Read Online Vanished - A Mystery (Dixon & Baudin Book 1) by Victor Methos - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Victor Methos
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can’t get enough to test for drugs in the system… There just ain’t much there.”
Baudin nodded. “I appreciate the rush, Doc. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
Baudin stepped away, but Dixon remained, staring at the girl’s eyes. “How old you think she was, Gil?”
“Maybe seventeen, eighteen. Probably no older than twenty-one or so.”
“You take the dental impressions?”
“Yeah, we had Marvin come out, and we did ’em. And again, not enough.”
“What do you mean?” Baudin said, staring at an anatomy poster on the wall.
“Some of her teeth are missing.”
“How many?”
“’Bout fifteen.”
Baudin stepped closer to the body. “Can you open her mouth?”
Gil grabbed her chin and upper lip without gloves and forced them open, a slight crack escaping from the desiccated flesh. Baudin and Dixon both peered inside. Every other tooth was gone. Dixon saw ragged flesh in some of the holes.
“They were pulled,” Dixon said. “And not softly.”
Baudin shook his head. “They pulled enough so we can’t identify her.”
Damn , Dixon thought. He didn’t have medical knowledge, but he knew that ninety percent of the time bodies were identified through dental records.
“Anything else you can tell us, Gil?”
“Well, fingertips was cut off, too. No prints. And some birds got a hold of her—crows, probably. So not all the wounds you see are from him. I’m sorry. I’ll keep lookin’, but don’t expect much.”
Dixon nodded. “I appreciate it just the same. Have yourself a good day.”
As the men walked out, they glanced into the room where the young assistant had been. He was gone.
“Fucker pulled the teeth,” Baudin said as their footsteps echoed in the corridor.
“Why the organs?” Dixon said. “What the hell does he want with the pancreas and thymus?”
Baudin was quiet a moment. “They’re called the sweetbreads in cooking. I think he took them to eat.”
13
Dixon wanted to come up with a picture of what Jane Doe had looked like, based on the photos the forensic techs had taken. Then he could get the photo out to the media and hope a parent with a missing child or a roommate would call in.
The computer artist the department had on contract was located in a graphic design studio. The place was the opposite of the coroner’s office: full of light and color, walls painted yellow and red. The tables and desks were all glass, and the artist hummed to himself as he worked, Dixon sitting across from him in his office.
Dixon glanced out the office door and saw Baudin at the conference room table, working on his iPad.
“How’s this looking for the nose?” the designer said.
Dixon looked at the photo of Jane Doe’s body that they’d printed up and then at the computer model. “Close. A little narrower up top, I think.”
The artist, whose name Dixon couldn’t remember because he’d never used him before, hummed again as he narrowed the nose.
“Now?”
“Better.” He leaned to the side. “You wanna take a look?” he yelled.
Baudin set the iPad down and hurried over. He hovered over the artist’s shoulder, glaring at the image on the screen. “That’s her.”
Dixon nodded, and the designer touched up a few things and printed the photo.
“Gimme about twenty copies and email me a digital, would you?” Dixon asked.
“No worries.”
When he had the printouts, Dixon couldn’t help staring at them. The girl was beautiful, someone who would stand out in any crowd. Baudin wouldn’t look at the photo again. Instead, he paced near the entrance to the studio until Dixon was done.
“You got contacts in the news?” Baudin asked.
“Yeah. I’m gonna head over there now.”
Baudin’s phone rang. He answered it. “Hello?… Yes. Yes, I’m her father… Today? What happened?… I’ll be right down.”
“Everything okay?”
“My daughter got into some trouble at school. I’m gonna head down there for a minute. Can you give me a lift back to
Baudin nodded. “I appreciate the rush, Doc. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
Baudin stepped away, but Dixon remained, staring at the girl’s eyes. “How old you think she was, Gil?”
“Maybe seventeen, eighteen. Probably no older than twenty-one or so.”
“You take the dental impressions?”
“Yeah, we had Marvin come out, and we did ’em. And again, not enough.”
“What do you mean?” Baudin said, staring at an anatomy poster on the wall.
“Some of her teeth are missing.”
“How many?”
“’Bout fifteen.”
Baudin stepped closer to the body. “Can you open her mouth?”
Gil grabbed her chin and upper lip without gloves and forced them open, a slight crack escaping from the desiccated flesh. Baudin and Dixon both peered inside. Every other tooth was gone. Dixon saw ragged flesh in some of the holes.
“They were pulled,” Dixon said. “And not softly.”
Baudin shook his head. “They pulled enough so we can’t identify her.”
Damn , Dixon thought. He didn’t have medical knowledge, but he knew that ninety percent of the time bodies were identified through dental records.
“Anything else you can tell us, Gil?”
“Well, fingertips was cut off, too. No prints. And some birds got a hold of her—crows, probably. So not all the wounds you see are from him. I’m sorry. I’ll keep lookin’, but don’t expect much.”
Dixon nodded. “I appreciate it just the same. Have yourself a good day.”
As the men walked out, they glanced into the room where the young assistant had been. He was gone.
“Fucker pulled the teeth,” Baudin said as their footsteps echoed in the corridor.
“Why the organs?” Dixon said. “What the hell does he want with the pancreas and thymus?”
Baudin was quiet a moment. “They’re called the sweetbreads in cooking. I think he took them to eat.”
13
Dixon wanted to come up with a picture of what Jane Doe had looked like, based on the photos the forensic techs had taken. Then he could get the photo out to the media and hope a parent with a missing child or a roommate would call in.
The computer artist the department had on contract was located in a graphic design studio. The place was the opposite of the coroner’s office: full of light and color, walls painted yellow and red. The tables and desks were all glass, and the artist hummed to himself as he worked, Dixon sitting across from him in his office.
Dixon glanced out the office door and saw Baudin at the conference room table, working on his iPad.
“How’s this looking for the nose?” the designer said.
Dixon looked at the photo of Jane Doe’s body that they’d printed up and then at the computer model. “Close. A little narrower up top, I think.”
The artist, whose name Dixon couldn’t remember because he’d never used him before, hummed again as he narrowed the nose.
“Now?”
“Better.” He leaned to the side. “You wanna take a look?” he yelled.
Baudin set the iPad down and hurried over. He hovered over the artist’s shoulder, glaring at the image on the screen. “That’s her.”
Dixon nodded, and the designer touched up a few things and printed the photo.
“Gimme about twenty copies and email me a digital, would you?” Dixon asked.
“No worries.”
When he had the printouts, Dixon couldn’t help staring at them. The girl was beautiful, someone who would stand out in any crowd. Baudin wouldn’t look at the photo again. Instead, he paced near the entrance to the studio until Dixon was done.
“You got contacts in the news?” Baudin asked.
“Yeah. I’m gonna head over there now.”
Baudin’s phone rang. He answered it. “Hello?… Yes. Yes, I’m her father… Today? What happened?… I’ll be right down.”
“Everything okay?”
“My daughter got into some trouble at school. I’m gonna head down there for a minute. Can you give me a lift back to
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