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they had risked their lives in the Sonoran Desert, and lost. Men, women and children who left mostly on foot to leave the poverty of Mexico behind them. Scores of hopefuls perished in the relentless heat.
    He’d learned one more horrible fact on that visit to a Tucson morgue: before a medical examiner can be licensed, he or she must complete a certain number of autopsies. As hard as it would be to do in Aspen Falls, someplace like Tucson would have a lot more opportunity in a macabre kind of way. Offices along the Mexico-U.S. border had waiting lists for hopeful MEs. It was a horrible reflection on current conditions in that part of the country.
    The windowless room in the Aspen Falls ME office had three autopsy tables. Each table was surrounded by negative pressure vents that looked like giant cheese graters. These vents were there to suck in smells and anything else that might be released into the air, to protect anyone in proximity from inhaling airborne contaminants. Based on the smell he’d encountered at the burial grounds, Chase figured whoever invented this contraption qualified as a hero to medical examiners and coroners everywhere.
    The young body of the newest murder victim had been placed on one of the tables, with the other two empty. Chase didn’t like autopsies but he attended them when he could, for two reasons. First, he wanted to see what the ME saw. There was always the chance they’d find the one ‘thing’ that might become significant later and wrap up the case. Second, as appropriately clinical as autopsies were—and this proved hard for him to explain to other detectives—he attended autopsies as a witness to a life. At least to the way a life ended. He always experienced a profound advocacy link simply by being present.
    Chase listened to Jax as she rattled off her findings. The external examination provided no trace evidence that might be useful until the ME picked up her left arm.
    “Well, I’ll be. The left upper forearm indicates a recent needle puncture. My guess would be that some liquid agents were administered just prior to her death.”
    “Liquid agents?”
    “An IV of some kind. We’ll have to wait for the toxicology tests to know what drugs may have been used. All I can tell you is that it appears as if she was injected with something at this site—and probably not for too long.”
    Chase checked the other arm, then moved down to examine the skin between her toes. “No signs of extended drug use.”
    Jax placed the body on some blocks to make examination easier.
    “You ready, Detective?”
    “I’m guessing you’re not going to start with the Y-incision?”
    “Good guess.” Jax caught his sarcastic reference. “If there’s a problem with the embalming fluid later at the mortuary, let the record show we’re in the clear.”
    He’d learned from an ME in Denver that it’s important not to cut too far back on the shoulders when making the Y-incision because there’s likely to be a problem with the embalming fluid: it can leak through the stitches if the incision is over the shoulders. Every step in this process worked to protect the dignity of the deceased.
    “So, the skull is all that’s left?” Chase asked.
    “Pretty much.”
    Jax Taylor made a neat slice, ear-to-ear, over the top of the scalp and behind the ears. Chase waited to make sure there were no surprises with either the skull or the brain, nodded his thanks to Jax, and walked out of the room.
    He stripped off his gear and considered what he needed to do next. When he arrived at the front desk he grabbed a phone book, found the number, and punched it into his cell phone. He shoved outside the building into a cool early evening, hoping he could get an appointment soon. The front door swung closed as the call went through.
    “This is Chase Waters. I need to see you.”

Chapter Twelve
    Aspen Falls Police Department
    Thursday, September 20
    Back at the station, Chase checked his messages and then logged in to