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Kay stood and looked at the scene from a few feet away, changing perspectives. A big drop of rain splashed against her head.
“Rain,” she yelled. “I want this entire area covered in plastic. Use the large bags, weigh them down with rocks.”
The deputies hustled into action, laying plastic bags over certain areas and weighing them down with small boulders. One of them had placed a plastic sheet over a section that Kay had overlooked.
“What’s there?” she asked, giving the sky a scornful glare.
“This,” Hobbs replied. He was a young and rather chubby deputy, always enthusiastic and eager to learn. He lifted the plastic sheet enough for Kay to see what he was pointing at. The plastic fluttered in the wind, rustling angrily. “I think it’s a fingernail. A fake one.”
Kay approached and crouched to take a closer look. She beckoned Novack to bring an evidence marker and take photos, then picked up the fingernail with two fingers. Before dropping it into an evidence pouch, she studied it closely. It was pink and glittery and had been forcefully torn off someone’s finger, perhaps Jenna’s if they were lucky, and she’d scratched her assailant during the assault.
“Got multiple footprints here,” Elliot called. He was covering the section of terrain next to the fallen tree trunk with several overlapping plastic bags.
The rain had stopped falling, but clouds still clumped and swarmed above their heads, heavy, drawing closer to the peaks.
Kay held her hand out, but no fresh raindrops found it. “All right, quickly, let’s get this done.”
Hobbs brought markers, and Novack snapped photos of several footprints that Kay pointed out with quick gestures. Right in front of the fallen tree trunk, the ground was barren, probably from too many feet stomping it, and ripe with partially faded footprints. Most of the prints were old, almost indiscernible partials, but three distinctive footprints caught Kay’s interest.
Two were men’s sneakers, a size twelve and a size thirteen, clear, recent. A third one was a smaller, narrower print, a size eight woman’s running shoe. A second female shoeprint, most likely from a Converse, was partly visible under one of the male prints but seemed fairly new. It seemed smaller; Kay thought it was a size six. Moving quickly and effectively, Hobbs poured molds of all the relevant prints.
Those prints led nowhere.
Aside from the patch of barren ground in front of the fallen log, and a couple of other spots where thick moss or ground allowed footprints to be discerned, the surface was covered in rocks.
Kay stepped away from the log and looked at the entire area, visualizing the attack.
“First, they sat on the log,” Elliot said, appearing by her side. “I don’t think they did that after the attack.”
“No, you’re right,” Kay replied, frowning. There was something that kept tugging at her gut. Why two recent male shoeprints? There was only one semen stain, one condom brand, but two torn packets. Still, they’d been torn the exact same way. Soon, they’d know if the fingerprints were the same on both wrappers. “There’s no blood by the log,” she added, a little absentminded, still working scenarios in her mind.
“Was this date rape, you think?” Elliot took off his hat, ran his fingers through his hair, then put his hat back on. “She must’ve come up here with someone she knew.” He looked at his watch, then around. The sun had set a while ago, and the shadows had grown long and heavy. “Then it got dark, and he knew no one else was coming.”
“Maybe,” she admitted, still staring at the log, then at the rock by the old fir where she’d found the bloodstains. “Hobbs,” she called, “get us some light over here, will you?”
The deputy unzipped a large canvas bag filled with crime scene gear and extracted a foldable, battery-powered LED light on a small tripod. “Where do you want it?”
“Here, by these footprints.” She turned to Elliot. “They don’t make much sense.” She bit the tip of her index finger the way she did when she was preoccupied with an unnerving thought. “Did you happen to notice what shoes Jenna was wearing? The pattern on their soles?”
“Not the pattern, no,” Elliot replied. “But I believe she was wearing black canvas shoes with white laces; you know the kind. They’re popular with kids.”
“Converse,” Kay muttered. “Damn.”
“Why are you lower than a gopher hole?”
“What?” she asked, surprised as always by his unusual turn of phrase. “Oh, it’s these footprints. Trying to understand what happened here.” She walked over to the center of the log, stopping short of stepping onto the soil where the prints were still visible, now stained by leftover droplets of blue silicone casting material.
“What about them?”
“I also remember she was wearing Converse,” Kay replied. “This is a Converse sole.” She pointed at the partially covered shoeprint. “Highly recognizable, with these squares cut in half by continuous lines that run toe to heel. This other print came after the Converse, and it’s by far more prominent.”
“Maybe Jenna stood first and walked over there, then the guy walked almost in her footsteps, behind her.”
“And this?” Kay pointed at the size eight women’s running shoe.
“Could’ve been from earlier,” he replied, shrugging. “It looks recent, but there’s no way of knowing. I’d be safe betting everyone who hikes this ridge ends up sitting on this log for a rest.”
Kay took out her flashlight and searched the entire space for more size eight footprints. There weren’t any to be found. Coincidence? Tourist traffic from earlier, like the many other partials lining the barren ground. Like the other male shoeprint. Because no one had climbed the mountain since Jenna’s body was found.
