With her curly brown hair gathered up into a messy bun, the adorable five-foot-nothing doctor walked easily in her signature heels as she headed straight for the victim.
Eric would never understand how she could stand to wear shoes like that on a daily basis, let alone to a crime scene. But somehow, the stylish woman made it work.
“What do we have?” Maggie asked, stopping inches from their victim.
“Young girl,” Eric took the lead. “We’re guessing late teens, early twenties at the most. No obvious injuries or cause of death that we can see.”
“No I.D.?” She set her black bag down onto the shoulder’s sparce gravel.
“Not unless it’s in her pockets.”
Maggie’s round, hazel eyes rose to his. “You didn’t check?”
The woman was as smart as she was cute. But she didn’t push all his buttons the way his sexy, stunning partner did.
One corner of Eric’s mouth curved. “Nice try, Doc. But Riley and I know better.”
“Yes.” Humor shone behind the woman’s eyes. “You do. And it’s very much appreciated.” After putting on a pair of disposable medical gloves, Maggie walked around the body to take her first real look. “Her clothes have seen better days,” she noted, tilting her head. “The soles on her shoes are worn almost completely through.”
“I noticed that, too,” Riley joined in. “My guess is, she lived on the streets.”
Maggie nodded. “Or worked them.”
“Or both.”
The two women glanced in his direction.
The comment wasn’t meant to be offensive or demeaning. Eric had simply seen it too often in his career.
Too many young women—and young men—homeless and desperate for money. Enough so, they’re willing to do just about anything for their next meal or a quick fix.
“There’s definite mottling present on the skin,” Maggie commented as she slid one of the girl’s sleeves up toward her elbow. “Damn.”
“What?” Riley moved in closer.
“Look at this.” Maggie lifted the girl’s limp arm for them to see.
Eric’s stomach turned when she saw the markings on the pale skin around the wrists. The bruises and cuts there made it clear she’d been bound.
So much for our overdose theory.
“Those look like cuff marks,” Riley offered up.
“Agreed.” Maggie turned the arm for a clear look all the way around. “And there are several different ones on each wrist. Areas that appear to have begun to heal while others look a bit more recent.”
Ah, hell.
He and Riley shared a sliding glance before Eric asked, “You sayin’ whoever did this held her captive for an extended period of time?”
Looking up at him, sympathy for their victim filled Maggie’s round eyes as she nodded. “I can’t say for sure how long until I can look at the wounds more closely. But at first glance I’d say at least a few days.”
“Jesus.” Lifting a hand to his jaw, Eric ran a hand over the stubble that needed shaving. “Looks like she fought hard to get free.”
Beside him, Riley’s full, bow-shaped lips pressed into a hard line. “Bastard didn’t even give her a chance to fight back.”
No. Whoever did this had made sure his prey couldn’t escape.
“What else can you tell us, Mags?” Eric rested his hands on his hips.
