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tone.
    “Hematoma doesn’t necessarily cause death right away.”
    “You suggesting she might have dragged herself some?”
    Larabee nodded glumly.
    “If the bastard had pulled over, the kid would have lived?”
    “Medical intervention might have saved her life. Might have.”
    Intent or not, that’s murder in my book. I didn’t need to say it.
    I see violent death on a regular basis. I know the cruelty and stupidity and insensitivity of which humans are capable. And yet, every time, the same question.
    How?
    How could someone run down a kid and leave her to die? Unless that was the plan.
    The men watched me walk to the drying rack and pick up the skirt. The skirt that would have ended just above the impact site.
    I turned to Slidell.
    “Have this tested.”
    “For what?”
    “Paint.”
    “What are the chances—”
    “DNA, parsley, fucking life from Mars! Just have it tested!”
    Many males are embarrassed in the presence of strong female emotion. Most have mastered the art of nonreaction. The averted eyes. The shifting feet. The unneeded cough.
    Slidell went to his fallback, the pointless wristwatch check.
    Larabee returned to the table and, unaided, repositioned the girl on her back.
    “I’m sorry.” I was. “That was uncalled for.”
    “I’m sure you noticed these.” Larabee proceeded as though my outburst had never taken place.
    I rehung the skirt and walked to his side. Slidell followed.
    Larabee lifted and rotated one of the girl’s arms.
    Angry ridges snaked the flesh of her inner elbow.
    “Well, that goes to motive.” Slidell was so close I could smell his sweat and hair oil. “Kid probably crossed her pusher and the prick took her out.”
    “There’s something else,” Larabee said quietly.

“ KILL THE LIGHTS , please.”
    Slidell clumped to the wall, back to the table.
    Larabee clicked on a small UV light and directed it toward the girl’s inner left thigh.
    A scatter glowed blue-white on her skin.
    Semen.
    As Larabee slowly moved the beam, some stains fluoresced more intensely than others.
    “Multiple donors?” I asked.
    “We’ll need DNA to confirm,” Larabee said. “But that’s my impression.”
    “We talking rape?” Slidell’s mouth was right at my ear.
    “I found no vaginal tearing or abrasions. No sign of anal entry.”
    “So we’re back to my first guess.” I heard Slidell straighten. “The kid was on the stroll.”
    I bit back a response.
    Larabee thumbed off his flash. “Get the switch?”
    Slidell did.
    “Think you can narrow the age estimate?” Larabee spoke to me as the fluorescents buzzed to life.
    “Has Joe taken dentals?” I was referring to Joe Hawkins, most senior of the lab’s autopsy techs.
    Larabee indicated a brown envelope lying on a countertop light box.
    I crossed to it and poured the small black squares onto the box’s viewing plate. After pushing the on button, I arranged the films anatomically and studied the illuminated dentition.
    “All four second molars are in occlusion, with the roots fully formed down to the tips. That puts her, minimally, above twelve. The third molars are unerupted and show little root development. I’m not an odontologist, but, dentally, I’d say she’s in the range of thirteen to seventeen.”
    The men waited as I continued to study the X-rays.
    “Left first molar’s got a mean abscess. Lots of caries, but not a single restoration.”
    “No evidence she ever saw a dentist.” Larabee got my meaning.
    “So I don’t bust my ass chasing dental records.” Slidell parked his hands on his hips. “An abscess. Wouldn’t that hurt like a sonofabitch?”
    “People have different thresholds for pain,” Larabee said. “But yes, probably. What are you thinking?”
    “Maybe she went to one of those free clinics. You know, looking for drugs or something.”
    “Good idea, detective.”
    Like a mail-order toy, the human skeleton comes with assembly required. Most bones are present at birth but lack the knobs,