The Yoga Store Murder by Dan Morse Read Free Book Online

paintbrushes, a bicycle reflector, and something that had been obscured by several items resting atop it—a foot-long metal bar. The crime-scene investigators closed the toolbox, assigned it a crime-scene number (CS-35), and placed the toolbox inside its own evidence box.
    The main part of the store, where Jayna’s body now was, became the center of attention. The store’s stylish lights offered a flood of bright light under which to work. The brown-paper shields over the front windows offered privacy. Giampetroni and about ten detectives, supervisors and crime-scene investigators went to work, bending over Jayna’s body, still facedown on the plastic bag.
    They looked at Jayna’s fingers, at the chewed-down nails her mother had mentioned. Detective Jim Drewry saw clumps of hair, which she must have pulled from somewhere, in Jayna’s clenched fingers. On the backs of her hands were cuts and bruises, but the dried blood made it hard to figure out too much about them. At the base of her neck, they noted two significant stab wounds, the depths of which would be measured the next day during the autopsy. Giampetroni lifted Jayna’s shirt and saw another wound in the middle of her back.
    Their work was accompanied by constant chatter—notes to be compared, pictures to be snapped, cop wisecracks to be made. The time came to turn Jayna over.
    What they saw shut them up fast.
    Her face, Ruvin thought, was destroyed. Deep gashes and gouges—too many to count—crisscrossed Jayna’s forehead, cheeks, lips, and chin. Beyond all the wounds, Jayna’s face was bruised and bloodied into a grotesque shade of purple. It didn’t seem human anymore. Ruvin thought back to Jayna’s smiling image on her driver’s license. He couldn’t recognize her.
    Ruvin tried to break the silence. “Someone say something.”
    “Oh my God,” Giampetroni said.
    She and the others bent closer. Their thoughts turned to weapons. Which ones had done this? The hammer found in the rear hallway was a good possibility. The box cutters seemed too small. What about the serrated knife hanging in the kitchen? It was in pristine condition, and didn’t have the look of something that had been jabbed into a skull.
    Conversation slowly picked up again around such topics. Giampetroni took photographs from every angle. She could see how the rope had fallen away from Jayna’s face. She pulled it away and told Ruvin to take it with him to the autopsy the next day so the doctor could compare it with the wounds to Jayna’s neck.
    Brown paper bags were placed over Jayna’s hands to contain any evidence, though her chewed-off nails may have limited her ability to scratch skin cells off her assailant. Clear tape was wrapped around Jayna’s forearms, sealing the top of the bags. Several people lifted the corners of the body bag, now bloodied from Jayna’s body, into a second, clean bag, and the sounds of closing zippers could be heard inside the quiet store.
    Everyone weighed what to do next. Jayna’s body needed to be loaded into a van and driven to the forensics lab in Baltimore, thirty-five miles away. Taking Jayna out via the front door would pass over the least amount of blood tracks. And the detectives could use a wheeled gurney. But reporters, cameramen, and photographers were all waiting to catch that very image—producing footage and pictures Jayna’s parents would inevitably see. Going out the back meant having to carry the body bag down the narrow rear hallway, across the bloodiest footprints. But the investigators were all wearing their booties, and knew to step over the thick pools of blood that were finally drying. The entire back parking lot was still taped off, and shielded by the bushes and fences. So that’s the direction they chose.
    *
    Detective Ruvin walked around to check in with the patrol officers who were guarding the front of the store along Bethesda Avenue. A woman approached, and told Ruvin she’d been outside the store walking her