Cold Truth by Mariah Stewart Page A

left her lying naked on the cold black asphalt, with the morning drizzle running off her body.
    And probably washing away evidence.
    She was grateful to see Tasha walking toward her. The CSI lugged her black bag, which some joked weighed almost as much as Tasha herself, who barely hit the scales at one hundred pounds and was maybe five-two if she stood up really straight. With her dark blond hair cut short, she looked like a pixie. A tiny pixie who had nerves of steel and a stomach of cast iron. Cass had never heard of Tasha backing away from anything, neither a crime scene nor an accident. It was said that even the most gruesome sights—those that made the big guys gag and cringe—barely made Tasha blink.
    “Well, shit, would you look at this,” Tasha said as she set down her evidence bag and opened it. “Two in one week?” She shook her head and looked up at Cass. “I’d say we have a problem here.”
    “I always admire the way you get right to the point, Tasha.” Cass crouched down and took another few shots of the body.
    “What’s the point in pussyfooting around.” Tasha pulled on her gloves. “You got two bodies in what . . . four days? Two victims who, at first glance, bear a strong resemblance to each other. Bodies positioned the same way—and look at that hair, the way it’s covering her face. I’d bet you a month’s salary that she’s been manually strangled and raped, just like the other one, but you’re too smart to take a bet like that, Burke.”
    Tasha bent down next to the body, and eased the hair from around the victim’s neck.
    “Oh, yeah. There they are.” She studied the bruises, all the while murmuring to the dead girl, “Ah, honey, what did he do to you?”
    Cass snapped a few more pictures.
    “Burke, did you get her fingers?” Tasha asked, and Cass nodded. “One of them looks to be broken.”
    “I’m pretty much finished with the body from this angle. I’m waiting for some lights so I can begin to look around the alley. I’d hate to kick evidence aside and miss something important.” Cass stood and straightened her back. “She’s all yours.”
    “Well, don’t go too far with that.” Tasha pointed to the camera. “As soon as I’m done on this side, I’m going to want to turn her over. You can give me a hand. Let me see what’s what under these fingernails . . .”
    Cass stood back and waited for Tasha to finish her ministrations. A car pulled into the driveway, its lights illuminating the scene. Jeff Spencer got out of the driver’s side and hurried up the walk.
    “Where have you been?” Cass asked.
    He shrugged, mumbling something unintelligible.
    “Jeff, we have another homicide here,” she pointed out the obvious, taking care not to raise her voice. “Second one this week. We need—”
    “Yeah, yeah, I know what we need,” he muttered under his breath as he walked past her, toward the body.
    Cass stared at his back, then shook it off.
Must have had a bad night,
she thought, then turned to wave to the officers that pulled into the drive and started to unload the lights.
    “Yay. Lights. Up here.” She motioned them along. “Set them up right here . . .”
    The lights brought new visibility to the scene, and the area was carefully searched for anything that the killer might have brought with him or left behind. Several cigarette butts near a hole in the fence went into a small plastic evidence bag, as did a drink container from a local fast-food restaurant and a dirty white sock. Any or none could have a connection to the killer. Only lab analysis would tell, and that not for a few more days, if ever.
    “Huh . . .” Cass heard Tasha say softly.
    “What?” She turned to see the CSI kneeling behind the body, a pair of tweezers in her right hand. She appeared to be inspecting something on the back of the dead woman’s head. Whatever it was, it was invisible to Cass. “What did you find?”
    “Some fiber” was the reply. Tasha crooked a finger at