Nocturne

Chapter 2

The morgue was sterile, its harsh fluorescent lighting illuminating the stainless steel autopsy table, where the body of the young girl lay. Detective Rachel Monroe stood at the side, arms folded, her eyes narrowing at the still, lifeless form. Dr. Evan Hayes was already prepping for the postmortem, his gloves snapping into place as he set up the necessary tools.

The child’s body had been retrieved from the sea not more than forty-eight hours ago, and even in the controlled environment of the morgue, the air was heavy with the scent of decay and the faint saltiness from the ocean. Rachel’s stomach churned, but she pushed the feeling down.

“She was young,” Rachel remarked softly, her voice rough as she studied the child’s frail body. “How old do you think, Doc?”

Dr. Hayes pulled down the surgical light, angling it over the body. He paused, assessing the child’s size and development. “I’d say about seven or eight, based on height and body mass,” he said, matter-of-factly. His tone was neutral, but his eyes reflected the weight of what they were dealing with. “We’ll confirm with bone development, but that’s a preliminary estimate.”

Rachel nodded, her throat tight. “Seven or eight,” she muttered, shaking her head. “God.”

Dr. Hayes glanced up. “Let’s start with the external examination. I'll note any identifying marks, bruises, lacerations, or signs of trauma. You may want to step back.”

Monroe held her ground, standing firm as Dr. Hayes began his methodical work. He carefully inspected the child’s body for any surface abnormalities.

“These contusions on the wrists and ankles,” Hayes said, pointing to the dark, circular bruises. “Signs of restraint. The ligature marks are distinct. We’ll collect fiber samples later, but it appears she was bound tightly with something thin, possibly a rope or cord.”

Rachel swallowed hard, watching his gloved hands move with professional precision. Hayes picked up a handheld UV light, running it along the body’s extremities. “No trace of foreign substances on the skin, but there are indications of subdermal bruising around the chest and neck areas.”

He set down the UV light and carefully began to inspect the torso. As he did, Rachel noticed the familiar incision across the abdomen, just below the ribs—a perfect crescent, clean and deliberate.

“That’s the same mark, isn’t it?” she asked, her voice tense. “As the others?”

Hayes paused, nodding as he traced the edge of the incision with his gloved finger. “Yes. It’s consistent with the prior cases—a precise, surgical cut, no hesitation. Whoever did this has medical knowledge, likely trained.”

With that, Hayes picked up the scalpel and made the Y-incision, starting at the shoulders and working down the chest. The sound of the blade cutting through flesh was clinical, though Monroe couldn’t ignore the grim reality of the procedure.

As Hayes pulled back the skin to reveal the underlying muscle and tissue, the smell hit Rachel hard. It wasn’t just death; it was decay, accelerated by the body’s exposure to the elements. She turned her head slightly, though she refused to leave.

“The subcutaneous tissues are waterlogged,” Hayes noted, “consistent with immersion. There’s minimal decomposition internally, indicating she was likely killed shortly before the body was dumped into the water.”

Hayes reached for the rib cutters next. With a practiced motion, he snapped the ribs open, exposing the organs beneath. The sound echoed through the room, a reminder of just how fragile the human body could be. He removed the heart, inspecting it briefly before setting it aside.

“Cause of death is likely asphyxiation,” Hayes said as he examined the lungs. “There’s petechial hemorrhaging in the eyes and lung tissue. Strangulation, most likely.”

Rachel clenched her jaw, her fingers twitching with barely contained frustration. “She was alive when he dumped her?”

“Hard to say just yet,” Hayes replied, setting the lungs aside. “But the state of the trachea suggests trauma occurred before death. I’ll run toxicology to confirm, but there’s no water in the lungs, meaning she was likely dead when she entered the water.”

Monroe let out a slow breath. “Any sign of s****l assault?” she asked, knowing that was the next thing she needed to know, but dreading the answer.

Hayes didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he continued his examination, taking swabs and noting further damage along the thighs and pelvic area. He paused after a few moments and finally looked up, his expression grim.

“We’ll need to send swabs to the lab for confirmation,” he said, “but there’s physical trauma consistent with s****l assault.”

Rachel felt her chest tighten. This wasn’t just murder—it was something far more insidious, and every new piece of evidence only deepened the pit of dread in her stomach.

Hayes finished the internal examination, his voice growing more focused. “I’ll complete the toxicology report, but given the precision of the cuts and the lack of defensive wounds, I suspect she was incapacitated before she died. Drugs, perhaps.”

The room fell silent, save for the soft hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. Rachel’s mind raced with the implications of what they had uncovered. Another child, another brutal killing, another sickening mark left on the body—this was no longer a question of if they would find the killer, but when.

“There’s no doubt now,” Hayes said softly. “It’s the same killer. The same methods. The same cruelty.”

Rachel nodded, feeling the weight of the case bearing down on her shoulders. “We need to stop him,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. “Before he kills again.”

Before Hayes could respond, the door creaked open, and Officer Daniels stepped into the room, his face pale as he clutched a folder in his hands.