Read Online Killer View by Ridley Pearson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ridley Pearson
Ads: Link
rape, or, if it was, it was multiple partners. It was a violent assault. If that helps you any.”
“I need her last twelve hours,” Walt said, his voice cracking. “It’s important.”
“I doubt you’ll get it. Not if the bloods come back positive for Rohypnol.”
“May I?” Walt said, indicating the girl’s hands.
He donned a pair of gloves and a pair of glasses, then picked up her limp right hand, leaning close.
He asked Fiona for some photographs and she went to work.
“She was bound,” he said, addressing the nurse. “Wire or plastic tie. You’ll scrape the fingernails, as part of the kit?”
“Absolutely.”
“I’d like her fingernails clipped and bagged, please, if that’s possible.”
“Of course.”
He indicated the paper bags on the stand.
“Her dress, a piece of panty hose. Shoes. I’ve held off on the rape kit, as I said.” She sounded a little defensive. “She’s wearing a strapless bra. It was not in place, and I’ve left it where it was. There’s bruising visible on both breasts. No underwear. Probably torn off during the attack.”
The possibility of evidence left behind at the scene sparked a moment of optimism in him.
“Alcohol was also involved,” the nurse said, interrupting. “She tested point-one-four upon arrival.” She answered Walt’s inquisitive expression. “We ran a Breathalyzer as part of admittance.”
“Point-one-four?” Walt said. “That’s juiced. Well over the limit.”
“A good wedding, I suspect,” agreed the nurse.
Walt and Fiona exchanged a glance.
Concerned over the chain of evidence, Fiona donned a pair of surgical gloves and photographed the clothing and personal effects in the bags without removing them.
“You never can have too much documentation,” Walt said.
Fiona went about this methodically, bag to bag.
“I still need her last twelve hours,” Walt repeated, as if no one had heard him the first time. “What about security cameras?”
“I know there are some here, outside ER,” the nurse said. “I’m not aware of any out front, but maybe.”
“No one beats a woman and then drives her to the hospital,” Fiona said with the sound of authority. “That just doesn’t happen.”
“That’s why we need the driver,” Walt said. “If he wasn’t involved, why abandon her?”
The nurse crossed her arms tightly and looked at the girl sympathetically. “Unfortunately, Sheriff, I don’t think she’s going to tell you much.”
“Then maybe this will,” Fiona said, pointing into the white paper evidence bag.
Walt saw two dirty high-heeled satin shoes. “Mud,” he said.
The shoes were caked in it.
“She didn’t just step in some road sludge,” Fiona said. “She sank up to her ankles.”
“Her legs are the same.” The nurse gently and carefully pulled up the sheet to reveal the girl’s lower legs. They were splattered with dried mud.
“But the ground is frozen solid,” Fiona said. “Has been for a couple days at least. A week or more.” She ran off several photographs of the shoes in the bag, then glanced up at Walt. “So where was she?”
12
THE ICY SURFACE OF THE ROADS CARRIED A THIN SKIM OF melt. Walt drove cautiously—there was little more embarrassing than the sheriff needing to be towed out of a snowbank. Ketchum, the town that serviced the Sun Valley hotels and condominiums, was nestled at the base of the ski mountain. In the 1960s, the north-facing slopes had been developed along Warm Springs Creek and a like-named road, surrounded by desirable real estate. Warm Springs continued as a dirt track for some twenty miles, past the small village of ski shops and restaurants that had grown to service the condominiums and second homes. A hundred years earlier, the road had provided access to small mines that had never proved lucrative. Despite the avalanches that closed the road regularly in winter, a few daring souls had built past Board Ranch, which for generations had been the last stop on
“I need her last twelve hours,” Walt said, his voice cracking. “It’s important.”
“I doubt you’ll get it. Not if the bloods come back positive for Rohypnol.”
“May I?” Walt said, indicating the girl’s hands.
He donned a pair of gloves and a pair of glasses, then picked up her limp right hand, leaning close.
He asked Fiona for some photographs and she went to work.
“She was bound,” he said, addressing the nurse. “Wire or plastic tie. You’ll scrape the fingernails, as part of the kit?”
“Absolutely.”
“I’d like her fingernails clipped and bagged, please, if that’s possible.”
“Of course.”
He indicated the paper bags on the stand.
“Her dress, a piece of panty hose. Shoes. I’ve held off on the rape kit, as I said.” She sounded a little defensive. “She’s wearing a strapless bra. It was not in place, and I’ve left it where it was. There’s bruising visible on both breasts. No underwear. Probably torn off during the attack.”
The possibility of evidence left behind at the scene sparked a moment of optimism in him.
“Alcohol was also involved,” the nurse said, interrupting. “She tested point-one-four upon arrival.” She answered Walt’s inquisitive expression. “We ran a Breathalyzer as part of admittance.”
“Point-one-four?” Walt said. “That’s juiced. Well over the limit.”
“A good wedding, I suspect,” agreed the nurse.
Walt and Fiona exchanged a glance.
Concerned over the chain of evidence, Fiona donned a pair of surgical gloves and photographed the clothing and personal effects in the bags without removing them.
“You never can have too much documentation,” Walt said.
Fiona went about this methodically, bag to bag.
“I still need her last twelve hours,” Walt repeated, as if no one had heard him the first time. “What about security cameras?”
“I know there are some here, outside ER,” the nurse said. “I’m not aware of any out front, but maybe.”
“No one beats a woman and then drives her to the hospital,” Fiona said with the sound of authority. “That just doesn’t happen.”
“That’s why we need the driver,” Walt said. “If he wasn’t involved, why abandon her?”
The nurse crossed her arms tightly and looked at the girl sympathetically. “Unfortunately, Sheriff, I don’t think she’s going to tell you much.”
“Then maybe this will,” Fiona said, pointing into the white paper evidence bag.
Walt saw two dirty high-heeled satin shoes. “Mud,” he said.
The shoes were caked in it.
“She didn’t just step in some road sludge,” Fiona said. “She sank up to her ankles.”
“Her legs are the same.” The nurse gently and carefully pulled up the sheet to reveal the girl’s lower legs. They were splattered with dried mud.
“But the ground is frozen solid,” Fiona said. “Has been for a couple days at least. A week or more.” She ran off several photographs of the shoes in the bag, then glanced up at Walt. “So where was she?”
12
THE ICY SURFACE OF THE ROADS CARRIED A THIN SKIM OF melt. Walt drove cautiously—there was little more embarrassing than the sheriff needing to be towed out of a snowbank. Ketchum, the town that serviced the Sun Valley hotels and condominiums, was nestled at the base of the ski mountain. In the 1960s, the north-facing slopes had been developed along Warm Springs Creek and a like-named road, surrounded by desirable real estate. Warm Springs continued as a dirt track for some twenty miles, past the small village of ski shops and restaurants that had grown to service the condominiums and second homes. A hundred years earlier, the road had provided access to small mines that had never proved lucrative. Despite the avalanches that closed the road regularly in winter, a few daring souls had built past Board Ranch, which for generations had been the last stop on
Similar Books
