The Watcher by Jo Robertson Read Free Book Online

blatant emotion. Slater thought the doctor looked as shaken as he’d ever seen him. “Before and after the mayhem, he cleansed the body thoroughly in a solution of hydrogen peroxide, rubbing alcohol, and bleach. Any evidence of blood or semen was washed away.”
    “This was done in isolation,” Myers said. “There’s no way he could’ve completed these acts in the car or at the lake.”
    “The techs are checking the Pontiac tire tracks against those found at the lake,” Slater said.
    “Neither is the primary,” Myers said. “There’s another crime scene.”
    Slater agreed. A triple dilemma. The lake, the car, and the place where the girl was tortured and killed.
    Patch looked at the body, and in an overt gesture, pushed a stray strand of hair from the girl’s forehead. “The only area of her body that sustained no damage at all was her face.”
    “Any ideas about why he spared her face?” Slater asked.
    Myers whispered, “He wanted to punish her, to bend her to his will, but he didn’t want marks or blood marring her face. Ruining his perfect image of her.”
    Slater glanced at her quizzically. A strange observation.
    Wilson concluded by pointing to the Johnston girl’s lower body. “One final matter,” he said as he separated the legs, lifting the right one so that Slater and Myers could see clearly. “I’m sure you didn’t miss this.”
    Now that the body was clean, they bent to get a clearer look. “The carved figure,” Slater observed. “Any idea what it means?”
    “No,” Patch replied, “but it was inflicted postmortem with a very sharp instrument.”
    “Like a razor blade?”
    “Certainly as sharp as a razor, but with more precision, like a scalpel. You see, it’s crudely, but neatly, drawn.”
    “Bauer called it an eight lying on its side. What do you think?”
    “That sounds correct.”
    “It looks like the infinity sign,” Myers said.
    “Infinity,” Slater mused. “Like in math?”
    Myers’ violet eyes were huge as she looked up from the carving, and Slater saw understanding cross her features. Something just clicked for her, he thought.
    “He wants the suffering to go on forever,” she explained.
    “What about replacing the clothes on the body?”
    “That could indicate his need to control the situation. He gets to say when she can have her clothes back.”
    Slater turned back to Patch Wilson. “How many hours did it take for her to die after the first knife wound?”
    “If the lungs or heart was punctured first, she died quickly. However, he appears to have deliberately avoided the vital organs, concentrating on those that would cause a great deal of suffering without actual death. He seems to have some rudimentary knowledge of anatomy. The postmortem wounds, though grotesque, did not cause her pain because – ”
    “Because she didn’t feel them,” Myers interrupted. “Those wounds suggest his rage for her dying on him.”
    Dr. Wilson nodded agreement, snapped off his thin surgical gloves, and turned away from the table. “I’ll start on the written report.” The coroner gave one last glance over his shoulder. “It’s a goddamn shame.”
    Slater followed Myers from the autopsy room, stopping beside her at the drinking fountain. “You okay?”
    “I’m fine, just a little shaken.”
    “But you’ve probably seen worse than this in L.A.”
    Myers simply shrugged and remained silent.
    “When we get to the office in the morning,” Slater said, “we’ll take another look at the crime scene photos and see if you can add anything to the profile. Wilson’s written report should be finished by then, along with the tech report from the Pontiac. Maybe we’ll get a hit on that partial fingerprint.”
    “Sure,” she replied without looking at him.
    Slater watched her move like a zombie toward the elevators leading up to the first floor of the hospital. He caught the doors as they glided shut and stepped in. Before Myers turned her face away from him, he