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 Hudson, the sample wasn’t viable for a DNA test. And with the amount of bruising and the characteristics of the tearing that I found, this was definitely her first sexual encounter.”

  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 noon today.” He hit the “copy” key and reached to turn on the printer. “There’s no picture with it, though. Why don’t we go downstairs and see if we can find the uniformed that took the info?”

  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 5:00 yesterday evening to give me the information.”

  “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.”    

 

Chapter 5