Page 11 of The Hanging Dolls (Zoe Storm #1)

TEN

Zoe drummed her fingers on the steering wheel.

It was a bleak morning—sky painted with a dull gray and clouds lazily gliding.

She sipped on her coffee with three sugars, hoping for the caffeine to kick in after a sleepless night.

But her brain was too foggy after the discovery in the woods.

It was refusing to wake up and begin solving that puzzle.

She was getting used to the perpetual grimness of the Pacific Northwest. The cold she could tolerate.

She had spent years in the windy city. But the lack of people and noise in this town grated on her nerves at times.

The silence and vast stretches of empty land was agonizing, making it harder to be her regular chirpy self.

But she couldn’t afford to let the depressing nature of her job drag her down.

When Scott’s car pulled up next to hers, she climbed out. He emerged, looking as tired as she felt, his hair disheveled and tie askew. “Morning.”

“Morning.” She handed him a cup. “We need some working neurons.”

“Where’s Dr. Wesley?”

“He’s going through the archives to check if this MO matches any old or cold case.”

He grumbled something and took the cup and led her to the chalky white block of building that Zoe thought was the hub of drug deals before finding out it was the coroner’s office.

The space was stark and clinical, walls tiled in white, giving the room a sterile and antiseptic feel. A harsh fluorescent lighting buzzed faintly overhead. The smell of disinfectant hung heavy in the air.

The coroner, with thick glasses, a stubble, and gloved hands, came up to them. “Detective Cohen and Agent Storm. Please follow me.”

Zoe’s footsteps echoed in the hallway as they rounded into a room with a steel autopsy table in the center, gleaming under the bright lights.

The body of Lily Baker lay on a stretcher beside the autopsy table, covered with a crisp, white sheet.

Zoe almost tripped over her feet but steadied herself against the frame.

Currents ran up and down her skin like little snakes.

Next to her, Scott stilled, his jaw locked so tight that it looked like it would break if he released the pressure.

She decided to distract herself with the details of the room. The table was slightly tilted, with a drainage system at one end. Nearby, a stainless-steel cart was lined with various surgical instruments, meticulously arranged in neat rows: scalpels, forceps, scissors, all cleaned and ready for use.

“Do you know the cause of death?” Scott asked, his voice thick.

The coroner stood on the other side of the table. He turned on a monitor which displayed a detailed scan of Lily’s body. “An X-ray of her neck confirms that she was strangled. The hyoid bone was broken.” He spoke with an odd melody in his tone.

“What was used to strangle her?” Zoe asked.

“The ligature marks on the neck of the victim match the texture of the rope. The rope has been sent to the crime lab to lift any DNA or prints. The marks were slightly angled and the bruising on the neck was more pronounced on the sides of the neck, suggesting that the assailant most likely strangled the victim from behind.”

“Did she struggle?” Zoe tried not to look at the body, albeit covered, just a foot away from her. Somehow its small size was taking up the entire room.

“No defensive wounds found anywhere. We have collected samples from under the fingernails. We’ll have the results by this evening but I don’t think we’ll find anything there.”

“Were there any signs of… assault?” Scott rubbed his forehead.

The coroner crossed his arms. “There was no injury indicating sexual assault. Protocol dictates to swab it anyway, which we did, but I’m ruling it a negative.”

Zoe’s mind ticked over the note that was found with the rope. “Okay. Anything on the tox screen?”

“Yes.” He pulled up the tox screen results on the monitor. “We found high levels of chloroform and trace amounts of Loratadine, which is the active ingredient in Claritin.”

“Chloroform has a short half-life in the body. One to three hours,” Scott said. “If it was found in large quantities that would suggest recent exposure prior to death.”

“That’s why the victim didn’t struggle. Killer knocked her out and then strangled her,” the coroner agreed.

“And what about the Claritin?” Zoe asked. “When do you think that was administered?”

