He pressed the elevator button. “One of the docs said they actually lost her for a few minutes in the ER.”
“Lost her?”
“As in, she died. They brought her back. Twice.”
Going up in the elevator, Angie peered at her distorted reflection in the metal sides and rubbed under her eyes, trying to remove her smudged mascara. Holgersen observed her in silence.
“What?” she said. “It’s snowing out. I got wet. Makeup runs.”
“I didn’t say nothing, Detective.”
If he had said something, he’d probably have said,Yeah, in the three weeks since I’ve been partnered with you, I’ve not seen you wearing makeup once.He might look like a washed-up junkie, but Holgersen didn’t miss a beat. His mind was razor-sharp, and he was weighing her, filling in puzzle pieces from the first day they’d met, building a mental image of her.
He’d worked years in narcotics, both up north from whence he came and locally, with several stints undercover. His lazy speech and weird syntax fooled most, and Angie suspected he liked to keep it that way. At least he was easier to bear than the last asshole they’d tried to pair her with. Plus Holgersen deferred to her. Most of the time. She liked that. She didn’t know much about him otherwise—a closed book. And she didn’t pry, either, because she preferred to keep her personal life personal, too.
As they exited the elevator, a patrol officer waiting on a chair farther down the corridor came abruptly to her feet. Sometimes it felt like yesterday that Angie had been a beat cop herself. Other times it felt like decades.
“Detective Pallorino—sex crimes,” Angie said, introducing herself. “And this is Holgersen.”
“Constable Tonner,” said the uniform, opening her notebook. “My partner, Hickey, and I were the initial responding officers. I rode in the rear of the ambulance with the victim and have been at the hospital since. Hickey remained on scene to secure the area and interview witnesses.”
Small mercies. “Where’s our survivor now?”
“They’ve just moved her into the intensive care unit.”
“Who initially called it in?” Angie said.
“A ghost tour guide.” Tonner checked her notes. “Name’s Edwin Liszt. He and a group of four clients found her lying on one of the grave plots. They made the nine-one-one call.”
“Ghost touring? Inthisweather?” Holgersen said.
Angie glanced at him, thinking of the image she’d thought she’d seen on the road below the cemetery.
“Apparently it’s on nights like this when an infamous female apparition appears around midnight,” said Tonner. “We arrived after the EMTs were already working on her. Victim was soaked, hypothermic, nonresponsive, bleeding from a face wound and from her vaginal area. Her skirt had been pushed up, her stockings had been either ripped or cut away from her pelvic area, and her legs were splayed open. She was still wearing her boots.”
Silence hung a beat.
Angie cleared her throat. “We’ll need contact details for the paramedics, and for Liszt and his clients.”
“Got them. Hickey officially ID’d all the witnesses and took initial statements.”
“Her clothing?” Angie said.
“Logged and bagged.” Constable Tonner nodded to the paper evidence bags on the chair behind her. “Pair of Francesco Milano boots in there. Skirt was a designer label, too.”
“And no ID—wallet, phone?”
“Negative.”
“Rape kit?” Angie said.
A strident female voice sounded behind them. “Our primary commitment was patient survival.” They all spun around. A doctor in green surgical scrubs approached them. She was tall with a clean, strong face. Bright eyes, but they were lined with what Angie read as fatigue, stress.
“Dr.Ruth Finlayson.” She held out her hand. Angie reached forward and shook it. Firm grip.
“Angie Pallorino. And this is Kjel Holgersen.”
“There’s always an ethical problem when an unconscious patient presents with signs of sexual assault,” said Dr.Finlayson. “Performing a forensic exam without consent can make patients feel an additional loss of control once they regain consciousness. However, I am trained to administer a forensic examination, and our hospital policy does allow leeway to gather evidence if the collection occurs during necessary emergent care. So we did what we could. Usually we hold on to that evidence kit until consent for release is obtained, either by the patient or a surrogate decision-maker such as a family member, guardian, or judge.”
