Story VII
It felt awkward to stand there next to the naked girl's body. She had been neatly stitched up and labelled Jane Doe 0165. The bruises on her neck, face and arms were the colour of rhododendrons.
The pathology report said she hadn't been sexually assaulted. No traces of violation, apart from the blows to the head. One blow had broken her nose and there were bruises on her forehead and imprints were a hand had gripped her left arm.
She wasn't really beautiful. She was short and a bit overweight, heavy around the hips. A pink blue lined horizontal scar from an operation divided her lower abdomen into 2 equal soft fat parts.
Her nails were dirty and black rimmed. Traces of tobacco, food and plain dust, corresponding to what they had found in her pant pockets. Nothing could be traced back to the place her corpse was left behind. The morgue smelled heavily of disinfectant. Sarah couldn't discover a smell belonging to the girl.
According to the report her stomach contained rests of a ham and cheese sandwich, eaten hours before time of death and several shots of vodka.
"Oh God," she thought. "She might have been killed in a domestic argument by a violent boyfriend. But how am I ever going to find out? I don't even know if she was married." She checked the report again. No wedding ring. But she did wear a small necklace with a pearl around her neck. Fake. And the report mentioned a small tattoo. She hadn't noticed it yet. It was hidden, only millimeters above the big scar that made a deep gash into the fat of her belly. It said "Erika".
The pathology report said she hadn't been sexually assaulted. No traces of violation, apart from the blows to the head. One blow had broken her nose and there were bruises on her forehead and imprints were a hand had gripped her left arm.
She wasn't really beautiful. She was short and a bit overweight, heavy around the hips. A pink blue lined horizontal scar from an operation divided her lower abdomen into 2 equal soft fat parts.
Her nails were dirty and black rimmed. Traces of tobacco, food and plain dust, corresponding to what they had found in her pant pockets. Nothing could be traced back to the place her corpse was left behind. The morgue smelled heavily of disinfectant. Sarah couldn't discover a smell belonging to the girl.
According to the report her stomach contained rests of a ham and cheese sandwich, eaten hours before time of death and several shots of vodka.
"Oh God," she thought. "She might have been killed in a domestic argument by a violent boyfriend. But how am I ever going to find out? I don't even know if she was married." She checked the report again. No wedding ring. But she did wear a small necklace with a pearl around her neck. Fake. And the report mentioned a small tattoo. She hadn't noticed it yet. It was hidden, only millimeters above the big scar that made a deep gash into the fat of her belly. It said "Erika".
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