Sworn to Silence by Linda Castillo Read Free Book Online Page B

completed the tedious task of lifting tire tread and footwear impressions at the crime scene. Mona couriered everything to the Bureau of Criminal Investigation and Identification lab in London, Ohio, which is over a hundred miles away. A courier fee isn’t in the budget, but I can’t spare an officer. I’ll pay for it out of my own pocket if necessary.
    The lab will scan each impression and imprint into a computer and run a comparison analysis, matching impressions at the scene against the imprints of the first responders. It’s a long shot, but I’m hoping one impression will stand out and give us our first clue as to the identity of the killer.
    It’s almost noon by the time I park adjacent the main entrance of Pomerene Hospital in Millersburg. I pass the information desk and take the elevator to the basement. A yellow and black biohazard sign glares at me as I go through the swinging doors. Doc Coblentz sits at a desk inside a glassed-in office where the miniblinds are open. He spots me and rises. Wearing a white lab coat and baggy tan trousers, he looks like an aging Pillsbury doughboy.
    “Chief.” He extends his hand and we shake. “The parents were here a few minutes ago and identified her.” He shakes his head. “Nice family. Sad as hell to see something like this happen.”
    “They see the chaplain?”
    “Father Zimmerman took them to the chapel.” With a nod, he’s ready to get down to business. “I haven’t done the autopsy yet. All I have for you is a prelim.”
    “I’ll take whatever you have.” The thought of seeing Amanda Horner’s body fills me with dread. But my need for hard facts overrides that human frailty. Right now, information is my most powerful tool. I want to catch the son of a bitch who did this. There is a part of me that wants to pull out my sidearm and fire a round into his face so he can’t put anyone else through the hell he’s putting the Horners through.
    That need drives me forward when the doctor motions to a small alcove. “Grab a gown and shoe covers on the shelf there,” he says. “I’ll take your coat.”
    Reluctantly, I relinquish my parka. He hangs it on a hook outside the door. Quickly, I don a sterile gown, slip the disposable shoe covers over my boots and leave the alcove.
    Doc Coblentz motions toward the adjoining room labeled with a larger biohazard sign. “It’s not pretty,” he says.
    “Murder never is.”
    We go through another set of swinging doors and enter the autopsy room. Though it’s equipped with a separate ventilation system from the rest of the building, I discern the smell of formalin and an array of other, darker odors I don’t want to identify. Four stainless steel gurneys are parked against the far wall. A huge scale used for weighing bodies stands in the center. A smaller scale used for weighing individual organs squats on the stainless steel counter along with an assortment of trays, bottles and instruments.
    The doc snags a clipboard from a shelf and takes me to the fifth gurney, the only one in use. He pulls down the sheet and Amanda Horner’s face comes into view. Her skin is gray now. Someone closed her eyes, but the left lid has come back up. A sticky-looking film coats the eyeball.
    Sighing, Doc Coblentz shakes his head. “This poor child endured a horrible death, Kate.”
    “Torture?”
    “Yes.”
    I steel myself against a slow rise of outrage. “Do you know the cause of death?”
    “Exsanguination more than likely.”
    “Any idea what kind of knife he used?”
    “Something damn sharp. No serration. Probably short-bladed.” Using a long wooden swab with a cotton tip, he indicates the cut on her neck. “This is the fatal wound. Sharp force injury is clearly visible. You can see that the wound path is relatively short.” He glances at the clipboard. “Eight point one centimeters.”
    “Is that significant?”
    “It tells me he knew where to cut to hit the artery.”
    “Medical training?”
    “Or maybe he’s