Before She Dies Read Online Free PDF Page A

lay on her back, her hands outstretched, her palms up. Her hands and feet had been nailed to the ground with wooden stakes. A neat white powdery substance neatly encircled the victim’s body.
    He’d learned to put aside emotion when he viewed a crime scene. His job was to accumulate facts, details, and anything he could use to catch a killer. And so he focused on the details.
    The victim was young, twenties maybe, and she had a thick shock of black hair that swooped over the right side of her face. Her skin was as pale as caulk. Below the roughly hewn stakes, her fingers were curled upward as if she’d been trying to claw free. She wore a black dress and a red leather jacket.
    He glanced around the body and the walls for signs of blood: a spray, droplets, pools, something to tell him more about the death. But there was nothing.
    “There’s no blood,” Sinclair said.
    “No.”
    “She wasn’t killed here.”
    “That’s my guess,” Rokov said.
    “Which means she was dead when she was staked to the ground.”
    “Yes.” Gratitude could blossom at the direst times, Rokov thought as he stared at the body.
    “Rigor mortis is well established,” Paulie said. Rigor mortis began three hours after death, but the slow stiffing of the muscles didn’t peak until the twelve-hour mark, when the process then began to dissipate.
    “Eight to twelve hours since she died?” Rokov said.
    “Give or take. And have a look at her legs.” Paulie lifted her skirt to reveal her ankles now stained a bluish purple by blood that had settled under the skin. “Note the lividity. She was upright when she died. Sitting maybe. Sat there for at least an hour before she was moved.” When the heart stopped beating, blood traveled to the lowest point in the body, darkening the skin. “I haven’t been able to get a good look at the underside of her arms, but there appears to be lividity under her forearms as well.”
    Rokov studied the victim’s neck for signs of trauma. There was some bruising. “Was she strangled?”
    “I don’t know. That’s for the medical examiner to figure out.”
    “Knife wounds. Bullet holes.”
    “First glance, nothing. But until I remove the stakes, I can’t process and examine like I should.”
    “What’s the circle made of?” Rokov said.
    Paulie squinted as he glanced through the viewfinder of his digital camera. “I think it’s salt.”
    “Salt?”
    “Everyday regular iodized table salt.”
    Rokov squatted and studied the circle. He could sense Sinclair’s gaze. “Any thoughts, partner?”
    “Assuming the substance is salt?” Her voice sounded rough with emotion.
    “Sure.”
    “Salt has lots of uses. Keeps bugs away. Maybe the killer didn’t want the ants on her.”
    Rokov rose. “It’s also used in magic spells.”
    She arched a brow. “That’s kinda far-fetched.”
    “This whole scene is far-fetched. In fact, when we get the go ahead to walk around, check the corners of the room, and see if there are any bits of salt there.”
    “You’re joking, right?”
    “No, I’m not.”
    The deep tenor of Rokov’s voice erased whatever amusement she’d allowed. “Witches. Really? I thought the Samanthas and Endoras of the world were just fiction.”
    “I’m not saying this woman was a witch. But that doesn’t mean the killer didn’t believe she was a witch. He could have put salt in the corner to seal the room.”
    “How would you know something like that?”
    “I’ve heard tales from my grandmother.”
    “She grew up in Russia.”
    “Where superstition reigns.”
    She opened her mouth to argue but then stopped. They’d seen a lot of crazy shit over the last eighteen months as partners.
    Rokov turned to Paulie. “Any other observations?”
    Paulie snapped three more pictures before he straightened. “There are ligature marks on her neck, and the underside of her hair and her collar are damp with what appears to be water.”
    “Cause of death?”
    “Ask the medical