Author: Allison Brennan
Category: Suspense
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/allison-brennan/page,16,90279-the_lost_girls.html
“Dante and Gabriella are North America’s version of Liam and Eden, except while Liam and Eden cross the line on occasion—when it suits them—Dante and Gabriella are mostly rooted on the criminal side. Yet … even they have a code of ethics.”
Sean was about to ask more about Kane’s relationship with Dante and how it might help them now, but Kane said, “I’ll track the helicopter—Nicco put the times of arrival and departure here, though no tail number. You find out everything about Madison Spade’s business—because if she’s importing antiques, I think she’s in as deep as her husband … or she’s an ignorant fool.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
It was after five that afternoon before Noah and Lucy arrived back in Webb County. Lucy was surprised that Siobhan was waiting for them in the morgue lobby. Siobhan was naturally fair, but looked ghostly under the harsh artificial lighting. She ran over to Lucy. “It’s not Marisol.”
“They already let you view the body?”
She shook her head. “I just know. I just know. It can’t be.” Her voice cracked.
Lucy said, “Noah and I are going in first.”
“What? No, no! Don’t coddle me. Everyone coddles me—I’m not a child. I can do this.”
“I know you can,” Lucy said, “but we may be able to take some of the pressure off. Trust me on this.”
A man in scrubs walked through the swinging doors. “You must be the agents from San Antonio. I’m Dr. Greg Vasquez, the assistant medical examiner.” Vasquez was in his mid-fifties with silver hair and broad shoulders on a stout frame. He wore wire-rimmed glasses.
Noah introduced himself and Lucy. “Thank you for staying late.”
“I’m rarely out at five,” Vasquez said. “Adam called me and asked that I wait for you.”
Siobhan stared at him. Lucy said, “Siobhan, wait here. I promise, we’ll come get you in just a few minutes.”
She nodded and sat heavily in one of the plastic chairs.
Vasquez motioned for them to follow him back through the swinging doors. “That young lady has been out there for two hours, but I was told not to let anyone view the body until you arrived.”
“We appreciate that. She may know the victim,” Noah said.
“What did Adam tell you?”
“We know that she was found in an alley early this morning, that she recently gave birth, and that she’s Hispanic and approximately twenty years of age,” Noah said.
“She was in a Dumpster in an alley. Small miracle she was found so quickly. The alley services a row of small, family-owned restaurants. They all shut down before dark, it’s not a great area of town. One of the shops is a mom-and-pop bakery. They get in at four in the morning, before the garbage trucks. They were dumping trash and found her. If they hadn’t, the truck would have picked her up and it may have been next to impossible to find out where her body had been dumped. They may not have even noticed her. I had a case early in my career where a body had almost completely decomposed at the dump. Never solved it.”
“You’ve completed the autopsy?”
“Yes, Adam told me not to wait for you on that, and because he said the feds were interested, I performed the autopsy myself.” Dr. Vasquez handed them both gloves and paper booties, hats, and gowns. “Usually we prep the body in the viewing room for loved ones, but because she’s still in the main holding room, you’ll need to cover up.”
“We already ran her image through the missing persons database and sent to all law enforcement, federal and within two hundred miles,” Dr. Vasquez continued. “But it takes a while to hear back. Adam jumped on it, however, because of the baby.”
Lucy stumbled, just a step, as her heart skipped a beat. “The baby is here, too?”
“No, sorry to upset you, sweetheart,” he said. “I meant, she died in childbirth, but there is no baby. Whoever dumped her body kept the infant.”
Dr. Vasquez led them into the main crypt, where bodies were stored in two areas—drawers if they had to keep the body longer than twenty-four hours or so, and the center aisle for bodies recently transported to the facility, or about to be transported to a funeral home. Lucy had interned at the morgue in DC—this place had a similar look and feel, though smaller and much newer. She didn’t know what it said about her that she’d always been comfortable at the morgue, but there was a peace in the process of learning about the dead.
Vasquez had Jane Doe ready for them. “Because we don’t have an ID on her, I intend to put her directly into cold storage. We’ll keep the body for a year unless identified, then she will be buried in an unmarked grave in the county cemetery.” He paused. “We cleaned her up the best we could, but it’s not pretty. I can show you just her face if you would prefer.”
Lucy shook her head. “I’m a certified pathologist. I’d like the visual to put with your report.”
He nodded and pulled down the sheet.
The body was unusually presented. Generally, the ME cut the body open in a very specific pattern to autopsy the remains. This body had several areas that had been cut open and resewed, including her enlarged lower abdomen.
Lucy directed her attention to the woman’s features. She was approximately twenty years of age and looked vaguely like Marisol de la Rosa. But it wasn’t her. Marisol had a mole on her right cheek; this girl had none. And judging from her height compared with the standard table size, this girl was several inches shorter than either de la Rosa sister.
“This isn’t one of the sisters,” she said to Noah. “May I see the chart?”
Vasquez dropped the sheet, leaving only her face exposed, and handed Lucy a file. “I made you a copy, but it’s preliminary—we’re waiting for lab work and, of course, an ID.”
