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“Mayor Petersham seems to be far more approachable than Rockford used to be—maybe he’ll stretch the budget to three, if you ask him.” Kane smoothed back his black hair then pushed on his buff-colored Stetson.
Jenna strolled beside him toward the men. “I can only try.” She turned her attention to the men and waited for Wolfe to join them before giving introductions. “Okay, so you have your gear with you in case we discover a body?”
“Yeah, Kane has his backpack as well and we have three shovels, just in case.” Wolfe’s blond eyebrows rose as he handed one to Kane. “The dogs have been going crazy since they arrived, so I guess we follow the dogs?”
“Okay, move out.” She dropped into stride beside Kane, glad to have his solid strength beside her.
Not twenty paces along the well-trodden pathway, the unmistakable reek of death came on the wind and rustled the pines. The whining groans as the large branches swayed back and forth raised goosebumps on her arms. She peered ahead in a strange wave of the morbid fascination, expecting to see a grave disturbed by animals. The dogs’ barks reached a crescendo and the men stopped in front of her, blocking her view.
“Dear Lord in heaven.” Wolfe turned his cold stare in her direction. “Suit up.” He slipped the backpack from his broad shoulders. “Get those dogs back to the vehicles. We’ll need to secure the scene.”
Jenna pushed forward, ignoring the dogs’ wet noses pressing against her hands. “What have you fou—oh, shit.”
Bile rushed up the back of her throat and her heart raced so fast, she leaned against a tree to stop the dizzy spell. Hanging between two pines to one side of the trail, arms and legs spread, was Aimee Fox. Head bent with her chin resting on her chest, her tawny hair fell in a silk curtain on each side of her face to frame eyes wide open and fixed. Red lipstick smeared on her lips and cheeks made her look like a horrific clown. Ants covered her mutilated young body, hardly recognizable as human. She dangled above a shallow grave scattered with wildflowers. Jenna covered her mouth and swallowed, not fully comprehending the horror before her. A face peered out from the soil, blue and swollen with her eyes wide open as if watching Aimee.
“Oh, Mother of God, that’s Mrs. Rogers.” Rowley turned an ashen face toward her. “And—” He turned away covering his mouth.
Retching followed, and Jenna turned to see Rowley run away from the scene and vomit behind a tree. The sound made her stomach twist into knots but she turned and took the protective equipment Kane thrust into her hands. When he gave her a searching look, she met his gaze. “Don’t worry, I’m fine. It’s a dreadful thing to say but I’m getting back into the swing of turning off my emotions.”
“You don’t have to turn them off.” Kane’s expression was compassionate. “Just turn them around. We have to help her by discovering her killer, so look past the horror and find the evidence.”
“Yeah, I remember the training speech.” She swallowed the lump in her throat and blinked away the tears threatening to show her weakness. “Go and help Wolfe.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Wanting to suck in deep breaths, she walked some distance away to compose herself. She dres
sed in coveralls and booties, placed the mask firmly over her nose, then moved back to the scene. She stood to one side to allow Kane and Wolfe to examine the area, placing markers beside evidence and recording each find. The camera whirred as Kane moved expertly, filming the scene before taking individual images by the hundreds. Gathering her professional façade around her like a shield, she tried to push away the fact she knew these women and examined the area with cold detachment.
“I see two sets of footprints. One looks like the person was wearing socks.” She gestured to the soft indentations in the disturbed soil. “The M.O. is slightly different. He did not wash Aimee like the others but he murdered them by water. By the blood congealed on the ground beyond the grave, he murdered her here.”
“We haven’t released any details for this to be a copycat.” Kane had adopted his professional granite expression. “This has to be the same person who killed Aimee and the other girls but someone else murdered Mrs. Rogers. The uncovering of the grave to show the face is part of the exhibitionism the lunatic has displayed before. He wanted someone to watch. If we have two suspects, how Aimee’s killer knew Mrs. Rogers was here is the question.” He looked at her. “May I suggest you ask two of the K-9 officers to go with Rowley and haul Steve Rogers back in for questioning? The tracker on his car has remained stationary, so we may be in luck.” He indicated with his chin toward the main road. “He only lives a few hundred yards away and I think we have cause by the bucket loads.”
Jenna swept her gaze over the scene then nodded, walked to Rowley, and issued orders. In the background, she could hear Wolfe speaking into his voice recorder and listened, amazed at his on-the-spot deductions. It was as if he could re-enact the crime in his mind.
“The homicide victim is known to me as Aimee Fox, seventeen years old, female, Caucasian, brown hair, brown eyes. Time of death according to current body temperature is between twelve and fourteen hours, which would be between six and eight last night. Killer attached a green commercial cord made from synthetic fiber to stretch the body between two trees. Initial findings would suggest incapacitation by a blow to the back of the skull. Laceration across throat from left to right would suggest the killer is right-handed. The angle of the wounds to the torso would suggest evisceration occurred after the victim was suspended. Bruising around the genital area and thighs would suggest rape. Lipstick on mouth and cheeks consistent with previous victims.” Wolfe moved around the body, his gaze intently scanning the remaining flesh. “There is a fabric pattern on a blood smear to the right side, extending from under the armpit to the thigh. I have taken a sample of fibers attached to the skin. From my initial examination and the unusual footprints surrounding the area, I would presume the killer was wearing forensic coveralls and booties. Lack of bloody fingerprints on the body would suggest gloves.” He turned off the microphone, his eyes void of emotion. “That’s all I can do for now. We’ll have to cut her down and bag her. I’ll drop her feet-first into the bag then we’ll lower her in, keep the cords in situ. I need to check them very carefully for evidence.”
“Sure.” Kane turned and his blue gaze slid over her. “Ma’am, do you want me to call it in first and ask Maggie to arrange transport for the bodies?”
The way he deferred to her constantly of late made her wonder if he had finally gotten used to having a woman as his superior. She gave him a curt nod. “Go ahead.”
“We can handle the exhumation, if you agree.” His full lips turned down at the edges. “Digging up Mrs. Rogers won’t be nice.”
A wave of revulsion clutched her. She shot a glance at the staring blank expression peering out of the grave then hurriedly looked away. “No, it won’t, but I expect Wolfe will find it more than a little interesting, since his interest in decomposition is his main topic of conversation of late. Carry on. I’ll make casts of the footprints.” She turned to head toward Wolfe’s bag of crime scene supplies and heard his voice behind her.
“Excuse me, ma’am.”
Glancing over one shoulder, she met Wolfe’s gaze. “Yes?”
“No one has reported Aimee missing, so her folks don’t know.” His steel-gray eyes narrowed. “They’ll be frantic once they find her gone.”
Jenna sighed. Being the bearer of bad tidings had become a nasty task of late. “I’ll go and speak to them but if I had a choice, I’d dig up the body.” She took the key fob Kane offered her. “Thanks, but I could walk, it’s not far.” She dragged off her protective gear and rolled it into a ball.
“Drive. We have potentially two killers roaming the immediate area.” Kane’s dark eyebrows met in the middle in a frown. “Either of them could be in the forest and waiting for their next victim.”
She straightened, unwilling to show the trepidation his words had produced. “Okay. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Turning away from the gruesome sight before her, she headed along the narrow trail.
Icy fingers of dread walked a path up her spine. She glanced into the picturesque forest of tall, majestic pines. Packed so close together, their dark zebra shadows had become a backdrop for brutality and could hide a man or a bear from sight. The morning usually brought a cacophony of birdsong rejoicing in a new summer’s day, yet not one bird watched her from the branches, not even a crow waiting to pick at the rotting flesh. Stillness surrounded her as if nature mourned the loss of beauty.
