Sela had stopped vomiting and was sitting in the backseat with her head between her knees. Slowly she brought her head up and then wiped her eyes and face. “God, I’m a mess!” She was drooling and dabbed the corners of her mouth with a tissue. “It’s funny.” A pause. “Not ha-ha funny but ironic funny. For the last year or so, I’ve been trying to distance myself from those two. And now they’re gone…and I feel so horrible! Like I caused it by wishing it.”

“You didn’t cause anything, you know that.” Marge had slid into the backseat of the car. “You’re as much of a victim as they are.”

“Except I’m still here.”

Survivor’s guilt. “Thank God for that. I’ll call your parents now if you want.”

“I’ll do it. I can handle this.” Sela was talking as much to herself as to Marge. She punched in the numbers, but as soon as her mother answered, she burst into sobs. Her mother started shrieking, loud enough for Marge to hear.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine,” Sela sobbed out.

Marge took the phone and introduced herself.

Another heart-wrenching phone conversation.

Another long night.

CHAPTER THIRTY

TWO BLACK-JACKETED CORONER’S investigators had gently removed the body from the refrigerator and laid it on a blanket. The older of the two investigators—a female Hispanic in her forties named Gloria—turned to Decker. “We need to let the body warm up before we unfold her. If you’ve ever worked with raw cold beef, you know that it isn’t as pliable as room-temperature meat. We don’t want to tear anything.”

“Got it.” Decker squatted down to study the body. Freed from the confines of the icebox, it had unfurled a bit. Crystal was now in the fetal position. Her polished nails appeared intact, although the paint was chipping off of them. The coroners would clip them to determine if there was foreign or biological material present. She had been placed in the fridge for a while, because lividity had taken place, the blood sinking down into the lower halves of the woman’s calves, thighs, and torso. With his naked eye, Decker couldn’t see any gunshot or stab wounds. Her skin tone hovered around bluish-tinged gray, with her lips being a deep indigo. He regarded her neck. There appeared to be some purple dots—petechiae—around the portion of her neck that was visible. That usually meant strangulation.

He stood up and scrutinized the inside of the refrigerator. It hadn’t been scrubbed down in a while. There were particles of rotted produce clinging to the walls and in the crisper along with a few spills and splotches on the bottom and sides.