Karin Slaughter - Broken

Knife wounds punctured his chest. The blood had dried in thick chunks around the material of his jacket. More blood was on the floor, smeared in a streak to the desk opposite the bed. The computer, the notebooks and papers scattered around, were all covered in blood and pieces of brain matter.

Sara put her hand to the boy’s wrist. The check for a pulse was routine, though hardly necessary. “I count eight stab wounds to the chest, three more to the neck. The bacteria from the gut is what’s causing the smell. His bowel was pierced. He’s filled with toxins.”

Will asked, “How long do you think he’s been dead?”

“Judging by the rigor mortis, at least twelve hours.”

“You think we’re looking at the same killer?”

“I think whoever killed Jason knew him. This is hatred.” She pressed her fingers to one of the wounds in Jason’s neck, stretching the skin back into place. “Look at this. There’s the same twist at the bottom that I saw on Allison.” She checked the other wounds on the neck. “All of them are the same. The killer plunged in the blade, then twisted it to make sure he hit the mark. You can see bruising from the hilt. I’d guess the same type of knife was used. I’ll have to get them both on the table, but it’s an educated guess that this is the work of the same killer.”

“Jason was a lot bigger than Allison. He wouldn’t be as easy to overpower.”

Gently, she slid her hand under the back of the head. “The skull is fractured.” When she pulled her hand back, it was sticky with blood.

“Window’s closed,” he pointed out. A sizable puddle covered the floor under the sash. Marty had been in the room after all.

Sara had noticed, too. “He did you a favor. The rain could’ve flooded the floor and washed away the trace.”

“Charlie’s not going to be happy.” Will realized he hadn’t told her that a team was coming. “He’s our forensics guy. He’ll probably want to keep the body here until he’s processed the scene.”

“I’ll let Brock know. Do you want me to do the autopsy?”

He thought he might be stepping on her toes. “If it’s not too much of an imposition.”

“I’ll do whatever you want.”

Will didn’t know what to say. He was used to the women in his life making things more difficult, not easier. “Thank you.”

She asked, “Do you think Jason was Allison’s boyfriend?”

“They’re close in age. They go to the same school. They both ended up dead by the same killer’s hand. I think it’s not a big leap.” Will asked, “Assuming you hate to hypothesize, what do you think happened here?”

Sara changed into fresh gloves, telling him, “I assume Jason was at the computer when he was hit with something. Statistically, we can guess a baseball bat. I’ll know pretty quickly. There will be splinters in his scalp.” She pointed to spatter on the wall that Will hadn’t noticed before. Unlike the oak tree by the lake, the white walls of the dorm showed clear signs of the violence that was done. “Medium velocity. I don’t think the blow was meant to kill him. The killer wanted to stun him.” She pointed to the red streaks on the floor. “He was dragged over to the bed and stabbed, but it doesn’t make sense.”

“Why?”

She looked under the bed. “There should be a lot more blood than this.” She indicated a fleshy chunk on the desk. “Obviously, he bit off his tongue—”

Will gagged. “Sorry. Keep going.”

“Are you sure?”

His voice sounded unnaturally high even to him. “Yes. Please keep going.”

She gave him a careful look before continuing. “It’s not uncommon with blows to the back of the head for the victim to bite their tongue. Usually it doesn’t come clean off, but it explains the volume of blood on the keyboard. His mouth would’ve been engorged with blood.” She indicated the wall above the desk. “The spatter here is what you’d expect from the baseball bat making contact with the head, but over by the bed is a different story.”

“Why?”

“From the position of the wounds, I can tell that major arteries were hit in the chest and neck.” Sara explained, “Think about it this way—Jason’s on the bed. We assume he’s conscious because of the defensive wounds on his hand. He almost lost his finger. He must’ve grabbed the knife by the blade. His heart would’ve been pounding like crazy.” She patted her fist to her chest, mimicking the quick beat. “Spray, spray, spray. All over the wall.”

Will looked at the wall. She was right. Except for two splotchy-looking stains close to the body, the white paint was hardly marked at all.

Sara suggested, “Maybe the killer was wearing something like a clean suit. He could’ve put down plastic. He’d have to cover the room, tape the walls. This was really planned.”

“I think that’s a little complicated.” Will had yet to meet a killer who was that fastidious. “Most killers keep it simple. They’re opportunistic.”

“I wouldn’t call taking a couple of cinder blocks, a padlock, and a chain to the middle of the woods opportunistic.”

“I just think you’re making this too complicated. Couldn’t the killer cover Jason’s body with something and stab him underneath?”

Sara looked at the body. “The stab wounds are closely patterned. I don’t know. What are you talking about? Plastic?” She nodded to herself. “The killer could’ve covered him in plastic. Look at the floor. There’s a drip line here.”

Will saw the line. It was irregular, following the shape of the bed.

She said, “Plastic doesn’t absorb. The line wouldn’t be thin like that. It would come off in sheets.”

“Sheets.”

Sara leaned down and checked the bed. “Fitted sheet, top sheet.”

“Blanket?” Will asked. The kid had been freezing cold. It didn’t make sense that he’d go to bed without a blanket.

Sara opened the closet door. “Nothing.” She started on the drawers. “I think you’re right. It must have been something absorbent that—”

Will walked down the hallway to the bathroom. The lights were off, but he found the switch by the door. The fluorescents flickered overhead. Green light bounced off the blue tiles. Will had never lived in a dorm, but he’d shared a communal bathroom with fifteen other boys until he was eighteen years old. They were all the same: sinks in the front, showers in the back, toilets on the side.

He found a wadded-up blanket in the first stall. Blood coated the blue cotton, making it stiff as cardboard.

Sara came up behind him.

He told her, “Simple.”

WILL LOOKED FOR the house with the swing set that marked the turn on Taylor Drive. Though the route was familiar, he was loath to take it. Searching Allison Spooner’s room was a necessary chore, but Will’s instincts told him that Jason Howell’s dorm room held more promising leads. Unfortunately, Will wasn’t a crime scene technician. He didn’t have the credentials or equipment to process such a complicated scene. He would have to wait for Charlie Reed and his team to drive over from the Central GBI lab. Two students were already dead and Will had no idea what was motivating the killer. Time was definitely not on his side.

Still, there were procedures to be followed. He had dropped by the station to pick up the warrant to search the Braham house. While he was there, he’d sent Faith the list Marty Harris had printed out of all the students in the dorm. She didn’t have time to do all the background checks, but she was going to get started on them now and send the rest of the list to Amanda’s secretary before she went to the hospital.

The police station had been oddly quiet. Will guessed they were all either on the street or at the hospital with Brad Stephens, who was still in a medically induced coma. Still, something was going on. The patrolmen milling around the desks hadn’t glared at Will with the expected hatred. Marla Simms had handed him the fax without having to be asked. Even Larry Knox had stared at the floor as he walked to the coffee machine to refill his cup.