Page 97 of Mirror Image

“You use it to pull out the threads of a seam,” I say distractedly. “To take something apart. To see how it was really made.”

“Huh. I’m not sure I’m picturing that.”

“Google it, sweetheart,” I tell him faintly. “Because I’ve got some threads to pull apart.”

I reread the medical examiner’s notes, this time actually seeing the words.

A puncture wound is present on the right forearm . . .

Snakebite. Diamondback. Routine, expected.

But then:

Tattoos: The decedent has a tattoo on the right shoulder depicting the constellation Gemini in the form of twin stick figures . . . older ink, well-healed.

There’s the photo—harsh light, pale skin, twin stick figures hand in hand.

The same design Sam showed us this afternoon.

Except this shoulder isn’t Sam’s.

It’s Mary’s.

Huh. I’ll be damned.

Why didn’t Sam point that out when Terry was shrieking at her this morning? She could have easily said that she, “Mary,” had gotten a matching tattoo? It was easy enough to prove . . .

I sink back again with a sigh. Surely I’m overthinking this.

I mean, does any of this really mean anything?

Well, if my screeching, screaming, red-flag-waving gut has anything to say about it, then yes. I’m just not sure what. So, as my husband suggests, I keep pulling at threads.

I lean forward again, scanning the rest of the report, but there’s nothing else that’s notable until I reach the section titled Internal Examination. Skipping past the head, brain, neck, and thorax, I reach the abdominal cavity—specifically the stomach and its contents.

Gastrointestinal Tract Examination: The stomach contains approximately 300 mL of partially digested food material, consistent with recent consumption of a beef stew. The contents include identifiable fragments of beef, potatoes, and carrots, along with a broth-like substance. The degree of digestion suggests ingestion occurred within 2–4 hours prior to death.

I fall back against the chair on a sharp exhalation, folding my arms as if considering the report from three feet away will give me more perspective. And maybe it will. I think about what I know.

Sam Kinski, a known meat eater, was here in this hospital for three days, during which time she ordered meat—but didn’t eat any of it.

Sam Kinski had a Gemini tattoo.

Mary Langston got a matching Gemini tattoo at some point.

That’s the first strange thing.

Mary Langston, lifelong vegan, is there in the morgue, where they have determined that she ingested beef stew shortly before her death.

That’s the second strange thing.

But one tattoo and a stomach full of beef stew aren’t enough—not yet.

So I read further and find what I’m looking for three paragraphs down in the musculoskeletal report:

Upon examination of the pelvic region, evidence of old rib and pelvic fractures are observed, characterized by slight deformity and remodeling of the bone at the fracture site. The fractures appear fully healed with no signs of recent trauma or complications. No other skeletal abnormalities are detected at this time. However, a full-body CT scan is pending to further evaluate the skeletal structure for any additional findings.

Suddenly I’m hearing Mary telling me about Sam’s accident—when she fell out of the car while it was moving.