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been over her clothing yet for fibers, but the body is clean. Nothing from the fingernail scrapings and nothing from the sexual assault kit.”
    “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
    “I wish I was.”
    “Was she sexually assaulted?”
    “It appears so. But there’s no seminal fluid.”
    “Pubic hair transfer?”
    “M.E. said no.”
    “M.E. said no? He did the analysis?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Do me a favor, Cameron.”
    “What?”
    “Do it again. You do it this time. Just to be sure.”
    “John –“
    “Just do it again, all right?”
    He sighed. “Okay, I will. But off the books.”
    “On the books, off the books…I don’t care, unless you find something. Who did the Taylor kit?”
    “M.E.,” Cameron answered.
    “The M.E. again? Why is the Medical Examiner doing tech work?”
    “I don’t know. He’s kind of…”
    “Arrogant.”
    “Yeah, something like that. Anyway, he did both hair examinations.”
    “Well, do ‘em both again. Every single loose hair that came from combing both victims. A guy that arrogant and that busy probably rushed through it.”
    Cameron didn’t answer.
    “What else is there?”
    “She had a tattoo, just off her pelvis, right at the bikini line.”
    “Of what?”
    “A name, I think. Rena.”
    I considered that for a moment. “Her name, you think? Or a daughter, maybe?”
    “I don’t know,” Cameron said.
    “All right. Get back to me if you get a hit on her fingerprint. Or anything on the hairs.”
    “I will.” The phone clicked as he hung up.
    I drove the last three blocks to the Taylor home and considered what Cameron had told me. The unknown victim case was going to be a lot of work. At least I knew who Fawn Taylor was. Of course that led to the next obstacle, which was asking questions no one wanted to hear, much less answer.
    The Taylor residence was one of the smaller homes and one of the few without a gate. I pulled into the long driveway and came to a stop in front of the front steps. The house was dark red brick with bright white trim. Although it wasn’t as large as some of the other homes, with all that brick, I imagined it cost just as much.
    When I knocked on the door, Steve Taylor answered. Taylor was thin and wore John Lennon glasses that sat precariously on his nose.
    “Detective,” he greeted me with a nod.
    “Mr. Taylor,” I nodded back. “Thanks for taking the time to see me.”
    “Anything to help find the guy who…anything to help solve the case.” Taylor stepped to the side and waved me indoors. The entryway was large and I glanced up at the ceiling, which had to be almost three stories up. A wide staircase wound upstairs to the right. I followed Taylor to the left, through a large room with a piano.
    He led me into a smaller room lined with books on dark oak shelves. His wife, Andie Taylor, sat on a long couch looking at a photo album. A half-empty glass of white wine rested on the table in front of her. When she looked up, her eyes were puffy and red. She held a tissue balled up in her left hand.
    “Mrs. Taylor,” I greeted her.
    She nodded absently and set the album on the table without closing it. In the same motion, she retrieved the wine and took a large sip. I waited until she looked up at me to continue.
    When she did, I told her, “I wanted to update you both on my investigation and ask you a few more questions.”
    “Has there been some sort of break in the case?” Steve asked from behind me.
    “No, sir.”
    Andie Taylor watched me, her eyes calm. I remembered how hysterical she had been when I had told her about the death of her daughter. That was to be expected. But she had remained on the edge of hysteria for most of the two weeks since then. I looked at her carefully. She didn’t appear to be drunk or sedated, despite the glass of wine in her hand. The calmness in her eyes still radiated sadness, however.
    “ Where is your investigation, detective?” Steve asked.
    I turned to him. “In a case like this, the