Page 19 of Beyond Her Reach (Bree Taggert #10)

“I hate autopsies.” Matt shivered. The sterile and clinical nature of the procedures always seemed like an additional insult to the body of a person already victimized once. But it was necessary in order to bring a killer to justice. Every gain had a cost.

“No one likes them.” Bree turned into the lot. “We can check in with forensics while we’re here.”

The medical examiner’s office shared a building with the forensics lab in the county municipal complex.

The rain continued as they parked and hustled across the lot to the front door.

Matt stamped his feet in the lobby and shook water off his jacket.

Cold rain wasn’t his favorite weather, but nature’s mood felt like a good precursor to a brutal autopsy.

Bree checked in with the receptionist, who sent them back to the autopsy suite.

Since the procedure was complete, they didn’t fully suit up before pushing through the door.

The sting of formalin hit his nostrils. Bright side: the body was relatively fresh, without the overwhelming smell of decomposition.

Today, the room smelled more like a cross between a meat locker and a science lab.

Dr. Jones stood in front of a rolling cart equipped with a laptop. She still wore her gown over her scrubs but had removed her face shield and gloves.

The body lay on a stainless-steel table. The ME’s assistant was closing the Y-incision. Except for the autopsy cuts and the neck slash, the rest of the body looked perfect.

Dr. Jones greeted them with a lift of her chin. “You want the CliffsNotes?”

“Yes, please,” Bree responded.

Dr. Jones began. “Victim was a healthy forty-five-year-old female with no obvious conditions that would have contributed to her death. Autopsy results confirm the postmortem interval determined at the scene. She died between noon and six p.m. on Monday. You can read the details on wound biomechanics in my report. I’ll summarize by saying the victim died by exsanguination, caused by the cut to the neck.

The blade on the box cutter is consistent with the neck wound.

The debris in the wounds looks like cardboard, but the lab will confirm.

” She cleared her throat. “Measurements confirm she was attacked from behind by a right-handed assailant.”

Matt said, “Which is ninety percent of the population, including both of our suspects.”

“The neighbor is also right-handed,” Bree added.

Dr. Jones scrolled. “She ate chicken and lettuce shortly before she died. If you can determine what time she ate, you might be able to narrow down the time of death window. Tox screens are pending. That’s about it for significant findings.”

“Was she pregnant?” Bree asked.

“Pregnant?” Dr. Jones tilted her head. “No. Did you expect her to be?”

“The man she’d been dating said she told him she was,” Bree said.

“She was not,” Dr. Jones confirmed.

“So she was lying,” Bree said.

“Not necessarily.” Dr. Jones contemplated the body. “At her age, she might have confused perimenopausal symptoms with pregnancy. Dramatic fluctuations in hormones can cause similar mood swings and shifts in the menstrual cycle.”

“Her claim could have been completely innocent?” Bree asked.

“Definitely. In layman’s terms, when a woman approaches menopause, things get weird.” Dr. Jones turned back to her computer. “I’ll send the preliminary report in a day or two and lab results as they come in.”

“Thank you,” Bree said.

Matt gratefully led the way out of the autopsy suite. Even though they hadn’t touched anything, both Matt and Bree washed their hands before heading for the forensics lab.

Bree’s phone buzzed in the hallway. She answered the call. “Juarez.”

“Ma’am. I went to all five properties near the Ryder cabin on Blackbird Lake. Two of the places have clearly been unoccupied for some time. The other three homeowners all said they know who Mr. Ryder is but haven’t seen him lately. He’s known for being reclusive.”

“That’ll be all. Thanks, Juarez.” Bree slid the phone back into her pocket. “Dead end there. I hope Rory has something for us.”

The door was open. Matt knocked on the frame. Rory MacIniss looked up from his computer. “I was just typing an email to you.”

“You have news?” Bree asked.

“More of an update.” He gestured toward his laptop.

“I was sending you the list of evidence collected at the crime scene. Nothing popped out as unusual to me, but you might find something of interest.” He tapped on the keyboard.

“Secondly, the red substance on the box cutter is human blood. A sample of the blood on the box cutter and the T-shirt it was wrapped in have been sent for DNA analysis. The blood type matches the victim, but she was O positive. So that would be more meaningful if it didn’t match. ”

Thirty-eight percent of the population was O positive.

Rory continued. “We found no usable fingerprints, but the handle was swabbed for touch DNA.”

“The killer probably wore gloves,” Matt said.

“But they usually make a mistake somewhere.” Rory was thorough. If the killer got sloppy, he would find the error.

Bree leaned a hip on the stainless-steel table. “Dr. Jones mentioned that the victim ate chicken and lettuce shortly before she died. Would you check her phone for a food order on Monday?”

“Of course. We found a Styrofoam food container in the trash, so we know she ordered takeout recently. I haven’t had a chance to dig into every app on her phone.” Rory turned away from his computer and picked up a smartphone in a pink skin that sat next to a laptop.

Bree pointed. “Is that Kelly’s computer?”

“Yes. We broke the passcode, but again, accessing everything on it might take a few days.” There were other techs to handle evidence collection, but Rory was the digital whiz.

“You’re only one person.” Matt always wanted Rory to handle the tech.

“Better to be right than fast,” Bree agreed.

Rory nodded. “And we’re down a tech. I should be able to devote all day tomorrow to Kelly’s digital life.

” He tapped on Kelly’s phone screen. Everything had already been fingerprinted and swabbed for touch DNA, so gloves were no longer necessary.

“She used DoorDash to order a chicken Caesar salad and a lentil soup. The food was delivered at 3:05 p.m. on Monday.”

For someone on a budget, paying a delivery fee for one meal seemed expensive.

“She was probably alive at that point anyway,” Matt said. “But we should verify.”

“Can you send us Kelly’s account data?” Bree pulled out her notepad and wrote down the restaurant information.

Matt said, “We need to talk to the driver and see if she answered the door or if he left the order.”

“That’s a process.” Bree shoved her notepad in her pocket. “I’ll put a deputy on it.”

“Are the techs done going through Troy Ryder’s house and cabin?” Matt asked.

Rory returned Kelly’s phone to the table with the other evidence and pulled out his own device.

He typed with his thumbs. “They’re packing up right now.

” He sent another text. “There was one item of note at the house. They found a single white sock in the hamper with a spot of human blood on it. Odd thing is, all the rest of his socks are black. At the cabin, they only found the bloody paper towel you pointed out.”

Discomfort pooled in Matt’s empty belly like grease. “If he was on his way to ditch the box cutter and T-shirt, would he have overlooked a bloody sock?”

Bree lifted a shoulder. “He waited twenty-four hours to ditch the box cutter. Maybe he was in panic mode.”

Matt pictured him in the interview room. “He didn’t look like the type to panic.”

“We’ve seen weirder things.” Bree rested a hand on the radio on her duty belt.

“But we also didn’t see the driver of the car.” Matt couldn’t picture Troy making mistakes this big. He was definitely intelligent, and they’d seen no signs of impulsive behavior.

“So someone is framing him?” Bree asked. “We need actual proof beyond he’s too smart to have made mistakes .”

“As the boyfriend, Troy is the obvious suspect. If I were going to frame someone, I’d pick him.”