Torn - Cynthia Eden Page 0,39

all right?”

Victoria shook her head, sending those memories right back to the darkness of her mind. She wasn’t going to deal with them. Not then. “Let’s get the dental records. And let’s figure out . . .” Her gaze was on the skeleton. At the sightless sockets where eyes had been. “Let’s figure out what was done to you.”

She leaned in closer. She could see dirt on the remains. Dirt and . . .

Spanish moss? Yes, yes, that was some Spanish moss, attached to the rib bones.

“Where were you?” Victoria whispered. “Where did he take you?”

What did he do?

Soon enough she would have answers.

Victoria took a deep, bracing breath. For an instant her gaze slid toward the black bag that the remains had been discovered in.

She remembered . . . A body bag. Being inside. Fear. No, terror. Pain. Can’t breathe. Can’t—­

“How can I assist?” Eleanor asked.

And the horrible memory vanished. Victoria’s heart was beating too fast. Her fingers held the faintest tremble. She clenched her gloved hands. She was not going to let her fear take over. That last case she’d worked in Louisiana—­it had gone to hell. But she’d survived. She hadn’t broken then and she wouldn’t fall apart now.

Just a bag. That’s all it is. Just a bag.

“Come over here,” Victoria said, and her voice—­amazingly—­came out sounding cool. Calm. “Let’s get a better look at these small indentions I can see on the bones . . .”

THERE WERE SHADOWS beneath Victoria’s green eyes. Her skin seemed paler than before and faint lines bracketed her mouth.

Wade rose when he saw her approaching. He’d been about to head into the M.E.’s office with Dace—­they’d spent hours combing over Jupiter Trail and one hell of a lot of time talking with the people who’d been on the scene.

One look at Victoria’s face and he could see the sadness that touched her. She was always like that after working with the dead. Every encounter seemed to take a new toll on her, and he hated that.

“It’s her,” Victoria said. “The victim discovered this morning is Kennedy Lane. He took her, and then, five years later, he . . . brought her back to the same spot.”

Fuck.

The M.E.’s office door opened behind Victoria. Dr. Eleanor Chambers hurried out, moving to Victoria’s side. She nodded quickly at him and Dace, then gave them both case files. “She works fast,” Eleanor said, admiration in her tone. “And her hunches are dead on.”

Wade didn’t look down at the file. He couldn’t take his gaze off Victoria’s face. There was something going on . . .

“We’ve got samples of the soil that were found with the body,” she said. “Soil and Spanish moss. I think she was . . . buried for the last two years. Based on the rate of decay and the condition of the bones, she’s been in the ground and—­”

“The last two years?” Dace said, frowning as he asked the question. “Where the hell was she before that?”

Victoria’s lips pressed together and her gaze strayed to the report in his hand. “There were numerous signs of broken bones. Her scaphoid showed repeated ­fractures—­”

Dace shook his head. “Okay, I’m gonna need a translation there.”

“Her wrist was fractured,” Eleanor supplied. “Both wrists, actually. It can be a fairly common break, right where the wrist bends . . .” Her words trailed away as she glanced back at Victoria.

“I suspect the injuries to her wrists occurred because she was restrained.” Victoria’s voice was soft and sad. “If she were tied up or—­or handcuffed and she tried to get away, the fractures could have easily resulted.”

Wade’s back teeth clenched. “You’re saying she was ready to break her own wrist if it meant she could get away.”

“I’m saying she did exactly that.”

Fuck.

Victoria cleared her throat. “Based on her other injuries, I believe she was tortured, rather extensively. There were nicks on her bones—­very consistent with knife injuries. I counted . . .” She blew out a hard breath. “Over fifty-­seven nicks on her bones. All in places where they would not cause fatal harm.”

“Holy hell.” Now Dace was looking a little green. “You’re saying some whack job tortured that woman by stabbing her fifty-­seven times?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “That’s exactly what I’m saying, and like I told you before, her name is Kennedy Lane. The dental records were a match. We know the victim on the table in there . . . is Kennedy.” Her stare focused on Wade. “I guess LOST can consider this another found victim.”