When they reached the body Harry stopped four feet away and extended an arm to keep the chief from stepping any closer. Then he dropped his arm and pointed to the mask that rested on the victim’s chest.
“The mask was on her face when we got here,” Harry said. “So I think it’s safe to assume that we’re the only people, aside from the killer, who know her identity. I’m hoping we can keep it that way a bit longer.”
The chief let out a grunt. “That won’t be easy, detective. The media turned this woman into a national celebrity over the past year. We try to hide who it is, they’ll have our livers for lunch.”
“I just need the department to hold it back until we clear the crime scene,” Harry said. “We stand to lose a lot of evidence if an army of reporters and photographers come marching through here or start hovering overhead in helicopters.”
The chief’s eyes hadn’t left the victim’s body, and now seemed concentrated on the thong underwear that had been pulled aside, exposing Darlene Beckett’s trimmed pubis. “You guys pull that underwear away like hat?” he asked.
“No, sir, that’s the way we found her,” Harry said. “About keeping her identity quiet…” he started again.
“You think she was raped?” the chief asked, ignoring him.
“We can’t be sure until the M.E. conducts an examination. I think she had sex recently, but I don’t see any indication it was rape. About her identity…”
The chief let out another grunt. “We can seal off the trail and keep the press out,” he snapped. “I can get as many men in here as you need to get it done.”
“Chief, there are 8,000 acres in this preserve, and as many ways in. We can’t seal off the whole thing. And we can’t stop helicopters from flying over and telling reporters on the ground where we are. These guys are resourceful as hell when they smell something big. The only way to keep them out is by not telling them until we’re ready.”
Rothman glared at him, his voice turning to ice. “You tell Captain Rourke how many men you need. He’ll tell me, and I’ll send them. That’s what I want from you, detective. End of subject.”
Harry gritted his teeth but kept silent. Nothing he could say to this man would make any difference. Behind him he could hear Vicky briefing the others about the crime scene. She might as well do it on a bullhorn, he thought.
“I’ve seen enough,” Rothman said. “I’m ready to go back.”
Harry stepped past him and began the long circle around to the hiking trail. “Try to step in the same footprints you left coming in,” he said over his shoulder.
Rothman ignored him. Harry tightened his jaw and looked for another soft spot that would swallow Rothman’s shoes.
Harry, Vicky, and Pete Rourke stood next to the pond and watched the two deputies who had been guarding the body lead the brass out.
“Lovely day for a walk in the woods,” Vicky said.
“Don’t you start on me too,” Rourke warned. “We have what we have, and we deal with it.”
“Yes, sir,” Vicky said.
Rourke turned to Harry. “Okay, Doyle, let’s get it over with. Say what you have to say.”
Harry looked at him, his face expressionless. “I’d like to keep all information about the mask and the mutilation away from the media as long as possible.”
Rourke drew a long breath, but it was clear his frustration was not directed at them. He kept his gaze on Harry. “I’ll do what I can, and I’ll do it as forcefully as I can.” He waited for Harry to respond and when he didn’t, continued: “While you were in there with the chief we got a call from the deputy at the head of the trail. The crime scene unit is here. They’re working their way back right now. When I get to my car I’ll call the M.E. and tell him to stop screwing around and get his ass out here; I want that broad’s body out of here as fast as possible. I’ll also tell him to keep his mouth shut. The damn woman’s as much trouble dead as she was alive.” He gave each of them a sharp look. “Now get to work and process the goddamn scene.”
Harry sent Vicky to interview the woman who had found the body and the park ranger who was the first officer on the scene. Then he took his crime scene case and went back in to the body. Squatting beside Darlene Beckett he studied the wound in her throat. Because of the depth and the angle of the cut he decided she had been attacked from behind, that the killer had pulled back her head and drawn the blade across her throat. The cut also appeared to have gone from right to left, indicating the killer had used his left hand. It could also mean that fingerprints from the killer’s right hand might be found on the woman’s face.
Next he studied each of the woman’s hands. There was no clear indication of anything beneath the nails, but as they’d noticed earlier, two nails on the right hand were broken. Clearly Darlene Beckett had tried to fight off her killer. A more detailed examination of what might still be lodged beneath her nails could prove valuable, but that was the medical examiner’s job. Harry took two paper bags out of his crime scene case and bagged each hand, making sure nothing that was still under the nails would be lost when the body was transported to the morgue. In the process he noted that rigor mortis had fully set in. Right now he needed to know an approximate time of death, and he knew rigor was the least likely way to get it. He tried a simpler, more accurate test and inserted a hand into Darlene Beckett’s underarm. It was cold and clammy to the touch, telling him she had died eighteen to twenty-four hours ago. That time period would be narrowed during the autopsy, when the M.E. examined the contents of the gastrointestinal tract. He also checked for postmortem lividity and found that Darlene Beckett had probably been transported on her back after being killed.
Next he moved on to check the pubic area for any stains of a stiff, starchy texture indicating dried semen. There was some in the blond pubic hair, as Vicky had noted earlier, and some on the inner thigh. He jotted those locations in his notebook. At the morgue the M.E. would use ultraviolet light to do a more extensive check. He would also take vaginal, anal, and oral swabs to collect any semen still in the body, and send it off for DNA testing. Although in and of itself, it would not prove murder, it would place a suspect in intimate contact with the victim.
Harry turned to the sound of his name and saw Mort Janlow, an assistant county medical examiner, standing on the trail next to the pond. Janlow, a short, pudgy, balding man closing in on fifty, asked how Harry wanted him to enter the scene.
“I’ll come and get you,” Harry called back.
Janlow glanced nervously over his shoulder. “Never mind that,” he shouted back. “Just tell me. There’s a goddamn alligator in this pond, looking at me like I’m his lunch.”
Harry pointed to the area he had used with the chief, making a circular gesture with his arm. “You’ll see a set of tracks over there. They’re ours. Try to follow them in.”
When the M.E. arrived a few minutes later, he set his own case next to Harry’s and squatted beside the body.
“Christ, it is her,” he said. He stared at the mutilation of her forehead. “ Evil.” Janlow nodded his head, but Harry couldn’t tell if it was in agreement with the sentiment, or just an acknowledgment of the killer’s opinion. “We’ll fingerprint her at the morgue to make sure it’s her. But I sure as hell don’t have any doubts. If I remember correctly her ex-husband lives in Clearwater and her parents are up in Port Richey. We’ll have to get one of them for a positive.” He glanced up at Harry, his round, cherubic, normally smiling face now filled with concern. “Deep down I was hoping you guys were wrong.” He looked back at the body and shook his head. “This circus is going to be a three-ring Lollapalooza, my lad. I hope you know that.”
“It’s why we wanted you here as soon as possible,” Harry said. “One other thing. I’d like to keep the mask and the mutilation under wraps.”
“I know. I know. I already listened to Rourke snap and growl about all of it,” Janlow said. “But I’m here, and understand the situation, and I know we can’t afford to screw this one up. So don’t rush me. Just tell me what you already found.”