“What can you tell me, Frank?” Brody asked.

“You know I hate to guess, Brody.”

“And you know how important these first few hours are to my investigation, Frank. I won’t hold you to anything. Just give me somewhere to start.” Brody lowered his voice. “For Chet.”

Frank frowned at the body. “Do you have any specific reason to believe it’s his daughter?”

Brody glanced around. He didn’t want any false statements getting back to Chet or to the media. “Nothing beyond basic description. I’d like to ease his mind if possible.”

Frank met his eye. “My preliminary observations. Victim is female. Caucasian. Body is slender. Hard to age her with the amount of damage to her face, but skin and muscle tone indicates she is likely young. Facial trauma will make identification by appearance impossible. From the bruising patterns on her forearms I’d say she tried to block the blows, maybe even fought back a little.”

“Maybe we’ll get some DNA under her nails,” Brody said.

“We can hope.” Frank scratched his bald head.

“Time of death?”

Frank’s lips pursed. Hands on hips, he stared back at the body. “Twelve to twenty-four hours. I’ll narrow that window when I get her on the table.”

“When do you think you’ll get to the autopsy?”

“First thing tomorrow morning. I’d do it tonight, but I don’t have the staff available. I won’t half-ass it, though. I’ll get the body fingerprinted ASAP.”

“Thanks, Frank,” Brody said.

“I hope it’s not her.” The ME turned back to the clearing. Brody watched him slip paper bags over the victim’s hands to protect any tissue that might be lodged under her fingernails.

Don’t we all. Brody walked through the scene with the lead crime scene investigator. They agreed on the search perimeter and discussed evidence to be bagged. Brody pointed out the used condom by the lane. “Plus, the usual soil and bug samples.”

“Hey, Brody.” A tech brought him a slip of paper. “We found a receipt in her jacket pocket.”

Brody brightened with thoughts of store surveillance tapes and an easy visual ID. “A receipt?”

“Unfortunately, it’s a generic register tape. No store name.” The tech showed him a small plastic baggie containing the paper. “I’ll get you a copy of this.”

“Thanks.” Why is it never that easy? Brody squinted at the paper. She’d purchased cigarettes yesterday at eight in the evening. Today was Sunday. She’d been killed between four p.m. Saturday and four a.m. Sunday. This receipt just narrowed the likely window. She was probably alive at eight p.m.