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Derrick and Cord examined the footprints closest to the shed. “Looks like a man’s boot,” Cord said. “But they’re muddy. With the drought, he may have come in from the lake or a marshy section where the soil was still damp. But if a body’s been here for a while, why come back to it now?”
“Maybe he got spooked when cops were up here and decided to move the bones.” Derrick glanced to the right at the flattened brush. It looked as if someone had plowed through them recently. “Those prints lead toward the lake.”
Cord veered to the left. “There’s more over here,” he shouted to Derrick. “Looks like they come from the south and go toward the shed.”
“Then he leaves the other way,” Derrick said. He followed the trail of crushed weeds but the footprints became blurred, losing their shape. Several more feet and they stopped at the edge of the lake, disappearing.
“He went in the lake here,” Derrick said. “Probably had a boat waiting.” Derrick sighed. “Of course, this is all speculation. We need hard evidence.”
Derrick photographed the footprints as they retraced their way back to the shed. Ellie and Dr. Whitefeather stood in somber conversation.
“We followed the footprints to the lake,” Derrick said. “Whoever was here left via boat. What did you find?”
Ellie’s mouth thinned into a frown. “Bones of four fingers,” she said grimly. “Forensics is collecting soil samples now to analyze for human decomp.”
Cord shifted. “No evidence of a wheelbarrow or other device used to transport a body.”
A heartbeat of silence passed, then Ellie made a sound of disgust. “If the body was severely decomposed, he could have dug up the remains and hauled them away in some kind of a sack or even a backpack.”
And walked around the lake as if he was simply hiking on vacation.
THIRTY-FIVE
Dwight Jones lurked in the shadows of the thick oaks, the still water of the lake so eerie that he half expected bodies to rise to the surface just like his memories were.
It was a damn mistake to return to Widow Lake. He shouldn’t have come, much less brought Lorna Bea. It was too dangerous.
Sweat rolled down the side of his face and off his chin, gnats swarming his eyes. Images of that night ten years ago shot through his mind, stirring his infatuation with death, and his shared obsession with the others. That obsession had made them blood brothers.
But that one night had changed everything for him. The things he’d done. The things he hadn’t done. The panic and the decision that had come with it.
A crow soared overhead, perching on the branch above him, a sign of death and evil. There had been dozens of crows that night. Sometimes he woke up hearing their caw, their beaks pecking at the glass windowpanes to get in. Glass shattering. The black crows circling his bed as if they’d come for him.
He’d told so many lies over the years he didn’t know if he even remembered the truth. Lies to his daughter. To his mother.
To himself.
Lies that kept him running. Lies Lorna Bea must never know about.
THIRTY-SIX
WIDOW PEAK POLICE STATION
A half dozen scenarios played through Ellie’s mind, none of them good, as she parked at the police station nearest Widow Lake. She and Derrick had left the forensics team processing the shed and Cord searching in case there was more than one grave. She’d texted Laney and asked her to request medical and DNA records for Amy Dean to compare to the bones discovered at the shed.
Hopefully, Sergeant Benton, the officer in charge of investigating Amy’s disappearance, could add insight.
Derrick had called ahead to verify he was at work.
The police station was tiny and set in the neighboring little community called Widow’s Peak. A receptionist with teased platinum hair greeted them. “Hey there, I’m Luna,” she said, her eyes twinkling as she raked them over Derrick.
Ellie and Derrick flashed their credentials. “I called ahead,” Derrick said.
“Oh, yeah. You the ones that found that car in the lake.”
Derrick nodded. “We’d like to speak to Sergeant Benton.”
“Sure thang, honey.”
