“The water did so much damage to your girl that there wasn’t a lot for me to find. The bruises, cuts, abrasions, the chunks missing from her flesh, it can all be explained by the waves crashing the body against rocks, and by animal predation.”

Will would never forget Miriama’s body lying on the beach, her beauty eradicated by the -sea—-and by the person who’d put her there. “Bones?”

“Badly shattered. Her face looks like a cracked eggshell.” Ankita pushed across an X--ray that, when Will held it up to the light, told a violent story. “Impossible to determine if it happened -peri-- or postmortem.” Putting down the pen she’d picked up, she leaned back in her chair. “But, I’m suspicious about a pattern of fractures and breaks along the -left--hand side of her body.”

“As if she fell or was thrown against a hard surface on that side?”

Ankita nodded. “If someone threw her from the cliffs and onto the rocks below, and she landed this way”—-the pathologist used the flat of her hand to demonstrate the -angle—-“it could conceivably have caused the pattern.”

She took a sip of her coffee. “I wish I could tell you more, but with the body being in the sea that long, it makes things difficult. I’m going to send the details through to one of my colleagues who has more experience with ocean damage, get a second opinion. The rest of what I’m about to tell you is pure conjecture based on over a decade of experience and my gut.”

Will put the X--ray back on her desk, a sudden cold invading his blood. “She drowned,” he said quietly, all the while hoping Ankita would tell him he was wrong.

But she nodded. “I’m going to do a diatom test, but even if it comes back positive, I won’t officially be able to call it a drowning. Still, all the broken bones aside, that’s how I think she died.”

“Tell me you have something else.” Because both a fall and a drowning could be explained away as accidental, but Miriama simply wouldn’t have made that kind of a mistake.

“Your victim was pregnant. Three months, give or take.”

Will sat motionless for a long minute before reaching forward to put his coffee on the desk between them. “You’re sure?”

“The decomposition hadn’t quite destroyed her uterus.” Ankita picked up the pen again, clicking and unclicking it. “I’m certain.”

“Do you have enough biological material to do a paternity test?”

“If you bring me a sample from the probable father or fathers, I can try to get the testing done for you. But, no guarantees.”

Leaning back, Will did the math. Three months. That put Miriama’s pregnancy right on the borderline. He’d check her journal, confirm the exact date she’d broken it off with Vincent, then line it up with when she and Dominic had first been -intimate—-not a conversation he was looking forward to having.

It was possible Miriama had had another lover in between the two men with whom she’d had a relationship, but Will had to start with the known potentials. As it stood, her pregnancy gave both men a powerful motive.

Vincent had vowed his love for Miriama, but when push came to shove, he’d chosen ambition. Miriama getting pregnant would’ve ruined the -picture--perfect life he’d spent years creating, all of it aimed toward one goal. Especially if she’d refused to get rid of the baby.

If, on the other hand, it had been Dominic’s baby, the young doctor would’ve had no reason to be angry at Miriama. A little shocked, yes, but in the end, the child would’ve tied him and Miriama even closer together. And, according to her journal, he’d already shown a willingness to be a father.

But what if it hadn’t been Dominic’s baby?

Will had no easy -answers—-because Miriama had written nothing about the baby in her journal. Not even in relation to how the pregnancy might affect her internship. Either she hadn’t -known… or that was the secret she’d obliquely mentioned at one point: I’ve become so good at keeping secrets. Until I can’t even write some things here, in a place no one else will ever look.

He got to his feet. “Thank you. I need to talk to some people, get those samples for you.” It was as he was putting his jacket back on that he felt the evidence bag inside. “I bagged her hairbrush for you.” It didn’t matter if everyone knew this was Miriama, they had to have official confirmation. Given the condition of the body, that meant DNA testing.

Ankita accepted the package, then walked him out to the car park.

As they stood in the dark lit by yellow lamps blurred by the -now--misty rain, she looked up at him. “I can’t officially make the accident or homicide call, but I trust your instincts. I hope you find the bastard who did this to -her—-all that potential, all that life just snuffed out. No one has the right to do that.”

“I’ll call you if anything breaks,” he said, keeping a tight lid on his own anger. “Her aunt will be here soon.” He knew that without having to check. “Will you make sure Miriama isn’t alone until then?”

Ankita nodded. “I expected as much. She doesn’t need to see the body, Will.” Tired, empathic eyes. “I’ll speak with her, find a less traumatic way she can say -good--bye.”

“Thanks, Ankita.” Getting into his car after a final handshake, he watched Ankita return inside, then picked up his phone to call Anahera. “How are things?”