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An image of the most recently killed victim flashed in his head. Her dress was stained red in the abdomen area.
“Multiple stab wounds,” Mitch said, assuming it was the same method for each victim, but he’d need forensics to firmly draw that conclusion.
“This is Redwater,” Jackson, his officer and good friend, whispered in disbelief.
Mitch nodded. “Being a small town doesn’t make us immune. And we’re surrounded by woods. If you wanted to create a rotting art display, Redwater would be the perfect place to do it,” Mitch said as they stopped at the point where the path narrowed.
He looked over his shoulder at his team. Their eyes were ahead, already searching the trees.
Mitch continued forward, feeling the lump in his throat grow with every step he took.
When he looked up, he wasn’t sure if the wind had picked up or if the sight in front of him was more vivid, but the bodies seemed to be swaying, dancing, more than he’d remembered. It was haunting.
He heard groans and gasps from behind him.
“Let’s start with the ground. Keep your eyes down and focus. The sooner we’re done with this, the sooner we can get out of here,” Mitch said.
The bodies were high enough that they could move underneath them without their heads bumping into them. It was a chilling thought.
Mitch grabbed the camera from the forensics kit, forcing himself to keep moving before he froze. He felt cold, like ice was running up the back of his neck.
But he was the lead on this case and he couldn’t afford to choke—he needed to focus.
He looked to his team, who were all standing still, their haunted eyes following the swaying bodies.
“Emma,” Mitch said, “you take this section. Todd, here,” he called out, pointing. “Jackson, you’re over there. Grab a kit, put your gloves on, and let’s get this done,” he said, gently but firmly.
They nodded, seeming to snap out of the nightmare hanging above them. The other colleagues backed them up, and suddenly everyone was moving—including the bodies hanging above them.
Mitch moved through the woods, taking photos from various angles, careful of where he was stepping.
A few colleagues were ashen, some horrible shades of green. Mitch felt bad for them, but they needed to do this. They had to. They were the local police and they needed to do this for the victims hanging above them, and for their families. It was their job to bring the killer, or killers, to justice.
Mitch let that thought fuel him as he moved through the crime scene, taking hundreds of photos and supervising his colleagues, helping where he could.
When he was satisfied the ground was covered, they went back to the vans to retrieve the scaffolding.
Mitch checked on Gus again, but he was fast asleep, snoring under the tree.
“Good boy,” Mitch whispered before walking the narrow path back to the crime scene.
They set up the scaffolding as best as they could, but the positioning wasn’t great. “Lay the stretcher over the scaffolding,” Mitch instructed as he looked at the tree to his right. It had been quite a few years since he’d climbed a tree, but he didn’t have a choice now.
Mitch jumped up, grabbing the closest limb and hauling himself up. He did the same up to the higher limbs. He looked down and concluded he wasn’t high enough to die if he fell, but he could definitely seriously hurt himself. Thankfully, they’d been able to borrow harnesses and shock-absorbing lanyards from the local arborists on short notice. Jackson had literally knocked on the door of the guy that owned the local company and asked to borrow his gear.
Getting his balance against the tree, Mitch then walked out to edge, where the rope hung from the limb above. He looped one arm over the high limb to keep himself stable.
“I’ll get the other side,” Jackson said as he climbed the tree the second rope was attached to. One rope tied to the feet, one to the hands, the bodies were positioned like hammocks strung between two trees.
“We’ll cut through the last fibers on three,” Mitch said once Jackson was safely in position.
Mitch sawed through the thick rope until most of it was cut. He looked to Jackson, who nodded. Mitch grabbed the rope tight with the hand that was hooked over the limb, then cut the rope. The body dropped, swaying as the rope went slack—but Mitch pulled it tight, as did Jackson, and they slowly lowered it onto the stretcher.
Mitch exhaled a shaky breath as the team took over, placing the body into a bag and moving it to the path.
Mitch and Jackson moved to the trees suspending the next victim.
Six more to go, Mitch thought, pushing down the bile rising in his throat.
