Her Last Word(28)

A car drove by, and she sidestepped into a line of trees separating the river from the road. To steady herself on the sloping bank, she placed her hand on one of the trees. Its broken branch scratched her palm, and in an instant a memory emerged.

It was Gina’s abductor. “I told you I’d come for you, Gina.”

She closed her eyes and replayed the words that until now had remained locked in her subconscious. Was she remembering Randy’s voice? She focused, trying to trigger more memories. She waited. Listened. But instead, the sounds of the river and wind in the trees came back.

Frustrated, she headed back to her car. “I’ll make this right, Gina.”



Adler was still processing Kaitlin’s comments from their meeting as he dialed his phone. In the light of day, she had looked softer, not quite as tough as he’d first thought the night before. She had opened up to him a little, but still kept him at arm’s length.

Trey Ricker with the Commonwealth Attorney’s office didn’t pick up. Adler wasn’t surprised when it rolled to voicemail. “Trey, this is Adler. Got an idea to run past you about an inmate named Randy Hayward. Call me. Thanks.”

He checked his watch. The Gina Mason case file should be on his desk by morning. In the meantime, he had the grim task of attending Jennifer Ralston’s autopsy.

The drive along Broad Street from Church Hill into the heart of the city took less than ten minutes. He parked in front of the state medical examiner’s building on East Jackson Street and made his way into the gray granite office. The state offices usually were closing by now, but given the nature of this crime, the medical examiner assigned to the case had agreed to expedite the examination of Jennifer Ralston. He rode the elevator to the basement.

A weight had settled on his shoulders as he pictured Jennifer lying lifeless in her shower. It never got easier. He knew the day it did, he needed to pack it in.

Adler stripped off his jacket and pulled on a set of scrubs. He found Quinn already gowned up at the foot of a gurney holding a sheet-clad figure. At the head of the table was Dr. Tessa McGowan, one of the pathologists who worked for the state medical examiner’s office. Dr. McGowan was the newest to the team, but she’d quickly established herself as a top-notch professional. She stood a few inches over five foot and had a trim build kept fit by hiking and running. Black hair peeked out from her surgical cap, framing large expressive eyes. In her early thirties, she was also married to an agent with the state police.

“Detective Adler. We were just getting started,” Dr. McGowan said as she pulled on latex gloves.

“Sorry for the delay. I went by the murder scene again to revisit a few observations.”

Without looking at Quinn, he could tell she was expecting him to comment further. She would have to wait.

Dr. McGowan slid on protective eye gear and nodded to her assistant, a tall, slim man also gowned up. He pulled back the sheet to reveal Jennifer Ralston’s pale nude body.

Adler mentally distanced himself. He couldn’t think of her as a person. Her body was evidence now and demanded his full attention. The remains would tell the story of her death and possibly her killer’s identity.

The victim’s head rested in a cradle, her chin slightly tipped up to expose her neck. This position showcased the wound slicing deep across the neck and traveling over the jugular. Her blond hair, brushed back, accentuated the pallid face sprinkled with a dozen freckles over the bridge of the nose. The jaw was slack, the lips a faint blue.

Dr. McGowan tugged the overhead microphone a couple of inches toward her and began the autopsy with an external examination. She noted the injuries to the neck and abdomen and inventoried specific details. The first were the tattoos, including a peace sign on the underside of her wrist, and on her left hip the letters GM encircled by a heart. GM had to mean Gina Mason, and the heart resembled the one he’d found on the notes and her shower wall. On the right knee was a faint two-inch scar.

Dr. McGowan then reviewed a series of X-rays with the detectives. “She does have an old spiral fracture on her right wrist. It healed years ago but is likely attributable to someone or something twisting her arm so badly it broke.”

“Any estimate on how long ago?” Adler asked.

“A dozen years perhaps.” Dr. McGowan noted Jennifer Ralston by all appearances had been a healthy thirty-two-year-old woman.

Quinn shifted her stance but gave no other signal that the autopsy might have been bothering her.

Dr. McGowan peered up at the detective but said nothing. “Victim was stabbed five times. Three to her abdomen, once on her left forearm, which appears to be a defensive wound, and finally the strike that killed her, a slice through the jugular.”

“The arterial blood spray on her shower walls supports the theory her heart was pumping when he inflicted the neck wound,” Adler said.

“If you note the angles of the cuts, they all appear to slice downward.” She curled her fingers into a fist and made a downward motion, simulating a knife strike. “Her killer was likely taller, or she may have fallen to the floor before the wounds were inflicted.”

“She’s what, five foot seven?” Adler asked.

“And a half,” Dr. McGowan noted.

“She could have been sitting in the shower to shave her legs,” Quinn said.

Adler arched a brow but didn’t comment.

Quinn shrugged. “You try standing in a shower stall and shaving your legs. I dare you.”