“If we extrapolate based on her weight, age, and the contents of her stomach, I would say around two days ago.”

“Two days ago, when she was in captivity. Do we know what she’s allergic to?” She turned to Scott.

“The parents would be able to shed light on that one.” Scott scratched his ear. “Travis visited them last night, but we still need to go and talk to them.”

Zoe remembered the first time she had informed a parent their child had been found dead. The mother had gone into an erratic shock episode, unleashing a barrage of slaps and punches at Zoe. She absorbed them all and didn’t let anyone stop her. She knew what grief felt like.

“We’re also checking the contents of the stomach. Will send the report as soon as it’s available.” The coroner pressed his lips in a thin line and escorted them out of the room before disappearing around the corner into one of the laboratories.

Zoe slumped against the wall, her eyes catching the covered body of Lily all alone in the room.

There was something so uncouth and immoral about how they had got to the truth.

The town of Harborwood had spent days and nights searching for a little girl, and now here she was lying on a stretcher in an autopsy room.

“In the two days that I’ve known you, this is the longest you’ve been quiet,” Scott said gently.

“Yeah, it feels wrong to have a light conversation right now but it’s the only way I seem to compartmentalize.”

He nodded. “So what do you think?”

She didn’t respond and instead dialed Aiden. “You’re on speaker. It’s me.”

“Yes, I have your number saved.” His dry voice filtered through. “How did the autopsy go?”

“He gave her Claritin, Aiden.” A beat of silence. She bit her lip. “Well?”

“Were there signs of any other kind of assault?”

“None at all. She wasn’t even dehydrated or malnourished for someone who was in captivity for four days.”

“That would suggest two things—either this is the killer’s first kill or it’s someone who knows her well. We aren’t looking at a sadist. Were there any other signs that he hesitated?”

“Yeah!” Scott’s eyes widened at the thought. “He strangled her from behind.”

“Avoiding seeing her face. Suggests a guilty conscious.”

“I plucked a flower. Please stop me from stealing a star,” Scott recited from memory as he paced the small hallway. “He sounded apologetic. Think he’s being forced by someone?”

“No. If he was he wouldn’t have left the note like that so out in the open for us to find,” Zoe said.

“It appears that the killer is experiencing an intrapsychic conflict. There’s a struggle between his primal urges and his Superego, which is moral conscious. Their Ego , which mediates the two, has broken down, manifesting as a plea for intervention. They are unable to self-regulate.”

“So we’re dealing with an insane killer?” Scott muttered.

“It takes some kind of insanity to kill someone,” she whispered.

A memory surfaced in the back of her mind.

It was a balmy day in Frisco, a suburb of Dallas, when Zoe was in the backyard, watering the yellow, dying grass.

Texas heat was dry and abrasive. She was convinced that her skin would start shedding.

Gina spent all her time inside even though she was cranky about being unable to run around.

Beads of sweat trickled down her back as she hosed the little backyard in wide sweeps.

Rachel came outside carrying a basket of washing to hang out.

The piercing sound of sirens punctured the air. Zoe’s head whipped to Rachel. Rachel’s back straightened like a stiff arrow. Her rattled eyes met hers and then they both sprinted to the front of the house, following the noise.

“What’s happening?” Zoe asked her.

Rachel was in a state of panic, breathing hard, her face cinched with worry. She held Zoe close as other neighbors started coming out of their houses to see what was going on. There were two cop cars parked in front of a house at the end of the row.

“Mom, what is it?” she asked.

Rachel’s eyes narrowed when the cops escorted a man out of the house. She assessed the thickset man with a sneer, wearing a wifebeater. Behind him a woman was crying and being comforted by another cop. “It’s okay… we’re okay.” Rachel sighed in relief and crushed Zoe against her. “We’re okay…”

“What are you talking about?”

“Nothing.” She wiped the tears running down her face. “I just got worried. I need you girls to be safe.”

“Why would we be unsafe?”

Rachel never replied.