The Dark Places

and is often associated with wet material or wallpaper. This may point to her being held underground, somewhere dark and damp, possibly in a basement. I know that narrows it down to about a million potential places in this area. I’ve sent it off to be analysed as well so I’ll keep you posted.”
“Why is there all this bruising around her neck?” Parker interrupted. “It wasn’t this dark and mottled when we found her.”
“Finger marks from strangulation,” Vector answered. “I estimate he strangled her to the point of unconsciousness over five times according to the impressions I can see, the last time being the one that finally and mercifully killed her.”
“So, cause of death is manual strangulation?” Surin confirmed.
“Without a doubt. There is a considerable amount of haemorrhaging in the strap muscles, and the stress has broken the hyoid bone. This poor girl was tortured, raped and beaten, but it was his hands wrapped around her throat that finally ended it, gloved hands I might add.”
“Time of death?” she asked.
“Between two and four this morning,” he answered. “She was found by the cabbie around six a.m., so she hadn’t been there long.”
Surin nodded as Vector picked up his scalpel and made the first cut of the Y-incision.
“Wait, he strangled her five times?” Parker asked. Surin and Vector looked at him questionably. “Am I missing something?” he added.
Surin looked at Parker, clearly not a clue as to what he was asking. Vector smiled sadly.
“He revived her, Parker. Each time he revived her, so he could do it all over again.” With that, he sliced down the centre of the chest and began eviscerating the body. Once the skin had been separated, he laid the blade down, picked up the shears and prepared to crack the ribs.
Parker was still staring at him when the sound of the rib cage and sternum coming free shifted his focus.
“Shit,” he mumbled, watching Vector lift the bone plate and place it on the table. “I’m done,” he said and with that strode out of the room.
Surin heard the whoosh of the automatic doors and caught Vector’s eye as he lifted out the first organ and passed it to Eric for weighing.
“He lasted longer than I thought,” she said, smiling.
“Not everyone’s like you Surin,” Vector countered, beginning to run out the intestines.
“Well, he is my partner, and this is how I work,” she answered, feeling a little guilty as Vector shook his head.
The only sound left in the room was the snapping shutter of the camera as the forensic photographer continued to record the horror of Isabelle’s final moments.

13
“Lunch?” Surin asked as she walked to meet Parker, who was casually leaning against the car door, jotting notes down in his book.
“Sure, I’m starving.” He reached up and stretched, making a small grunt of pleasure as his arms reached above his head. Surin tried not to notice how tall he was, or that a small section of his shirt had hitched up as he stretched, revealing a tanned and solid abdomen.
She looked away, chastising herself.
“What are you hungry for?” he asked.
She spun around, facing him, slack-jawed. “What!” she squeaked, hating the sound of humiliation in her voice.
“For lunch?” Parker replied, looking at her like she was a complete nutcase.
“Oh,” she said, holding back the urge to laugh. “Mexican?”
“Sounds perfect. My treat for being such a sook in there,” he said, gesturing over his shoulder to the front doors of the morgue.
“You weren’t a sook,” she laughed, “but you can still pay. We’ll eat and then go interview the cab driver who found her. Apparently, he will be at the station around one,” she stated, opening the passenger door and sliding in.
“Where to then?” he asked, starting the engine.
“Miguel’s,” Surin smirked, “best Mexican this side of the border.”
***
Surin chose a corner booth and slid along the seat to lean her back against the cool wall. She had always loved this place. It reminded her of a little restaurant called Siesta’s, that her parents used to take her to when she was young. The music over the speakers was soft and enchanting; she listened as the singer crooned in Spanish, and tapped along to the tempo with her fingertips on the table. She loved how this music made her feel. The delicate beat and trumpet melody drew her in; the soulful voice sang words that she didn’t understand but could somehow feel. It was impossible to hear this music and not move along with the rhythm.
A young waitress came over to their booth. She was wearing a pretty red button-up dress that flared out cutely just above her knees. Her hair was wild and dark and complimented her deep-olive skin. “Water, senor?” she asked Parker. He smiled up at her, and she instantly blushed, her cheeks matching the shade of her rosy lipstick.
“Please,” he replied and pushed his empty glass towards her. She filled it up and looked to Surin.
“Thanks,” Surin said, studying the menu.
“I will come take your orders soon,” the waitress said as she left, tossing one last look over her shoulder in Parker’s direction. Surin rolled her eyes.
“So, what’s good?” he asked, placing the menu down, paying no attention to the waitress and looking at Surin.
“Everything actually,” she replied, “but it’s always a toss-up between the nachos, which are amazing, and the chicken fajitas. Today the nachos have won.” She stacked her menu on the end of the table to let the waitress know she was ready.
“Make it two, then,” he replied and placed his menu on top. The young girl saw her cue and returned to take their orders.
“Two nachos with chilli beans, extra guacamole and two Coronas with lime, please,” Surin said. The waitress smiled, mainly at Parker, and headed back to the kitchen.
Parker