torn.” Sara used the penlight again. She moved the legs farther apart. She told Jeffrey, “Zoom in.”
He watched the LED screen as the Camcorder’s lens went into macro-mode. The spandex between the girl’s legs had been torn apart. He saw thick clots of dried blood and what looked like sharp slivers of glass shredding through the material, similar to an explosion caught mid-detonation. The pants had been ripped from the inside out.
Brock asked, “What is that?”
“A wooden handle,” Sara said. “He broke off the hammer inside of her.”
Atlanta
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Faith stared at the picture of the broken handle. The photographer had laid it out on a piece of white paper with a ruler beside it for scale. The weapon had been cleaned, but blood and feces had soaked into the grain. The part where the head of the hammer would’ve been was splintered off. The wooden spikes jutted out like broken teeth.
Sara said, “The severed handle could only be removed by dissecting the vaginal vault. It was deep inside of her, far enough to fracture the bones of the pubic arch. Best guess is that the killer kicked the head of the hammer. It broke off at the thinnest point, which is the neck.”
Faith had stopped breathing. She had to look away from the photograph.
Sara said, “There was a manufacturer’s mark on the base of the handle. The hammer was of a type called a mechanic’s or a machinist’s hammer. The handle is wide at the bottom, then tapers up to the neck.”
Will said, “That’s the kind you use to beat out dents in car panels.”
“Right,” Sara said. “It’s got a flat head on one end and the other end has a long peen tipped with a conical dye. From my recollection, there was nothing special about it. You could buy it off the shelf or order it online.”
“Recollection?” Amanda asked. “You didn’t find the information in the reports?”
“A copy of the autopsy report was in the files last night, but I don’t have access to my personal notes. Those would be in Brock’s files along with toxicology, lab reports, measurements, and photos that were taken at the scene. By law, he was the coroner of record, so I was simply treated as an advisor to his office. We didn’t want to break the chain of evidence.”
Amanda said, “I want that information.”
“I’ll call him.” Sara went back to the autopsy. “Leslie Truong had a puncture wound at C5. Based on films, the puncture is consistent with the circumference and length of the device that paralyzed Beckey Caterino.”
Amanda said, “And Alexandra McAllister, the White County victim who was autopsied yesterday, had the same type puncture, located at C5.”
“What about the other stuff?” Faith asked. “Did McAllister have the fistula?”
“No, but she was violently raped. There were fissures around and inside of the vagina. The walls showed scraping with some type of sharp instrument. The clitoris had been ripped.”
Sara paused, and Faith was grateful for the moment.
“From an investigatory standpoint, we got lucky,” Sara said. “The hiking pants McAllister was wearing were a heavy, waterproof material. Normally, predators go for the orifices, so the murderer likely assumed that any damage he caused during the rape would be blamed on predator activity.”
Faith had to ask, “The coroner didn’t notice her clit was ripped off?”
“He didn’t see a legitimate reason to perform a pelvic exam. He might have noticed during the embalming. Cotton is packed into the orifices to prevent leakage.”
Faith could not suppress a shudder.
Sara continued, “My visual exam of McAllister yesterday morning confirmed most of what the coroner found, which is that the death was accidental. Without X-rays, the head wound passed for a skull fracture from impact against a rock. It was only when I checked for a spinal puncture that I made the connection to Grant County. Had I not known what I was looking for, I might have missed it. Had I missed it, I never would’ve brought McAllister back here for a full autopsy.”
The lesson in transparency was clearly meant for Amanda, who responded, “Thank you for the chronology, Dr. Linton.”
Sara continued, “The theory in Grant County was that the killer was at the nascent stage. He saw each new victim as a learning opportunity to hone his skills. Tommi’s attack was botched, for lack of a less appalling way to describe it. Beckey lived. Truong did not. Now, we fast forward eight years. Alexandra McAllister’s murder was convincingly made to look accidental. If you asked me to look at