“Doctor,” Noah said, “why did you cut open her abdomen?”
“I didn’t.”
“She was found like that?”
The doctor nodded. “Someone performed a very rudimentary but proficient C-section on this girl, but she was either dead or dying at the time. She had preeclampsia—I’m nearly positive, but have to await the lab results before I can confirm. She went into shock and should have been brought immediately to a hospital. Based on her hormone levels and the size of the placenta—which was still inside her body—I believe she was between thirty and thirty-two weeks into the pregnancy.”
“What’s preeclampsia?” Noah asked.
“A condition during the third trimester that is characterized by high blood pressure. It’s routinely screened for during prenatal care, and there are some effective treatments, but the only surefire way to treat it is delivery. When I removed the placenta, the signs of preeclampsia were obvious to me, but I went ahead and ordered additional tests to confirm. In severe cases, the doctor will induce labor early to avoid seizures and dangerously high blood pressure in the mother.”
“Doctor,” Lucy asked, “do you think someone attempted to induce labor because of her condition?”
“No. There was no sign of any of the standard drugs to induce labor, and those would be difficult for just anyone to procure—a medical professional would be able to get them, but most are used intravenously and under controlled conditions. There were no signs that she had an IV, no sign of any lifesaving procedures. There are indications that she had a seizure—which can happen in severe cases of pre-eclampsia—based on her brain tissue, and she bit off the tip of her tongue. She was either unresponsive or already dead when they cut open her uterus to remove the fetus.”
“But the baby was alive.”
“I have no way of knowing that. Except—someone cut the umbilical cord, and I would presume that was to save the baby. Otherwise, why not leave him with his mother?”
“Doesn’t a premature baby need special medical attention?” Noah asked.
“Yes. The dangers are primarily in lung development. At thirty weeks, the baby could be as much as three pounds, which is dangerous but survivable with proper medical care. The older the baby, the better his chances.”
�
�His?” Lucy asked.
“I took DNA and blood samples from the mother and the womb. The baby is male.” Vasquez took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.
Lucy turned to the final page of the report. “You should have led with this, Doctor.”
“Excuse me?”
“She was shot?”
“I’m sorry, I assumed Adam had told you. Jane Doe died immediately before, during, or after the delivery of her baby. Then someone put a pair of twenty-two-caliber bullets in the back of her head. I suppose they wanted to make certain she died. But she was already deceased.”
Lucy handed the file to Noah. Few things made her feel physically ill, but right now she was on the edge.
Someone had cut out this woman’s baby, killing her in the process, and then, just for good measure, shot her, too.
Noah said, “You indicate here that whoever delivered the baby had some medical training.”
“That is my opinion, yes. An amateur would have a difficult time cutting into the uterus and not injuring the fetus. The uterus is a very strong muscle. The incision was vertical, not horizontal, indicating an emergency delivery. There were no hesitation marks, telling me whoever cut into her had performed this surgery before, likely several times. Therefore, they have medical training. They could be a doctor, a nurse, maybe a midwife.”
Lucy stared at the woman’s face. She closed her eyes and mentally flipped through the photographs she’d been looking at over the last two days. “Noah,” she said quietly, “we need to bring Siobhan in here.”
“It’s not one of her friends.”
“I think it’s the girl from the house—the one she tried to help. I can’t be sure because of the angle of the photo Siobhan took, but Siobhan saw her close up.”
“Fuck.” Noah ran his hands through his hair.
“I’ll bring her in,” Lucy said and left the room.
First, she needed a minute alone.
She found the bathroom, took off her gloves, and splashed cold water on her face.
It had been all she could do to stay in control in the crypt.
Her hands went involuntarily to her stomach. Her barren stomach, that could never grow a child. That someone had torn a baby from that poor woman and left her dead, thrown away like trash, made Lucy ill. It wasn’t seeing her on the slab, it was the pictures in the file Dr. Vasquez had handed her. Photos of the girl’s womb, cut up, ripped apart, left for garbage. Whoever did this was evil. Lucy didn’t throw that word around, but this time it fit. It was a heinous crime, and for what? To sell the baby? A premature baby who needed medical attention?
Lucy leaned against the cool tile wall as waves of nausea washed through her. She’d assisted in hundreds of autopsies, including the autopsies of three infants, one of whom had died of shaken baby syndrome and was by far the worst autopsy she’d witnessed. She’d had a similar reaction then, at the tragic, unnecessary death of another human because of the selfish wants of someone else.
She had to move, but she was rooted in place. She squeezed back her anguish.
Come on, Lucy. You are a professional.
Just one more minute!
She leaned over the sink and splashed more water on her face, then leaned forward and let another wave of nausea pass. Okay, she was better. She had to be. She had a job to do.
She would find Jane Doe’s killer.
She would find Jane Doe’s baby.
She finally regained her strength and left the restroom. She walked right into Noah.
He stared at her. She couldn’t read his expression.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I—I just needed a minute.”
He reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “That was hard to hear. I was surprised at how … indifferent you seemed. But I knew it was an act. I know you, Lucy. You can’t keep all that bottled up. Did you think I would think less of you if you reacted?”
