Page 117 of Cold, Cold Bones

“When I open her skull, I’m certain I’ll find subdural, subgaleal, and intracerebral hematoma accompanied by massive edema in the parieto-occipital region.”

Slidell’s brows furrowed deeper.

“A blow to the head caused bleeding into her brain.”

Slidell thought about that. “The kid’s hit from behind and goes belly down with her brain busted bad. Maybe she’s dead at that point, maybe not. Then the asshole backs over her to finish the job.”

I see violent death on a regular basis. I know the cruelty andstupidity of which humans are capable. And yet, every time, the same question.

How?

How could someone run down a kid on purpose?

The others watched me cross to the counter and pick up one of the boots. The boots she wore as she walked her last steps on earth. Despite my best effort, a tear broke free and trickled a warm path down my cheek.

Many males are embarrassed in the presence of strong female emotion. Most have mastered the art of nonreaction. The unneeded cough. The shifting feet. The averted eyes.

Slidell went to his fallback, the pointless wristwatch check. Then, “We’ll have the clothing tested, for particulates, whatever.”

I flipped back through the crime scene photos.

Stopped on a close-up of the crumpled body.

Sonofabitchingbastard!

“Have you looked through all of these,” I asked, pulse thrumming because of what I’d just realized.

“I eyeballed them.”

“Look at this.” I tapped the pic I was viewing.

Slidell stepped to my side.

“Notice something off?” I asked.

Slidell got it right away. “The purple is on her belly side.” He pivoted slightly to view the body behind us. “At the scene, she’s lying on her back.”

I turned to Nguyen. “Did the trucker turn her over?”

“He stated that he hadn’t.”

“She wasn’t hit where she was found,” I said, my insides snapping around.

“Could she have died as early as Wednesday night?” Slidell asked.

The pathologist spread her hands, palms up. “It’s possible,” Nguyen said.

Slidell’s question triggered the soul-chilling flashback I’d beenavoiding. A figure in the darkness, a silhouette backlit by double beams closing fast. Lungs burning. Heart hammering. Legs pumping.

Was it really possible?

Ten minutes later Slidell and I were in my office drinking a watery brown liquid that resembled coffee.

“You’re thinking this is the vic I saw run down at SWI?” I asked.

“I’m thinking a lot of things. You got any idea who lured you out there?”

I shook my head. “Might my presence have been coincidental?”