men gasped. The face of the still figure was grotesquely blackened, akin to something seen in a horror film. They rushed from the grove of trees to call for help.
When Detective Ray Sharp of the Fort Worth Police Department arrived, the area had been taped off to preserve evidence. With no way to get a car down to the crime scene, Sharp walked to where the body had been spotted.
She must have been led to the location or carried down here. The growth is too thick for a car to make it through, and I donât see any car tracks, Sharp thought to himself as he trudged through the thick vegetation.
When he reached the body, Sharp made mental notes: young white female, probably in her early twenties. He circled the corpse, observing leaves and other vegetation that had adhered to the cold, stiff remains. His soft brown hair blew gently in the southerly wind.
There was no way of knowing how long the woman had been dead. From the amount of advanced decomposition, Sharp knew that the body had been at the secluded location for several days. Temperatures had been in the high seventies and low eighties. The body was bloated and the skin of her face and torso was discolored. Sharp drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes momentarily before he again studied the face of the victim. Her lips were swollen, exposing her front teeth and gums. Her eye sockets were misshapen, and the black color of decomposition extended into her scalp. She was unidentifiable.
Sharp made certain that brown paper bags were slipped over the hands and forearms of the Jane Doe. It was imperative to preserve any evidence on her hands or under her nails that might help in identifying her killer.
About fifty feet from the victim, detectives found a pile of clothes. It was not known if they belonged to the dead woman, but the shirt and blue denim overalls would be inspected for possible evidence.
Dr. Nizam Peerwani, Tarrant County Medical Examiner, arrived at the scene. The physician made a preliminary examination of the body.
âI think itâs a recent death,â Peerwani said in a thick East Indian accent. âI canât make a conclusive determination until I do an autopsy or make a final identification.â
While the body was being transported to the medical examinerâs office, detectives reviewed recent reports of missing persons. Ken Taylorâs report of his missing wife was among them.
âMr. Taylor, weâve found a body out near Loop 820 and Randall Mill Road in east Fort Worth. We think it might be your wife. Can you come down to the morgue and take a look?â an officer asked Ken.
It was the phone call Ken Taylor had dreaded receiving. He prayed on the way to meet with police that it wasnât Debra who had been found, but he knew in his heart that something had to have happened to his wife, or she would be home.
As Taylor was guided toward a stainless-steel table in the cold confines of the Fort Worth city morgue, his heartbeat quickened and his body began to tremble. Dread flooded him, replaced with repulsion at the sight of the hideous figure he knew was that of his beautiful wife.
âIâm sure itâs Debra,â Taylor said, tears of sorrow and regret flowing free down his ruddy cheeks. âThatâs the necklace I gave her for Christmas, and those are her wedding rings.â
The jewelry was all of Debra that Ken recognized. He couldnât see her sparkling green eyes, her sandy-colored hair, or her perfectly shaped lips. They were gone. The lifeless, deformed figure on the table was not the spirited wife he knew, the woman he loved. It was the mere shell of a once-vibrant woman.
Debra Taylor would have turned twenty-six on the day her body was found in eastern Fort Worth. The next day, instead of celebrating her birthday, family members gathered at the Taylor home to plan a funeral.
Ken held his daughters close to him. He did all he could to comfort them, but his pain was so intense that
When Detective Ray Sharp of the Fort Worth Police Department arrived, the area had been taped off to preserve evidence. With no way to get a car down to the crime scene, Sharp walked to where the body had been spotted.
She must have been led to the location or carried down here. The growth is too thick for a car to make it through, and I donât see any car tracks, Sharp thought to himself as he trudged through the thick vegetation.
When he reached the body, Sharp made mental notes: young white female, probably in her early twenties. He circled the corpse, observing leaves and other vegetation that had adhered to the cold, stiff remains. His soft brown hair blew gently in the southerly wind.
There was no way of knowing how long the woman had been dead. From the amount of advanced decomposition, Sharp knew that the body had been at the secluded location for several days. Temperatures had been in the high seventies and low eighties. The body was bloated and the skin of her face and torso was discolored. Sharp drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes momentarily before he again studied the face of the victim. Her lips were swollen, exposing her front teeth and gums. Her eye sockets were misshapen, and the black color of decomposition extended into her scalp. She was unidentifiable.
Sharp made certain that brown paper bags were slipped over the hands and forearms of the Jane Doe. It was imperative to preserve any evidence on her hands or under her nails that might help in identifying her killer.
About fifty feet from the victim, detectives found a pile of clothes. It was not known if they belonged to the dead woman, but the shirt and blue denim overalls would be inspected for possible evidence.
Dr. Nizam Peerwani, Tarrant County Medical Examiner, arrived at the scene. The physician made a preliminary examination of the body.
âI think itâs a recent death,â Peerwani said in a thick East Indian accent. âI canât make a conclusive determination until I do an autopsy or make a final identification.â
While the body was being transported to the medical examinerâs office, detectives reviewed recent reports of missing persons. Ken Taylorâs report of his missing wife was among them.
âMr. Taylor, weâve found a body out near Loop 820 and Randall Mill Road in east Fort Worth. We think it might be your wife. Can you come down to the morgue and take a look?â an officer asked Ken.
It was the phone call Ken Taylor had dreaded receiving. He prayed on the way to meet with police that it wasnât Debra who had been found, but he knew in his heart that something had to have happened to his wife, or she would be home.
As Taylor was guided toward a stainless-steel table in the cold confines of the Fort Worth city morgue, his heartbeat quickened and his body began to tremble. Dread flooded him, replaced with repulsion at the sight of the hideous figure he knew was that of his beautiful wife.
âIâm sure itâs Debra,â Taylor said, tears of sorrow and regret flowing free down his ruddy cheeks. âThatâs the necklace I gave her for Christmas, and those are her wedding rings.â
The jewelry was all of Debra that Ken recognized. He couldnât see her sparkling green eyes, her sandy-colored hair, or her perfectly shaped lips. They were gone. The lifeless, deformed figure on the table was not the spirited wife he knew, the woman he loved. It was the mere shell of a once-vibrant woman.
Debra Taylor would have turned twenty-six on the day her body was found in eastern Fort Worth. The next day, instead of celebrating her birthday, family members gathered at the Taylor home to plan a funeral.
Ken held his daughters close to him. He did all he could to comfort them, but his pain was so intense that
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