Ellis, right? Thanks for contacting us.” She introduced them, and Ellis motioned them to follow as he turned toward the trees.
“You have a positive ID on the victim?” O’Donnell asked as they stepped off the trail and into the brush, leaves and twigs crackling under their feet.
“We took her fingerprints to verify, but it’s Henrietta Fishburne. She matches the photographs we have of her, and there are two small scars on the left ankle, which match scars that Fishburne got in a bicycle accident as a kid. We didn’t find her bag. No phone either.” He paused and glanced at them. “They told me this might be related to another case. Was there anything in that case that pointed to devil worship?”
“Devil worship?” Zoe asked, bewildered.
“Better see for yourselves,” he said grimly and resumed walking.
A few people were milling around by the trees, all wearing gloves. The river was now in full view in front of them, its green water shimmering in the sunlight, tiny eddies upon its surface. Both banks were lined with trees. A crime scene technician crouched by the muddy bank, placing another evidence marker. There were officers on the opposite bank, too, spread to keep away an enterprising media crew and curious bystanders who were trying to catch a glimpse of the proceedings. The stench of death was much worse as they got closer, and Zoe took short shallow breaths.
As Zoe moved forward, she got her first glimpse of the body, a dark foot. She took a few more steps, eyes widening in disbelief.
It was a graphic account of the woman’s last moments, told in violence. She lay naked on her back. Curly hair, spattered in mud and filth. Black bruises on ribs, face, thighs, scraped knees. A knife, stuck deep in her belly. Flies buzzed around the body, and Zoe did her best to avoid looking at the eyes, where she’d glimpsed maggots crawling.
The body was framed within a large uneven white circle, splotched on the ground, lines crisscrossing it inside. It took Zoe a few moments to realize what it was. A pentagram, drawn in paint on the rough earth.
She could already feel the toll she would pay later for this glimpse of pain. A dark churn in the back of her mind, trying to get free. She mentally boxed it, shoving it away, and stepped toward the body, focusing. The medical examiner, Dr. Terrel, was crouching by the victim, placing a paper bag over one of her hands, her movements slow and careful, almost gentle.
Zoe knelt by Terrel, carefully avoiding the white paint on the ground, and scrutinized the body. The killer hadn’t been concerned about covering this one. On the contrary. He’d taken effort in posing her after her death. This didn’t align with the Lamb case. What did?
The woman’s skin was dark, which made it hard to see the bruises, but they were there. Ligature strangulation, same angle, same width. But was that enough to connect the two cases?
O’Donnell cleared her throat behind Zoe. “What do we have so far?”
Terrel didn’t slow down to glance at either of them. “Lividity completely set, but there’s almost no rigor mortis left, so the time of death was probably between twenty-four and thirty-six hours ago. I’ll be able to give you a better estimate once I conclude the autopsy. Lividity patterns indicate the body was moved shortly after death.”
“Cause of death?” O’Donnell asked.
Terrel glanced at her, raising a single eyebrow.
“I won’t quote you on it,” O’Donnell said in a low voice. “Just a hunch.”
“No way to be sure yet, but I’m guessing the knife was thrust into her belly postmortem,” Terrel said. “Or they did a hell of a cleaning job. You can see the bruising on the neck, indicating ligature strangulation.”
Zoe checked the knife again. The entry wound was clean, hardly any blood around it. If the victim had been alive when stabbed, the blood would have gushed out. And cleaning it thoroughly during the night would have been difficult. Which meant, like Terrel had said, this wound hadn’t killed the victim.
She’d probably been strangled to death, just like Catherine.
“Is that why you called me?” O’Donnell asked. “Because she’d been strangled?”
Terrel pointed to the victim’s arm, and Zoe leaned to look closely. Two tiny holes punctured the skin. “The other arm has them too,” Terrel said. “Looks like syringe marks. I can’t say for sure it’s the same size; I’ll verify it during the autopsy.”