Looming in the distance was a gray concrete structure, the public bathrooms, where officers and crime scene personnel had gathered. How terrible to die in this place, she thought, your life snuffed out, your body discarded like garbage. They approached the barricade, too far away to make out the body. Becca stood waiting, scanning the area.

“All this fuss and for what?” Becca heard one of the cops grumble. She glanced over and saw a beefy patrolman. In another life, he could’ve been a Gap model. Who knows, she thought, he might even be one, moonlighting until he got his big break. “A hundred bucks says this chick was just some dumb runaway who got careless, pissed off some john…”

“Just some dumb runaway?” Becca asked angrily, pushing her way to the front of the barricade.

The officer looked flustered, puffing out his chest out to overcompensate. “Ma’am, this area is restricted.”

“You don’t know anything thing about her. Who she is. Where she’s from. How she ended up here. Do you?”

“Becca,” Christian said softly, placing his arm on her to calm her. She shook it free. All she could focus on was this officer, this stupid, callous man.

“What the hell is wrong with you? She’s someone’s kid. She was a person, and now she’s gone.” Becca’s voice was rising.

Christian held out his badge. “We’re here to see Detective Wishard. Want to make that happen?”

“Yeah. Sure thing,” the officer said. As he moved away, Becca broke through the barricade and raced across the sand, ignoring Christian and the officer’s shouts for her to stop. The crowd of people gathered around the body seemed to sense something was unfolding, and they parted to let her through.

Becca could hear the waves of the ocean roaring in the distance; she could make out the glittering lights of the pier. Her chest tightened as she looked down at the girl’s body, half on the sand, half on the concrete. The first thing Becca saw was the girl’s wrist and the tattoo.

She bit back a sob, scanning the young woman’s battered body and up to her face, her brown hair splayed out, her mouth opened in a tortured cry. Becca crouched down, spotting a large widow’s peak; the girl’s complexion was slightly more porcelain than ivory. She looked down again, searching for the ladybug tattoo on Ash’s ankle. It wasn’t there. It wasn’t…

She could feel bile rising in her throat. “It’s not her,” Becca whispered, the words taking on a strangled quality. “It’s not Ash.”

Relief flooded her. It wouldn’t be long before this nameless girl was carted away, her body tossed in a cold freezer, another lost and anonymous soul in the City of Angels. Becca clamored to her feet. She couldn’t look at this broken girl anymore.