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Lines appeared on her otherwise smooth forehead. “Than murder? I told you, I just found April’s body!”
“And Investigator Hunsacker is out there checking into it.”
“Why aren’t we with him?” she asked. “Her body’s not easy to find, but I can show you where it is.”
“You were shaken up when you got here. I didn’t want to put you through it. Besides, Hunsacker will manage or he’ll call us, and I can drive you out there. This is important.” With his broad back to the opening of his cubicle, Finch began to whisper. “I’ve asked Jonah to speak with you regarding a burial site discovered by a hiker and his dog two weeks ago.”
“A burial site,” she echoed.
The investigator frowned. “It contains the remains of seven women. There may be even more. We’re still looking.”
Francesca’s jaw dropped and, at least for the moment, Jonah got the impression she’d forgotten her resentment toward him. “I heard about that on the news, but it was reported as some ancient Indian burial ground. It’s in Dead Mule Canyon, near that small town—Skull Valley.”
“That’s right. We haven’t corrected that report because…well, because we don’t want to throw the community into a panic until we know what we’re dealing with and can offer some information.”
And they preferred to escape the overwhelming pressure that would go with a public outcry. Jonah guessed that was as close to the truth as anything. No police department announced that they had a serial killer on their hands if they could help it. Many did everything they could to hide the fact, hoping the perpetrator would eventually move out of their jurisdiction. But there was no need to explain this. Francesca had worked in law enforcement long enough to understand the dynamics.
“And when the site was discovered, there was some question as to the age of those bones,” Finch added.
“What’s changed?” she asked.
“It’s since been determined that they’re—” he lowered his voice even further “—recent.”
For the first time, her implacable facade cracked, revealing a hint of vulnerability. “How recent?”
“A couple are as old as five years,” Jonah replied. “The other women have only been dead for a few months.”
Leaning forward, she set her coffee cup on Investigator Finch’s desk. “Are you telling me you think the man who just attacked me might’ve already murdered seven women?”
Jonah wasn’t absolutely convinced of that. What were the odds she’d be able to escape a violent psychopath when she’d encountered him on his own turf? What this guy had done to his victims proved he was utterly ruthless. But if there was one thing police work had taught him, it was to keep an open mind. “It’s a possibility,” he conceded. “Somebody murdered them.”
“Oh, God.” She jumped to her feet, turned to Finch. “And you’re not letting the public know to be cautious? To avoid strangers? Not to take risks?”
Jonah stood in the opening behind Finch while the shorter, stockier man tried to quiet her. “Keep your voice down! We don’t want to disseminate the information prematurely. We could tell pretty quickly that it wasn’t an old Indian burial ground, but we weren’t sure exactly what it was until we got a forensic anthropologist in here. We’ve set her up in the old community center and given Jonah an office there, too, but that kind of work doesn’t go fast, not with such an extensive site.”
“But—”
“We just got her initial report last night,” he went on, refusing to be interrupted. “We were planning to release a statement this afternoon, but then you arrived. Now I figure we might as well wait and see what Hunsacker finds at the salvage yard. Maybe this guy who attacked you, this Butch Vaughn, is our man.”
Having a suspect would certainly go far toward mollifying the public. But Jonah didn’t point that out, either.
Francesca smoothed her skirt. Dirty and wrinkled, it hit her just above the knees, showing calves as tanned and toned as they’d been when he knew her before. The only difference was the abrasions on her knees.
“That would explain why April was still in the yard,” she said. “Maybe, since the discovery of those bodies, Vaughn’s been forced to find a new place to dispose of his victims and hasn’t come up with a location he’s comfortable with.”
Jonah shoved away from the divider, nudging Finch aside. “Or he simply hasn’t had an opportunity to dispose of her in a more permanent fashion.”
The way Francesca suddenly refused to look at him told Jonah she was still having trouble including him in the discussion. Although she’d lowered her defenses for a moment, she’d already raised them again.
“Like I told you,” she said to Finch. “I think he’s married, which would limit his movements. I saw his wife or significant other and his kid. If it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t be here. He was just getting ready to bash in my window when they drove up.”
“Other people live at the property?” Jonah asked.
She didn’t like talking to him; he could tell by her unwillingness to elaborate too much on any one thing. “It looked that way. So why he’s trolling for women on matchmaking sites designed for singles, I don’t know.”
“Plenty of married men do that,” Finch said. “They can troll from the comfort of their own homes while their wife and kids are asleep.”
“Did he use his real name on that profile?” Jonah asked.
