Bragg nodded as he pulled rubber gloves from his pocket. “Appreciate the call. I’ll have a look.”
He ducked under the yellow crime-scene tape and moved toward the three-story building once housing meat. The paint peeled and the sign that had read SAWYER’S PACKING had faded. A thick, rusted chain, cut in two, and a padlock lay puddled by the front door and several of the windows were busted.
He nodded to several other uniforms and paused as his gaze adjusted to the dimmer light. He glanced around the large space, full of dust and cobwebs. Crossing the cracked tile floors, he moved toward the bank of freezers and the one sectioned off with more crime-scene tape. The forensic tech’s camera flashed several times inside the freezer.
He waited outside the freezer door and glanced inside. Rebecca Rio, with DPS forensics, stood over the body, her camera focused on the light blue, frosted face of a young woman. The woman lay on her side, curled in a tight ball as if she could draw deeply in herself and protect her body from the frigid temperatures. The room had been open for a couple of hours but still held a chill, making his skin prickle.
The victim was nude from the waist up. Discarded near her body were a beige, lightweight suit jacket, blue silk blouse, and bra. She still wore her skirt and pantyhose, but no shoes. Her fingers curled into tight fists clutching the folds of her jacket close. Hair was blond, pulled back in a neat ponytail and make-up applied with a skilled hand. However the mascara, frozen and now thawed, streaked over pale cheeks leaving a trail of black tears.
Despite the state of undress, she was no homeless woman or hooker from the streets. This woman did indeed come from money and quality. Women like her did not come to this part of town.
“Officer Rio,” Bragg said. “So what are your impressions?”
Rio brushed a springy black curl off her face with the back of her hand. “She froze to death.”
He studied her naked torso, curled into a C shape. “Signs of sexual assault?”
“None I saw but the medical examiner will have to check. I think the undressing isn’t a case of sexual assault but of paradoxical undressing.”
“Explain.”
“In about thirty to fifty percent of the cases, the victim suffering from severe hypothermia gets confused and disoriented and actually believes they’re getting hotter. They take off their clothes. Of course this just accelerates heat loss, and they die that much faster.”
He thought about her peeling off the lightweight jacket, designed for Texas’s summer heat, and believing she was hot. He glanced at her discarded clothes and noticed the blouse had been ripped, as if she’d torn it off herself. “Be sure to run a rape kit. I don’t want any assumptions at this point.”
“Will do.”
“Signs of trauma?”
“None I’ve seen so far. No cuts or scrapes and no bruising. Like she just walked in here and closed the door behind her.”
At first glance, Rory had hung himself. Only a closer inspection revealed the hand of another. “Fingerprints?”
“I’ve not dusted yet. That comes next. But I’m sure I’m going to get a lot of prints. A place like this sees vagrants.”
“I’d like a tox screen run. I can’t believe she merely walked in here.”
Rio glanced toward her purse. “See her purse in the corner?”
He glanced toward the black bag, tossed on its side and the contents spilling out. “Yeah.”
“If she were going to kill herself, why bring in her purse? She’d not have needed it where she was headed.”
“Habit?”
“Maybe. But it seems she’d have not bothered. And her cell is missing and the interior contents missing, as if someone rifled through her bag, took it, and tossed her purse in here.”
“Maybe she lost her nerve. Maybe she was looking for a way out of here.”
Rio shrugged. “That option wouldn’t get my vote.”
Bragg nodded. “What about a driver’s license?”
“By the purse.”
He moved to the purse and spotted the license lying faceup. He shot a picture with his phone. Straightening, he studied the image. Sara Jane Wentworth. Age thirty-two. No denying the victim was Sara Wentworth.
The old picture of Greer and Rory came to mind. “Find any pictures at the scene. Photographs?”
“No.”
“Make sure you bag all the clothes and her belongings. I want to go through them all.”
“Sure. And did the officer tell you about the tape?”
“What tape?”
“An audiotape was playing when the officers arrived.”
“What was on the tape?”
“A woman’s voice. She kept saying, ‘I love you, Sara.’”
“What did the voice sound like?”
Rio glanced toward the officer outside the freezer door. “Key up the tape.”
The officer nodded and seconds later they all heard, “I love you, Sara.”
Bragg listened, almost fearing he’d hear the rusty, whiskey quality of Greer’s voice. But this voice was older and the Texas accent deeper.
“Any idea who the voice belongs to?” he said.
“None. That’s for you to figure.”
He nodded. “How long do you think she’s been in here?”
“The cold will make that a hard one to pin. At least hours.”
He studied the icy walls now dripping with the heat streaming in from the door. “What powered the freezer?”
“A big generator with enough gas to run for another twelve hours.”
“I’ll leave you to the scene. I want to go outside and trace the steps into the building.”
“Will do, Ranger Bragg.”
Bragg threaded his way through the growing number of cops assembling in and outside of the warehouse. This bizarre death scene would soon make the news.
He spotted Winchester as the other Ranger pulled up in his black Bronco. Out of his car, Winchester stopped and surveyed the scene. The Ranger’s scowl deepened as he studied the warehouse.
Bragg shrugged, knowing soon the heat of the day would make getting around tedious. “It’s like DPS said. Female frozen to death in a freezer.”
“It’s going to be one hundred and ten today.”
“Officers tell me the temperatures in that freezer dropped below zero.”
“Frozen to death in the Texas heat. Do you think she did it on purpose?”
“No.”
“We need to talk to her family and find out if she had a history of suicide attempts.”
“Agreed,” Bragg said. He gave him the victim’s details.
“And you are sure it’s Sara Wentworth?”
“If the victim is not her, then she’s her twin.” He pulled off his rubber gloves. “Look at the generator used to power that freezer and find out if anyone in the area has bought one recently. Got to be easier to track than the rope.”
Winchester’s gaze cut through the crowds, searching. “Where’s her car? If it’s here, it should be roped off.”
“Hasn’t been found.”
“She sure didn’t walk here.”
“No, she did not.” Bragg stared at the dilapidated building, listened to the rush of cars from the interstate as the heat intensified the rotting scents of nearby garbage. “We need to find it.”
“Sure.”
Bragg shook his head. “Hell of a place to end up.”
It wasn’t hard to locate Sara Wentworth’s parents. They lived ten miles north of Austin in the Hyde Park area, an older upscale area reserved for those with money.
He drove past the neighborhood’s stone entrance, over a brick arched bridge spanning Waller Creek’s near-dry bed and toward a Spanish-style home built at the turn of the last century. The front yard was green and lush, and stood in stark contrast to the dry brittle grasses surrounding his rented home. The recent water restrictions didn’t apply here.
Bragg parked at the top of the driveway and went directly to the front door. He rang the bell and waited barely seconds before the door opened to a petite Hispanic woman dressed in a blue uniform.