Blood of Others Read Online Free PDF

and began a case log
in their notebooks. The patrol officer briefed them while raising the yellow
police tape protecting the scene.
    “Who made the find?” Sydowski
said.
    “Retired jeweler and his wife on
an early morning walk. We got them waiting at a coffee shop.”
    “After you, Walt.” Linda
indicated the door. “You’re the primary.”
    For a moment after they had
entered, Sydowski and Turgeon stood in respectful silence, taking inventory of
the shop, the floors, walls, merchandise. The horror in the display window.
Sydowski grunted, stepping up and into the display, careful to keep clear of
the blood pool, notebook poised as he positioned himself in front of the body
to study it.
    Barefoot in blood. Blood browned
on the front of the elegant wedding dress. Hands clasping flowers, bouquet of
white sweetheart roses. Female, white, late twenties, early thirties. What had
she been doing in the hours before her death? Average build. He estimated her
at five-four, one hundred twenty. Body secured at the shoulders with belt-like
strips of white fabric to the rods of two heavy steel bases. Front upper
abdomen saturated in blood. Reddish brown. Damp, dripping in spots. Dried in
others. Dozens of incisions pierced the gown in the heart area. Stabbing?
Frenzied attack?
    Sydowski swallowed.
    Her head was bowed. Tiara atop
her dark brown hair. He lifted the veil to a pulpy mask of bloodied tissue,
white teeth bared in a macabre grin, terrified eyes, frozen open. Wide. Locking
on to his.
    He looked into them.
    A wedding gown. Brown eyes. His
daughters had brown eyes. Dancing with them at their weddings. With his
wife. Dancing with his girls. Their glorious white gowns. Their smiles. Brown
eyes glistening. Laughter. Love. Blood. The odor wasn’t too bad. She
couldn’t have been dead long. Did she know death was upon her? Did she feel it?
Did she scream? What was her final thought?
    “Walt.” Turgeon stood beside him.
    Sydowski could not take his eyes
from the victim’s, as if searching them for help, a clue, anything.
    “Walt?”
    “Her face is gone, Linda. Peeled
from her skull.”

SIX

     
    By midafternoon Sydowski and Turgeon were
still at Forever & Ever. During that time, techs from Crime Scene and Photo
arrived. Voices subdued, they searched, collected, and retrieved evidence while
recording the event. Apart from the din from the street and the ringing of the
store’s phone, which went unanswered, they worked in near silence.
    Silver graphite fingerprint
powder was everywhere, patched on doors, windows, change rooms, the coffee
room, sink, washroom, toilet, walls, telephone, cash register, computer, office
equipment, light switches as if muddied school children rampaged through the
shop.
    Then the forensic pathologist
from the medical examiner’s office arrived -- Julius Seaver, a tall thin man with
red hair cropped short to his skull. Dressed in a dark suit, city star and name
tag fastened to his breast. Seaver never smiled but had a reputation for
exceptional on-scene work. Sydowski briefed him and he went to work. Seaver was
relieved someone had the foresight to cover the scene from public view. At the
outset of his preliminary investigation, Seaver advised Sydowski that they
should look for a knife, scissors, scalpel, or bladed instrument as the weapon.
    But nothing of significance had
been found, except the lone shoe. It belonged to no one associated with the
store. It was a left, a woman’s casual polyester oxford. Cotton lining,
rubber-sole. Size six. Consistent with the victim. It showed little wear.
Unlaced. It was located outside the third change room, its position measured,
photographed, videotaped. Bagged. The lab would scour it for trace. The
thinking was it belonged to the victim.
    Who was this woman? Why her? Why
here? Why this gown? The most expensive order? Because it fit? Why that dress?
The Carruthers order? Turgeon had reached Maggie Carruthers. She was alive.
Very.
    “Yes, it’s tragic,