Stillwell nodded to James and departed as quickly—and silently—as he could. James returned to the autopsy of Amanda Carlyle. As was the protocol, Stevens began to slowly remove each item of Amanda's clothing once Roberts was satisfied there was no further evidence to be gathered. Soon the young woman lay naked before the four men.
"She's got herself a tramp stamp," noted Roberts pointing to her freshly shaved pubic area.
James looked closer. "Looks new too."
Roberts and James leaned in to get a better view. Kirkland stepped away from the table.
"Think I'll skip this show guys."
James furrowed his brow as he attempted to read the tattoo. "It looks like a drawing of a pig. What does that say?"
Roberts clicked his recorder on. "Decedent has a single color tattoo on the mons pubis. Pictured is a cartooned design of a pig facing towards the left side of the body, with the words on the side of it reading: 'I Get Sex: Sin' The colon could also be used to denote the symbol for the word 'equal' meaning, 'I Get Sex, equals Sin.' "
Roberts looked at James for a reaction. James shrugged his shoulders. He then returned to the wall next to Kirkland. Roberts resumed talking into his recorder once again dictating the current state of the body. Stopping he placed his hand on her chin. Slowly turning her head left and then repeating the ritual by turning it to the right. Confused both James and Kirkland watched him.
"This girl has had a cerebral hemorrhage," said Roberts.
James pulled himself away from the wall.
"Really?"
Roberts motioned for James to come join him.
"Look there, the eye on the right. See how the pupil is all the way open and the eye on the left appears to be normal?"
James nodded his understanding.
"Her brain has been blown out. I guarantee once we get inside the skull there will be blood, this may not be a homicide boys."
James was suddenly confounded.
"Wait a second, this girl was alive last night at a club with another girl. I know it's odd she ended up in a funeral home ahead of schedule, but how can you say it might not be a homicide?"
"Come on, Tom, this sort of thing can be congenital, weak arteries, high blood pressure, habitual cocaine abuse. How do you know she's not a junkie?"
"So she just brings a life sized portrait of herself to the local mortuary, finds a casket she fancies, shoots a little smack and hops in?" James asked. "Come on Larry, look at her, she's beautiful. I admit that she's dead, but does she look like a junkie?"
Roberts put his recorder down. "Remember your first case, the 10-year-old girl? Same thing, her grandfather said she slept all weekend long, he thought she had the flu, when he finally came in to wake her up she had been dead two days."
"I remember."
Kirkland cut into the conversation. "So what was it?"
Roberts turned to him. "We couldn't figure out what had happened based on the history. Then I saw the overly dilated pupil. Examined her arms for signs of shooting up, nothing. Then I remembered a colleague of mine had dealt with a similar case. You remember what I did Tom?" asked the doctor.
"Yeah, you looked between her fingers with a magnifying glass."
"Exactly, and that's where we found the needle marks."
Kirkland was stunned. "You're kidding me. A 10-year-old was shooting cocaine?"
"Wayne, get my magnifying glass," ordered Roberts.
In moments the doctor was checking Amanda's hands. From his expression James could tell he wasn't finding anything. Roberts then moved down to the girl's feet and spread her toes. His expression changed once again to one of triumph.
"Bingo," said Roberts.
Kirkland shook his head in denial.
"She actually shot up between her toes?"
"That means she's hiding her drug use from someone," said James.
"Is it possible, Dr. Roberts, she didn't inject herself?" asked Kirkland.
"You're suggesting perhaps that her injections were forced?" quizzed the pathologist.
"Yeah."
"Sure it's possible, but I don't see any signs that her feet or ankles had been bound or held down."
Their attention was suddenly taken to the swinging doors. Stillwell stood out of breath. His faced covered in sweat and his complexion pale.
"Tom, you're not going to believe this! You're old guy, 84-year-old Richard Skylar. He's not Richard Skylar at all. He's 95-year-old, Hermann Kritzler."
"Okay, so the old guy lied about his age and changed his name. Big deal," said Kirkland.
"Who the hell is Hermann Kritzler?" asked James as he saw Roberts face go white.
"Reinhard's rapist," said the doctor in a hollow tone.
"Reinhard's what? What are you guys talking about?" asked James.
"Reinhard Heydrich was Himmler's number one man. He ran the Belzek death camp. Kritzler, was chosen to organize transportation of Poles and Jews to Belzek," said Roberts.
"This guy is a Nazi?" asked Kirkland
"He's not just any Nazi, he's a Nazi who actually begged and bribed Heydrich for his position at Belzek. A position that gave him total control over deciding which women would go immediately to the gas chambers and which would be selected for his special project."
"Special project?" asked Kirkland.
"Women began learning that they could avoid the gas chamber if they begged him for sex which he eagerly indulged in. He still had them killed anyway. Along with the ones who didn't offer him sex, usually the younger girls. Those were the ones he took special pleasure in raping." Roberts paused for a moment. "Later, when he came to Auschwitz the raping didn't stop, he continued at the same time having an affair with one of the women guards, Irma Grese. She took revenge by strangling the girls with their own hair." Roberts sounded as if he was reciting a biography, James thought.
"If I'm not mistaken, wasn't it against the law for Germans to have sex with Jews?" asked Kirkland.
Roberts nodded.
"Then why would a Nazi want to have sex with a race of women he hated?"
"Rape is a act of violence, not affection detective," said Roberts.
"This frail old man?" quizzed James.
"This frail old man is a sadistic fiend!" said Roberts pointedly.
"He's been on the Mossad's most wanted list for the last 60 years. His fingerprints came up instantly when I ran them through the system," explained Stillwell.
James mind was a whirlwind of confusion.
"You sure about this, Bobby? You're sure this old man is a Nazi, who's been on the run for the better part of the twentieth century?"
Roberts slowly walked over and looked into the face of the old man. An old man whose hands were now bound together with barbed wire and a knotted electrical cord tied around his neck.
"It's him," said the doctor.
"How do you know?" asked Kirkland.
"I think this says it all," said Roberts.
Kirkland's stomach turned as he saw the doctor unbutton his shirt cuff and roll up his sleeve, revealing a faded blue numerical tattoo.
"You were there?"
"From 1942 until I was moved to Auschwitz in 1944."
"Jesus, I'm sorry none of us had a clue," apologized James. Roberts nodded his acceptance.
"You realize Tom, I can't proceed with the autopsy."
"Why not?"
"Because of who he is, we have to notify the FBI, State Department, and the German Embassy, just for starters."
Kirkland's head was still swimming from the twist the events had just taken.
"You just became an international celebrity Tom."
"Great this is all I need. A case with no answers, weird serial killer kind of murders and on top of that the guy has to be a Nazi war criminal," lamented James.
Stevens face contorted into an expression of curious puzzlement as he began placing Amanda Carlyle's clothing into an evidence bag when something metal fell from her handbag, clanging against the cold tile floor. Wayne reached down and picked it up.