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The path opened out to display a fallen log, and by the indent in the ground, locals had used it as a seat for some time. “What did you find?”
“Here.” Wolfe pointed to a piece of torn paper with a green brand mark. “That is from a skein of twine, the plastic type. I used the same brand to tie down the load on my trailer recently.” He collected the paper and placed it inside an evidence bag. “It seemed irrelevant until I noticed the marks on the trees on opposite sides of the trail.” Walking ahead, he indicated to the small scrapes on the bark of two trees. “I would say the rope was tied between the two trees, and at neck height if we’re talking about Felicity. The twine is dark green, and if someone was moving along here at a jog they wouldn’t notice it until they ran into it.”
Kane examined the evidence and crouched to examine the ground. “The gravel has been disturbed, scuffed-up in places. A struggle took place here.” He stood slowly, peering at the bushes thick along each side of the trail. “There, that is hair. Long and brown, we have to assume it belongs to the victim.”
“Right.” Wolfe snagged the hair and secured it in a bag. “We can assume Felicity jogged down this path, hit the cord, and fell into the bushes. The killer struck her over the head, rendering her dizzy, but she remained conscious—the autopsy revealed the blow wasn’t hard enough to knock her out. There are no drag marks, so he must have carried her to the riverbank.”
Concerned he might disturb evidence, Kane stepped slowly forward, checking ahead before each step. The river glistened before him. Opposite, a wall of rock kept the small, secluded beach from prying eyes. As he moved onto the small beach, he noticed a spot of blood on a stone and disturbance in the sand. “How the hell did we miss this?”
“That’s where he raped her and I bet he had her on her knees with a knife to her throat. He nicked her to pacify her and probably told her once he had finished he would let her go.” Wolfe flicked him a look of stone-cold rage then crawled around on hands and knees, checking every inch of the area.
“Over here.” Rowley’s voice came from further down the small beach.
Circling the area with care, Kane glanced back at Wolfe. “Grab some photographs. I’ll go and see what he has found.”
“Just a minute.” Wolfe indicated ahead with his chin. “Those marks look like two sets of footprints. I’d say she got away from him and ran from here along the water’s edge.” He pointed to a raw patch on a nearby tree. “After he’d killed her, it looks like he swept the area with a tree branch. He is smart and probably chucked the branch into the river, walked along the water’s edge, then went through the forest and back to the trail we used to get here.”
“So, we need to find the spot where he killed her.”
“It would help.” Wolfe gave him a grim half-smile. “But I’d bet he attacked her in the water. He has done this before and knew he needed to minimize blood spill, which means he was concerned someone would see him covered in blood. I bet he lives in town and is known locally.”
“Then he travels a lot, because we both know he has killed before and often.” Kane headed toward Rowley, keeping away from the disguised footprints. He constantly scanned the area and reached Rowley moments later. “What do you have?”
“Fabric by the look of it, and I think I can see a boot in the water but it’s a way from the bank.” Rowley’s face had paled. “It’s unusual for anything to remain that far out in the water for long; the flow is very fast in the middle, and deep. When the kids swim here, they keep to the inlet further down.”
“Where the footprints led from?”
“Yeah, that’s a shallow area but as you can see it all joins together. It would be easy to drag a body from the river’s edge into the inlet and carry it to the flat rock.” Rowley swallowed and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “Looking at the scrap of cloth, if it is part of Felicity’s clothing, the killer must have cut off her cl
othes—this doesn’t look torn.”
Unease grabbed Kane’s gut as he bent to check out the blue cloth with a sequin attached. It did not take a forensic scientist to tell him someone had used a hunting knife to hack through the material. The sequin could have formed a part of a butterfly and the color was a match. “Photograph it and bag it.” He straightened and tossed Rowley a pair of gloves. “Where is the boot?”
“See the black rock sticking out of the water. Look to the left at the bottom.” Rowley pointed to the river. “Do you want me to go collect it?”
“Nah. I’ll do it.” Kane headed to a large boulder upstream, checked around for evidence, and finding nothing of interest stripped to his underpants. He waded in then dived under the fast-flowing river and did a visual scan along the swirling riverbed. His ability to remain underwater for considerable time came in handy and he reached the black rock with only resurfacing once.
Blinding pain from the cold water zipped across his head but, determined, he pushed on. He found the boot, pink with sparkles, and his stomach gave a twist of anguish. He climbed onto the rock and tossed the boot like a quarterback to Rowley, who caught it with ease. After doing a reconnaissance of the riverbed for some distance in the direction of the rushing water he discovered a second boot, but all other traces of Felicity Parker had vanished.
Twenty-One
After relaying the terrible news to the relatives of Joanne Blunt, Jenna returned to the office feeling emotionally drained. She needed a break; every crime scene brought flashbacks, and the thought of losing control with a serial killer on the loose was distressing her to the max. Without time to visit a shrink, she needed to confide in someone and talk through her worries. Kane came to mind. Dependable, he would have seen post-traumatic stress disorder cases in the marines. She would take his advice without hesitation.
After watching Walters sneak into his cubicle carrying a paper sack filled with homemade goodies from one of the stalls lining the main street, Jenna decided to get away for a few precious moments. She walked past the front counter and gave Maggie a wave. “I need some sugar. I’m going to the store.”
Stepping out into the sunshine, she sidestepped a bunch of kids on skateboards and weaved her way through the throngs of people toward the tables lined up outside the community hall. The townsfolk had draped bunting over the front of the building and it continued along the front of each stall. Bright, handwritten signs decorated the wall, giving the prices of what was on offer.
She moved slowly, taking in all the treats and purchasing everything from cookies to fudge. As she strolled across the road at the end of the block, she had the strange feeling someone was watching her. Goosebumps rose on her arms and her scalp prickled. She glanced around, expecting to catch someone following her. The crime scenes had put her on alert and awoken memories of her kidnapping six months earlier, but why would she be suffering flashbacks on the main street?
Dropping into secret-agent mode had saved her many times. She walked head erect and used the shop fronts to keep a close eye on who was behind her. All she could see was the milling crowd and no one in particular stood out. She stopped at an impressive display of pies and, pushing down the rush of nerves, selected four then waited for the woman to place them into a box for her. On the other side of the street, she noticed Aunt Betty’s Café had joined in the celebrations, with posters advertising the rodeo and flags.
She waited to cross the road and every hair on her body stood at attention. What is wrong with me? It’s broad daylight and the place is crowded, I’m safe, Carlos is dead.
Hurrying across the road, she pushed open the door to Aunt Betty’s and went straight to the counter. After ordering coffee, she stood with her back to the wall and checked out the customers. The tourists she did not know, but she spotted the computer guy Lionel Provine eating lunch with Aimee, Kate, and a group of kids. He could have been watching her. Hmm, I wonder if their mothers know they are so friendly with him. At least they are out in a group.
She started when Reverend Jones touched her arm, and she gazed at the man’s concerned expression. “Did you want to speak to me, Reverend?”
“No.” Jones gave her a warm smile. “Miss Hartwig has been trying to get your attention. I think your coffee is ready.”
