In the dry Texas heat, fingerprints produced by the human body’s natural skin oils could last for a long time.

“Okay.” As she turned to leave the room, she imagined the departmental and media storms this death would cause. One Jane Doe could go unnoticed pretty easily. Even the strange manner of death would not have been enough to keep Jordan on the case. Her captain would assign her the next homicide, and this investigation would be relegated to her free time.

But two Jane Does killed in a similar manner could not be dismissed. “Thanks, Lucas.”

She left the house and at the forensic van quickly pulled off the PPE. The hot sun mingled with a gentle breeze but did little to cool her skin. She fished her phone from her back pocket and dialed. Her boss picked up on the second ring. “Captain Lee.”

“Do you want the good news or the bad news?”

“Give me the bad,” he said.

“The woman was killed in the same manner as the victim found on March 30.”

“And the good news?”

Jordan shook her head. “She’s been dead about two or three days, which will give Dr. McIntyre something more to work with. We might be able to identify this one, which will be a start.”

“Jesus,” he muttered. “I can feel the heat from the brass and press scorching my skin now.”

“I’ll put a call in to Dr. McIntyre and ask her to open up her schedule for this one.”

“I’m going to make some calls myself. We need to get a handle on this fast. This case won’t slip gently into the night.”

“I’m on it, Captain Lee. Give me at least a few days to run down leads.”

“That’s a lifetime during a case.” Another phone rang in the background. “I’ve got to go.”

“Sure.” As Jordan hung up, she was annoyed by her boss’s impatience. He understood that investigations took time, and she had an excellent closure rate.

She called Dr. McIntyre, landed in voicemail, and left a message for her. Next she began the tedious task of speaking to the neighbors. Most cases were solved not by fancy forensics but by cops hitting the pavement and asking lots of questions. She paused at her vehicle and washed her hands with wet wipes, brushed her hair, and spritzed with perfume. Smelling like decomposing flesh never helped break the ice.

She crossed the street and found herself facing three homes. Two had been renovated, and one looked as rough as the crime scene house. She opted for the latter.

She crossed the yard of cut wire grass, past an overturned bird feeder and a collection of neatly stacked bricks that matched the border of a garden filled with pink skullcap flowers.