Into the Light (The Light, #1)(31)

I kept remembering the pierced ear of the woman on the table—well, more accurately, the injured ear. Maybe it wasn’t a piercing injury. Maybe I’d read too much into the expression I thought I saw when Tracy Howell looked at me.

When I looked up, I smiled, seeing the doctor walking toward me. She’d looked young at the morgue, but now, with a maxi-skirt, T-shirt, and flip-flops, and her long, dark hair flowing loosely down her back, she looked more like a high school student than a forensic pathologist.

Dr. Howell didn’t return my smile as she settled in the seat across from me. Glancing from side to side, she did little to hide her nerves. “Stella,” she began. “Once again, I apologize for calling you in today. The blonde hair and the body type, both similar to Mindy’s . . . I just had to be sure.”

“Doctor, how many unidentified bodies—female bodies—do you see?”

She shrugged. “Too many.”

I tilted my head. “I’ve been called down twice in two weeks, for blonde females. Is that par for the course?”

Dr. Howell’s let her eyes fall to the table, suddenly interested in a sticky substance left by patrons before us. “I’d be happy to talk about Mindy Rosemont.”

“That’s the thing, I think we are. I think you’re trying to tell me something.” With my hair secured in a low ponytail, my exposed brow rose questioningly. “Is there any chance that I’m on to something?”

She sighed and leaned forward. “I can’t be quoted.”

“You won’t be. I’m not sure if this will become a story. I don’t even know if this will help me find Mindy or at least find out what happened to her, but please, tell me what you know. If I’m totally off base then we can get a beer, rack some balls, and call it a night.”

Dr. Howell looked at me contemplatively. For a moment I expected her to stand and walk to the cue box, but then she sat back and sighed. “Let’s start by you calling me Tracy. I’m not sure what I know. I’ve only been with the Wayne County ME for about five months, but from what I’ve seen, something is going on. We see a lot of gang and gun violence, and historically, the profile of our unclaimed bodies tends to be young males. Ethnicity varies. It used to be more African-Americans and Latinos, but not anymore. White males are dying as fast as everyone else. Those deaths are sad, but they make sense. There are multiple causes: fights, shootings, knives, and of course drugs. With drug deaths we see women too, many of those are prostitutes. The thing that’s different about the more recent female bodies is that many don’t have illegal drugs in their systems. Some, like the one today, are beaten up, but not all. As you’ve heard, we have a backlog on rape kits. But the ones that have been completed often don’t show sexual activity. Many of them have varying degrees of that burned-off fingerprint thing.”

“Are they all blondes?”

“No, their hair color doesn’t seem to matter. They range in age from about eighteen to about thirty.” She slapped the table and firmed her shoulders. “Do you see the problem?”

My eyes widened. “Besides the obvious issue of women dying all around us?”

“I’m talking about the lack of consistency. I’ve taken my concerns to my bosses and been told that it is what it is. We report our findings to the National Center for Health Statistics and they compile statistical data. If there’s an unusual occurrence in their findings, they’ll notify the police and Wayne County. But I don’t think there will be a statistically significant occurrence. The victims vary just enough. While men go missing, it’s the women that I’m the most concerned about. The ones I’ve seen, or learned about while going back in the records, also vary in ethnicity.”

I sipped my lemonade and thought about all she’d just said. “You knew that the woman today wasn’t Mindy, didn’t you?”

“I want you to find your friend. I just thought . . .”

I reached out and covered her hand. “I can’t promise anything. I won’t even take any of this to Bernard until I have more, but I’ll look around, ask some questions, do some research. If there’s any chance that this information will help me find Mindy, I’ll do it.”

Tracy nodded. “I can’t go on the record, but if there’s any way I can help, if you need information, I can . . .” She reached into her purse and took out a flash drive. Handing it to me, she said, “Here. Just know that I’ll deny that what’s on there came from me.”

I rolled the drive between my fingers. “What’s on this?”

“Something that you don’t want to view on a full stomach. I started going back through the records and looking into deaths of women in this specific age group who didn’t fit the typical profile. It’s really the only two matching criteria, age and sex. I only went back ten years. That drive contains names and pictures as well as victims who will forever be nameless. The examination results are there too, if an autopsy was done.”

“Isn’t there always an autopsy with suspicious deaths?”

She shrugged. “Not all the deaths were suspicious. In some cases the cause was obvious. I’ve been putting the data together and looking for a connection. I feel like it’s there, but I just don’t know what it is. I was hoping that maybe you could take a look. Maybe you’ll see a pattern that I don’t.”