“No.” Maybe. “I had to control it, Noah. If I broke down there, over her body, I wouldn’t be able to do my job. To see what needed to be seen.”
“Lucy, we’ve been friends for a long time. You know you can trust me. If you ever need to walk away, it’s okay.”
She nodded. “I trust you, Noah. I don’t say that easily, but I do trust you. I am okay. I want to find these people in the worst way, but I can do the job.”
“Dr. Vasquez took Siobhan in; you don’t have to go back.”
“I should be there for her.”
“Think about yourself sometimes, okay?”
Noah dropped his hand, and that’s when Lucy realized he’d been holding on to her for the last few minutes. As if he, too, needed to be grounded before he could move on. “How are you doing?” she asked as they walked back to the lobby.
He shrugged. “I don’t think I’ll be sleeping much tonight.”
Siobhan stepped out of the crypt, silent tears running down her cheeks. “That’s the girl from Sunday. Dear Lord.” She crossed herself. “Lucy, I killed her.”
“You did not kill her, Siobhan.”
“I went there, I upset her—the doctor said she had a seizure caused by high blood pressure—I set her off. She was screaming at me—”
“Ma’am, I don’t believe that’s the case,” Vasquez said, and Lucy mentally thanked him. “Preeclampsia is a very serious, very dangerous condition. That girl should have been under a doctor’s care as soon as it was diagnosed—if it was diagnosed. No one caused it, but whoever delivered her baby killed her in the process. Not you.”
* * *
It was time to leave.
Marisol couldn’t stay here, not when her sister was in such danger. Angelo would be coming soon, and she didn’t want the Honeycutts to be in the middle of any of this. These people were dangerous. Angelo would help her rescue Ana and then they could go home.
For the first time in two years she believed she would see her family again. Her village.
George and Nadia didn’t want her to go.
Marisol didn’t want to leave, either. Rarely had she met two genuinely kind souls, certainly not in the last two years. George and Nadia restored her faith in God, restored her hope that she would survive.
“Wait until John comes back,” Nadia said. “He said he would be back tonight, after work. For dinner.”
She shook her head. “Angelo is meeting me. You have done so much already.”
“Wait until morning. Please, stay one more night.”
She wanted to. Nadia reminded Marisol of her grandmother. Last night, she’d told Nadia some of what had happened to her and Ana. When Nadia hugged her, Marisol had cried. She hadn’t cried in years, but she cried last night.
Today, she was stronger.
“Angelo knows what to do. These people are very dangerous, I don’t want you hurt.”
Nadia frowned. “Nonsense, Marisol. You need to let someone help you. There are good people in this world.”
She smiled. When was the last time she’d smiled? “You and Mr. Honeycutt are two of the kindest people I’ve met. But Angelo can help me get my sister back.”
She glanced at George. She hoped he hadn’t already called the police. Because if he did, they would take her back. She knew it.
Nadia seemed to sense her hesitation. “You are safe here, Marisol. But you’re still weak. You had a baby.”
She blushed. She hadn’t told Nadia about the baby, but she’d known. Maybe it was something women know, once they have a child of their own.
“Please trust me on this,” Marisol said. “These are dangerous, bad people. Angelo can protect me, he is a good man. Like John.”
“Why don’t you have Angelo come here to get you?”
What did she say to that? She didn’t know why, it was just her gut feeling. “Because you’ve done more than can be repaid.” She had clean clothes. They were Nadia’s, and they hung loose on her, but it felt good to wear something clean that smelled so good.
George walked over and put a phone in her hand, along with money.
>
She shook her head. “I can’t take this.”
“I programmed my number in here. If you need anything, any help, call me. John and I will come.”
“I—”
“You will take it. It’s not much money, but it will feed you.”
She hugged them both and tried not to cry again.
Then she left. She had a two-hour walk ahead of her, but she felt so much better now than she had before. Angelo had been emotional when they spoke.
“I didn’t know what had happened to you. I looked everywhere, but the policía said you had gone away. Poof! Just disappeared. I feared the worst. Thank God you’re alive. I will be there, just tell me when and where.”
Soon, Ana would be free. Soon, she would have her baby.
I love you, Angelo. Thank you.
* * *
Two hours later, while Nadia was preparing dinner and feeling surprisingly sad about Marisol leaving, John burst into the house.
“Wipe your feet,” she said out of habit. She’d raised three sons and two daughters. John was the youngest and the only one who still lived close by.
“Where’s Marisol?”
“She left.”
“What? Why?”
“She spoke to the young man from her home. Angelo. He’s coming to get her.”
“But why isn’t she here?”
“Johnny, what’s wrong?”
“I talked to Adam after classes ended today.”
“You promised you wouldn’t go to the police, Johnny. Your word.”
“I didn’t tell him about her, I just asked hypothetical questions.”
“Adam is not a stupid man.”
Adam was her son-in-law, a good man, but he was a policeman, and he could be very law-and-order, especially when it came to immigrants. Nadia feared what would happen to Marisol. The girl was scared, terrified about something. Nadia could only guess. The police couldn’t help her, not even a good man like Adam.