Page 10 of What’s Left of Us (What Left #3)

“Indeed,” Briggs says, setting the skull down gently again. “It's substantial enough that I've ruled COD as blunt force trauma. There are no other markings on bones indicating that anything else caused this man to die.”

I blow out a breath. “Five-foot-ten you said? That makes him a little shorter than Porscha. She’s right at six foot.”

“I’m sure Ms. Surwright is at the top of your suspect list since she was staying in the old house,” Briggs explains, rounding the examination table before he moves to the other one.

I slide my hands into my pockets and follow as he continues talking.

“Perhaps she had something to do with that body, but this I find far more interesting.”

“The hands?” I ask.

He nods before reaching out, indicating the spot where the bone is cut off from the body. “The hand was severed here at the wrist joint. It’s sloppy work, not like the stab wounds Porscha is known for inflicting on victims.”

“She’s not known for removing body parts either,” I remind Briggs.

“There’s that,” he agrees. “This body isn’t as old as our first victim. This victim was most likely female, given the hand size and shape. They were also removed pre-mortem.”

“Before she died?” I ask with a frown. “That indicates a severe amount of torture. It’s personal.”

“I sent this victim's DNA off as well,” Briggs explains. “Without fingerprints it might take a little longer for results, but so far I haven’t found anything in the systems to help us determine who either of the victims were. It’s my understanding that Ms. Soto is working on that on your end.”

I nod. “Do you think these hands match the Jane Doe from sixteen years ago?”

“The woman who was misidentified?” Briggs asks, already making his way across the room. “I’m positive. The markings on both the hands and Jane Doe match. They are the same victim. And this victim did not die at the same time that our John Doe did.”

Following him across the room, I shoot both sets of remains another look. The more Briggs explains, the more questions I have. “How far apart do you think they died?”

“Oh,” he says, looking at the drawers and checking his chart on the wall before opening one. “John Doe there died approximately thirty-ish years ago. Jane Doe? Closer to fifteen.”

“Fifteen?” I ask, surprise shooting through me. That means… “She was alive during the Citrus Grove Slayer killings?”

“I estimate she probably died towards the beginning of those,” Briggs says. “Fifteen, sixteen years perhaps. I don’t have an exact DOD yet, but the remains aren’t nearly as old.”

My mind spins. If the body is only fifteen or so years old, Porscha could have killed this person just to have someone to put in her place if she planned on dying. This could be considered premeditation, but how far back?

And if there’s a fifteen to twenty year gap between the bodies, is it really Diana? Why would she disappear in the 90s if she wasn’t dead for another fifteen years?

Briggs opens one of the drawers, pulling the body out and flipping the sheet back. The face is nothing but a skull now, and in the initial reports from the CGS case the poor woman had her face bludgeoned beyond recognition.

“This is our Jane Doe,” Briggs says, shaking his head.

Briggs turns and straightens his glasses before I can clarify who this is. “Remember the body you had me exhume from Porscha’s gave?”

I do a double take before nodding. Now that I’m focusing on the face, I realize there’s only a few teeth in the skull. “This is her?”

“Yessir,” Briggs says with a sigh. “Hands were missing, but after we found those two, I took the liberty of seeing if they were a match since we had both a body without hands and hands with no body. Looks like they are a match.”

“And you’re working to figure out who this person was?”

“She,” Briggs clarifies. “She might be in the wrong grave, but Porscha was smart enough to use a female body in her place. Now if only Dr. Whitmore was better at documenting things. I’m beginning to think he left things out of his notes on purpose.”

I look towards him, frowning. “What makes you say that?”

He gestures to the head. “See the face? I’ve seen Porscha’s all over the news, her cheekbones are fairly pronounced.

Here, even before the face was smashed, the cheekbones weren’t sharp.

This person had soft, delicate facial features and a rounder face than Porscha has.

Any medical student should be able to see that much, and Whitmore was supposed to be renowned for his craft.

He did plenty of cases with the FBI and his findings always held up in court.

There’s no reason he should have missed things like this in his report. ”

“So he would’ve known this wasn’t Porscha,” I repeat.

“Of course. He couldn’t lie about that. If he was still alive he would absolutely be questioned about this, and if he were still practicing his license would be called into question for falsifying facts like this.

Whoever she was, she looked nothing like Porscha in life.

Not only that, but this skeleton is only five-foot-six.

She’s too short to have ever been Porscha Surwright. ”

Nodding, I’m already digging for my phone. This complicates things. I’m not sure why Whitmore would have a reason to lie, but if he did, why would he cover for Porscha of all people?

“Let me know when you get the analysis back on the DNA,” I say, and Briggs nods as I turn. “Sounds like we’re going to be questioning Porscha about a whole lot of things, including these two, and maybe Dr. Whitmore.”