films through most of the procedure.
Autopsies were impersonal, the essence of the victims departed, but it took a lot of effort for Mason to be present for many of his cases. The autopsy suite was one of his least favorite places in the world. He’d hoped that over the years he would have grown accustomed to the sights and smells; he still waited. Each autopsy rattled him and visually stuck with him. He saw his role in the autopsy suite as honoring the victim. He’d stand at attention, respecting the science that would help bring justice. He was an honor guard starting his work for the victim. Often the victims were alone at their moment of death; they didn’t need to be alone for this final affront.
“Who does the psychological autopsy?” he asked.
“I have a couple of psychologists who I’ve worked with in the past. Usually it’s the type of situation where information is needed to settle estate issues or insurance cases. They do in-depth interviews with family, friends, and witnesses. They’ll look throughsocial media and emails if they can. Even look at the victim’s preference in books and television shows. They have a list of suicide indicators they look for.”
Doctor Campbell’s definition sounded a lot like Mason and Ray’s job. He raised an eyebrow at the doctor.
“Oh, I know.” The doctor nodded at him. “That’s stuff you’ll be doing. But I’ve got to say, I’ve never had a case so up in the air from the very start. Did they kill themselves? Did someone give them something lethal without them knowing? Or was it an accident? A bunch of girls trying out something cool they didn’t know would take their lives? It’s too early to say we’ll need one for certain, but I’m going to keep it in mind if we struggle to figure out why this happened.” The older man shook his head and Mason sympathized at the sorrow in his eyes. The doctor had four more autopsies to do.
“What’s the word on the sixth girl?” the doctor asked.
“I haven’t heard anything for a while. So I’ll guess ‘no change.’ I asked them to call immediately if something happened.”
Ray stuck his head in the autopsy suite. “I just ran into Dr. Peres,” he said with a nod at both men. “She’s got a teen neighbor who thinks she knows one of the girls.”
“So does half the city,” muttered Mason.
“Dr. Peres’s neighbor says her friend went to Forest Park for a photography session yesterday and now she can’t reach her. Also says the missing girl has long dark hair. The neighbor is out front with Anita.” Ray stepped just in the suite and stared at the hair of the young girl on the table. He didn’t move any closer. “She told Dr. Peres that there’s a photographer who wanted teen girls with long dark hair to model for him.”
“Jesus Christ,” said Mason. “I wonder if that’s who Simon Parker saw with the girls. He didn’t say anything aboutphotography equipment, but the man was carrying a bag. That’d be a good hook to get teenage girls to go with you. Doesn’t every girl want to be a model at some point?”
Ray nodded. “I know Kirstin loves to watch that model competition show and can’t keep her nose out of fashion magazines. Dr. Peres’s neighbor goes to high school with the missing girl.”
“She ever meet the photographer?”
“No. And Victoria took her to the missing girl’s home, but there’s no one there, and she doesn’t know how to contact the parents. She brought her to the office, so we can talk to her.”
“That’ll be a starting point. I’ll be there as soon as I can,” said Mason.
“We’ve got upset parents starting to arrive,” added Ray. “How do you want to handle this?”
Mason looked to the ME.
“I’ll have Anita write up a quick questionnaire for the parents to fill out so we can make some immediate eliminations. Questions about height, weight, scars, hair, tattoos, and eye color. What they think their kid was wearing. Plus it’ll give these
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