If Abbie hadn’t seen the photos taken after Amanda Richards’s attack, she’d find it hard to believe that the girl had already had two operations. From some newspaper pictures in the file, she knew it had once been an extraordinarily beautiful face.Now it was a patchwork of seams and puckered, drawn skin, as if there hadn’t been enough flesh to reattach and the remaining skin had been pulled too tightly. One eye was noticeably lower than the other, giving her features an off-kilter look. Looking at her, Abbie was certain today’s was just one of a long string of surgeries.She knocked on the open hospital door and the three occupants of the room looked toward her. “Hi, I’m Abbie Phillips, a consultant working with the SCMPD.”“Oh, for heaven’s sakes!” snapped the woman sitting next to the bed. Even without an introduction, Abbie knew she was the girl’s mother. Her resemblance to Amanda’s newspaper pictures in the file was too strong for it to be otherwise. Rising, she turned toward Abbie.
