rather not see any more of his handiwork come through my office.”
With a quick
glance at the form lying on the table, Briscoe responded with a soft, “Amen.”
***“There’s a new one,” Briscoe noted, looking
over his partner’s shoulder. “Missing for three days … But she’s twenty-two.
Not our girl.”
“Look at
this one,” Green pointed, turning his computer monitor slightly. “Missing since
yesterday morning, and the report was filed here at the 27th just
before
With the
print-out in hand the two made their way to the central squad room. After a
quick inquiry, they were directed to the desk of Officer Ellen Holbrook. She
looked up from a stack of paperwork when they approached.
“Officer
Holbrook, may we have a word with you?” Green asked.
“Sure,”
she answered with a smile. “And it’s Ellen. Have a seat.”
Once they
had complied, Green handed the sheet to her. “Did you file this report?”
She
scanned the page and nodded slowly. “Yes, I did. A couple came in around
“Yesterday evening?” Briscoe questioned. “The report wasn’t filed until
today.”
“When
they came in, their daughter had only been gone for a little over ten hours. I
told them I couldn’t technically file it until she had been missing for
twenty-four, but that if she hadn’t turned up by this morning, they should call
back and we would put someone on it right away.”
“She was
only fifteen,” Briscoe pointed out. “When a minor is involved, the twenty-four
hour requirement doesn’t apply.”
“I know,”
Holbrook agreed, “but the parents said this girl had disappeared once before.
She skipped school to spend the day at the arcade with her friends. I figured
she had done the same thing again and would show up eventually.”
Green
gave her a disbelieving look. “You
figured? And what did the parents have to say about that?”
She
shrugged. “They weren’t too happy. They said if the police wouldn’t help, they
would look for her on their own. I was sure the girl would be home by the time
they got there. I was surprised when I came in for my shift today and they
called back to say she was still missing.”
“Did you
at least get a picture from them?” Green asked, not bothering to conceal his
growing annoyance.
“Yes. I
have it right here,” Holbrook answered, quickly rifling through a stack of file
folders. Pulling one out, she opened it and handed a photo across her desk to
Green.
After
examining it, Green looked at Briscoe and nodded, confirming that it matched
the victim.
“Why was
the report filed only a couple of hours ago? Why wasn’t it done first thing
this morning?” Briscoe demanded.
“I filed
it as soon as they called, but I guess it didn’t get put into the system right
away.” She looked from one irritated face to the other. “Why are you asking me
all of these questions? I did what I’ve been told to do. I used my own judgment
in handling the situation.”
“The
reason we’re asking you all of these questions, Officer Holbrook,” Briscoe
stated deliberately, “is because a young girl was found floating in the Hudson
yesterday and my partner and I wasted most of today showing the wrong parents a
photo of her dead body. If this report had been filed when the girl’s parents
came in, we would’ve had a name to go with the body right away and we could be
out trying to track down her killer instead of sitting here talking to you.”
The woman
paled considerably and stammered, “I…I’m sorry…I didn’t know. I can’t believe
she’s dead.”
“That’s
what happens to a lot of missing people – they turn up dead,” Green told her
bluntly. “The sooner we know someone is missing, the sooner we can start a
search. And sometimes, minutes can be the difference between life and death.
Especially when a minor is involved, word needs to get out immediately, no
matter how you personally assess the situation.”
Holbrook’s head bobbed up and down apologetically. “I understand. It
won’t happen again, I assure you. I’m really sorry.” She paused and looked at
them anxiously. “Am I going to lose my job over this?”
Green
stood up. “That’s not our call. It’s your good luck that this particular girl
died sometime before the parents came in to report her missing. Even so, it’ll
be up to your supervisors. You’ll have to discuss it with them.”
Leaving
the worried officer behind and heading back the way they had come, Green shook
his head. “Don’t they train these people any more? Even a first year cadet
should know better.”
Briscoe
noted dryly, “Now we have the pleasure of telling Mr. and Mrs. Braden that
their worst fears have been realized.”
“At least
they’ll know,” Green pointed out. “I would think that the most difficult thing
for the parents of a missing child is the not knowing. How could you go on with
your life with that hanging over your head?”
“Yeah,”
Briscoe agreed dismally. “I’m sure it will bring them a great deal of relief to
finally know that their daughter was raped, strangled, then dumped into the
river like a piece of garbage. What parent wouldn’t want to know that?”
Green
sighed and shook his head at Briscoe’s steadily darkening mood. With several
more hours of unpleasant work ahead of them, he was looking forward to the day
being over.
***Briscoe and Green broke the news to Joseph and
Holly Braden while sitting in their living room. They were met with predictable
disbelief, and then grief as the couple clutched the crime scene photo. The
detectives offered to drive them to the morgue for the official identification,
but the parents chose instead to meet there after making arrangements to drop
their sons at a neighbor’s home.
Briscoe
was relieved that they arrived at the morgue enough ahead of the Bradens to
give him the opportunity to take care of a final detail.
“Fold the
sheet so that only her face shows,” he instructed the technician. “Her parents
don’t need to see the marks on her neck.”
Once he
saw to it that his request had been carried out to his satisfaction, he and
Green found a coffee machine. They each sipped a cup of steaming liquid while
waiting near the windows that looked into the crypt.
“My
favorite part of the job,” Briscoe noted sarcastically.
“You
never get used to it,” Green agreed.
“At
least, you hope you don’t,” Briscoe commented, focusing his attention on two
approaching figures.
He met
them part way down the hall, suppressing a pang at the untenable hope he
detected on their stricken faces. Irrational as it was, he was all too familiar
with what they were feeling. It was that same hope that had compelled him to
the scene of his own daughter’s murder, to try and disprove with his eyes what
his heart had already known to be true.
“Mr. and
Mrs. Braden, I’m really sorry we have to put you through this.” He turned and led
the way to the observation window, then motioned to the waiting technician.
When the
face of her daughter was revealed, Holly Braden’s hand flew to her mouth as she
let out an involuntary sob. Her knees buckled and only her husband’s and
Green’s quick reactions kept her from collapsing to the floor.
“My baby,
my baby!” she wailed over and over as they supported her between them and
helped her to one of the near-by chairs.
While
Joseph Braden did his best to comfort his inconsolable wife and control his own
tears, Briscoe and Green stood quietly near-by, providing them with at least a
semblance of privacy. When the Bradens had somewhat regained control of their
emotions, the detectives moved closer and offered heartfelt condolences.
“It’s up to
you whether or not you want to attempt it now, but we will need to ask you some
questions about your daughter,” Green gently informed them.
When it
became obvious that the couple was having difficulty making even such a simple
decision, Briscoe suggested, “Why don’t we come by your home tomorrow morning?
We can talk then.”
The
Bradens nodded their consent and finally stood to leave. The detectives
remained in the waiting area until they had disappeared around the corner.
Briscoe
heaved a weary sigh and tossed his empty coffee cup into a trash can.
“Want to
cash in your rain check for dinner after we check in with Lieu?” Green asked.
“I’ll
pass. I don’t feel much like polite dinner conversation,” Briscoe answered.
As they
started down the same hallway the Braden’s had taken, Green rested his hand on
his partner’s shoulder. “Cheer up, Lennie. Tomorrow we’ll start tracking down
the s.o.b. who did this. We’ll make sure he gets what he deserves.”
“We can’t
give this guy what he deserves,” Briscoe disagreed glumly. “Haven’t you heard?
Death by torture is illegal.”