I said, "I think she was tied up tight. Wrists and ankles. The bindings started to bruise her, but she didn't live long enough for the bruises to develop very much. But they definitely started. A little blood leaked into her tissues, and it stayed there when the rest of it drained out. Which is why we're seeing compression injuries as raised welts."
"Tied up with what?"
"Not ropes," I said. "Maybe belts or straps. Something wide and flat. Maybe silk scarves. Something padded, perhaps. To disguise what had been done."
Merriam said nothing. He moved past me to the end of the table and looked at Chapman's ankles. He said, "She was wearing pantyhose when she was brought in. The nylon was undamaged. Not torn or laddered at all."
"Because of the padding. Maybe it was foam rubber. Something like that. But she was tied up."
Merriam was quiet for another moment.
Then he said, "Not impossible."
I asked, "How plausible?"
"Postmortem examination has its limits, you know. You'd need an eyewitness to be certain."
"How do you explain the complete exsanguination?"
"She could have been a hemophiliac."
"Suppose she wasn't?"
"Then gravity would be the only explanation. She was hung upside down."
"By belts or straps, or ropes over some kind of padding?"
"Not impossible," Merriam said again. "Turn her over," I said.
"Why?"
"I want to see the gravel rash."
"You'll have to help me," he said, so I did.
19
The human body is a self-healing machine, and it doesn't waste time. Skin is crushed or split or cut, and blood immediately rushes to the site, the red cells scabbing and knitting a fibrous matrix to bind the parted edges together, the white cells seeking out and destroying germs and pathogens below. The process is underway within minutes, and it lasts as many hours or days as are necessary to return the skin to its previous unbroken integrity. The process causes a bell curve of inflammation, peaking as the suffusion of blood peaks, and as the scab grows thickest, and as the fight against infection reaches its most intense state.
The small of Janice May Chapman's back was peppered with tiny cuts, as was the whole of her butt, and as were her upper arms just above her elbows. The cuts were small, thinly scabbed incisions, all surrounded by small areas of crushing, which were colorless due to her bloodlessness. The cuts were all inflicted in random directions, as if by loose and rolling items of similar size and nature, small and hard and neither razor-sharp nor completely blunt.
Classic gravel rash.
I looked at Merriam and asked, "How old do you think these injuries are?"
He said, "I have no idea."
"Come on, doctor," I said. "You've treated cuts and grazes before. Or have you? What were you before? A psychiatrist?"
"I was a pediatrician," he said. "I have no idea what I'm doing here. None at all. Not in this area of medicine."
"Kids get cuts and grazes all the time. You must have seen hundreds."
"This is a serious business. I can't risk unsupported guesses."
"Try educated guesses."
"Four hours," he said.
I nodded. I figured four hours was about right, judging by the scabs, which were more than nascent, but not yet fully mature. They had been developing steadily, and then their development had stopped abruptly when the throat was cut and the heart had stopped and the brain had died and all metabolism had ceased.
I asked, "Did you determine the time of death?"
Merriam said, "That's very hard to know. Impossible, really. The exsanguination interferes with normal biological processes."
"Best guess?"
"Some hours before she was brought to me."
"How many hours?"
"More than four."
"That's obvious from the gravel rash. How many more than four?"
"I don't know. Fewer than twenty-four. That's the best I can do."
I said, "No other injuries. No bruising. No sign of a defensive struggle."
Merriam said, "I agree."
Deveraux said, "Maybe she didn't fight. Maybe she had a gun to her head. Or a knife to her throat."
"Maybe," I said. I looked at Merriam again and asked, "Did you do a vaginal examination?"
"Of course."
"And?"
"I judged she had had recent sexual intercourse."
"Any bruising or tearing in that area?"
"None visible."
"Then why did you conclude she was raped?"
"You think it was consensual? Would you lie down on gravel to make love?"
"I might," I said. "Depending on who I was with."
"She had a home," Merriam said. "With a bed in it. And a car, with a back seat. Any putative boyfriend would have a home and a car, too. And there's a hotel here in town. And there are other towns, with other hotels. No one needs to conduct a tryst outdoors."
"Especially not in March," Deveraux said.
The small room went quiet, and it stayed quiet until Merriam asked, "Are we done here?"
"We're done," Deveraux said.
"Well, good luck, chief," Merriam said. "I hope this one turns out better than the last two."
Deveraux and I walked down the doctor's driveway, past the mailbox, past the shingle, to the sidewalk, where we stood next to Deveraux's car. I knew she was not going to give me a ride. This was not a democracy. Not yet. I said, "Did you ever see a rape victim with intact pantyhose?"
"You think that's significant?"
"Of course it is. She was attacked on gravel. Her pantyhose should have been shredded."
"Maybe she was forced to undress first. Slowly and carefully."
"The gravel rash had edges. She was wearing something. Pulled up, pulled down, whatever, but she was partially clothed. And then she changed afterward. Which is possible. She had four hours."
"Don't go there," Deveraux said.
"Go where?"
"You're trying to plead the army down to rape only. You're going to say she was killed by someone else, separately, later."
I said nothing.
"And that dog won't hunt," Deveraux said. "You stumble into someone and get raped, and then within the next four hours you stumble into someone else completely different and get your throat cut? That's a really bad day, isn't it? That's the worst day ever. It's too coincidental. No, it was the same guy. But he had himself an all-day session. He took hours. He had plans and equipment. He had access to her clothes. He made her change. This was all highly premeditated."
"Possible," I said.
"They teach effective tactical planning in the army. So they claim, anyway."
"True," I said. "But they don't give you all day off very often. Not in a training environment. Not usually."
Deveraux said, "But Kelham is not just about training, is it? Not from what I've been able to piece together. There are a couple of rifle companies there. In and out on rotation. And they get leave when they come back. Days off. Plenty of them. All in a row. One after the other."
I said nothing.
Deveraux said, "You should call your CO. Tell him it's looking bad."
I said, "He already knows. That's why I'm here."
She paused a long moment and said, "I want you to do me a favor."