"Do we have an ID?"she asked.
Fritz nodded, pulling out a small notebook."Monica Hayes, thirty-four.We found her purse in the dining room, tucked under one of the tables.Driver's license, credit cards, about sixty bucks in cash—nothing taken as far as we can tell."
"So not a robbery."James was studying the shelves, the placement of the body relative to the door."Any connection to the restaurant?"
"Still working that angle.Nothing obvious so far—she doesn't appear on any employee records, and her address puts her on the other side of town.No one reported her missing.”
The sound of footsteps in the kitchen announced a new arrival.Isla looked up to see Dr.Patricia Henley making her way toward the freezer, medical bag in hand, her gray-streaked hair pulled back in its usual practical bun.The medical examiner's face was set in the neutral expression of someone who had seen too much death to let any single instance rattle her.
"Agent Rivers," Henley said by way of greeting."Agent Sullivan.Detective Fritz."She stepped into the freezer and surveyed the scene with practiced eyes."Well.This is something."
Isla and James stepped back to give her room to work.For several minutes, there was only the sound of Henley's examination—the snap of latex gloves, the quiet murmur of observations into her recorder, the careful manipulation of frozen limbs and clothing.
"Initial assessment," Henley said finally, straightening up."She didn't die in here."
"You're certain?"Isla asked.
"As certain as I can be before the full autopsy."Henley pointed to the woman's neck, where bruising had begun to darken the skin."See these marks?Consistent with manual strangulation.And the rigor mortis pattern is off—the way she's positioned, the way the muscles have frozen...she was killed somewhere else and moved here afterward.Probably placed within an hour or two of death, based on what I'm seeing."
"Strangled," James said."Then brought here and arranged."
"That's my preliminary finding, yes."Henley's mouth pressed into a thin line."The positioning confirms it wasn't an accident.Someone took considerable care with her after death.Closed her eyes.Arranged her hands.Almost like they were putting her to bed."
Isla felt that crawling sensation on her neck again.Whoever had done this had wanted Monica Hayes to look at peace.The question was why.Guilt?Ritual?Some twisted form of affection?
"Time of death?"she asked.
"The freezing complicates things but based on lividity patterns and what I can assess of decomposition before the cold arrested it..."Henley considered."At least forty-eight hours.Probably closer to seventy-two."
"So, she's been in here since Friday, maybe Thursday," James said.
Fritz stepped forward."That matches with what we know about the security system.The restaurant's cameras are on a forty-eight-hour loop—footage resets automatically unless someone manually saves it.Nobody's been in the building since the shutdown, so whatever was recorded has been written over.We've got nothing."
"Convenient," Isla said.
"Very."Fritz's jaw tightened."Look, I'll level with you—we've had a lot going on in Duluth lately.The LSK manhunt, that whole mess with Thomas Garrett, plus the usual winter crime spike.When this came across the wire, my captain thought it might be better to loop you in early rather than wait until we were already drowning."
Isla appreciated the honesty.Some local cops resented federal involvement; others recognized when they needed help.Fritz seemed like the latter.
"We're happy to take it," she said."What else can you tell us about the restaurant?The owner?"
"Marco DiMatteo.Fifty-two, been running Bella Ristorante for about fifteen years.Has connections—city council, Chamber of Commerce, that sort of thing.He's been all over our office since the shutdown, demanding they clear him to reopen."Fritz flipped through his notebook."The health inspector—Kyle Henderson—mentioned something interesting when we talked to him this morning.Apparently, DiMatteo was adamant that the salmonella couldn't have come from his kitchen.Really insisted on it.Got pretty heated about it, from what Henderson said."
"Defensive," James observed.
"Could be nothing.A lot of restaurant owners don't want to admit their kitchen made people sick.But given the circumstances..."Fritz shrugged.
Isla took one last look at Monica Hayes—the peaceful pose, the closed eyes, the hands folded like a woman in a coffin.Whoever had killed her hadn't dumped the body.They'd placed her.Cared for her, in their own twisted way.
"We'll need everything you have on DiMatteo," she said."And on the victim.Employment records, social media, known associates—the works."
"Already started pulling it together.I'll send what we have to your office."
"Good."Isla stepped out of the freezer, grateful for the relative warmth of the kitchen."James and I will head back, see what we can dig up on the restaurant and its owner before we bring him in for questioning."
James fell into step beside her as they made their way back through the dining room.The cheerful Tuscan hillside on the sign seemed almost mocking now, a promise of warmth and comfort that had curdled into something dark.
"Different MO from the LSK," James said quietly, reading her thoughts.
