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“Body dumps?”
“At first we thought so, but now we’re not sure.”
“How did the men get to theseoddlocations?” Emphasizing her choice of adjective.
“All three had rental cars.”
“From the same vendor?”
“Three different companies. Avis, Budget, and an outfit called Ecar Tci. Except for Galloway’s, none of the vehicles has ever been found.”
“Did any of the vics have a presence on social media?”
“Galloway died seven years ago, so not so much. The others, yes. My people have spent hours on Instagram, Facebook, Twitter—you know the players. So far, they’ve found nothing informative.”
“Was any victim’s credit or bank card used after his disappearance?”
“No. Neither their cards nor their mobile phones.”
Despite myself, I was intrigued.
“All three had a severed hand?” I asked.
“Yes. Hacked off by machete, we believe. The hands were never retrieved.”
“You think the three murders are linked?”
“I do,” she said, gesticulating slightly as she ticked off her points. “Three young men, all tourists. All shot in the chest. All with a handremoved. All found in remote locations. All lacking phones, wallets, and IDs.”
“You’re thinking serial killer?” I asked.
“Yes. And the powers that be aren’t eager to see word spread about tourists being picked off in TCI.”
“They’re hoping it all takes care of itself? Rather callous to the victims and their families.” It came out curter than I intended.
“I actually agree,” said Musgrove, nodding. “That’s why I’m here. I’ve poured my soul into finding whatever sicko killed Galloway, and what happened to the other two.” She swept a hand over the photos spread across my desk. “Now this.”
“What would you like me to do?” Already knowing the answer.
“As you are aware, the first steps in solving any murder are to properly recover and identify the victim. These two bodies have been reduced to bone. That’s a job for an anthropologist. There’s no one in my country with your expertise.”
Musgrove squared her shoulders. Lithely. The woman’s every move seemed to flow with a dancer’s grace.
“I invite you, respectfully, to come to the beautiful Turks and Caicos Islands. I am authorized to tell you that your travel will be covered, accommodations provided, every need met. And your normal fee will be paid, of course.”
“I can’t just drop everything here and take off.”
“A killer is still out there, Dr. Brennan. Unless stopped, he or she will strike again, I fear. Is anything so pressing now that you can’t help me prevent more deaths?”
Musgrove’s tone was filled with new urgency. And she had a point. I’d finished with the Sainte-Agathe babies and had only to compose a report on Deniz Been.
“There are direct flights daily,” Musgrove continued. “Should something imperative arise, you can be back in Montreal in a matter of hours.”
I can’t say the prospect of a brief sojourn in the islandswasn’t appealing. I’m from the Carolinas, a sand-and-surf girl at heart.
I glanced at the photo array on my desktop.
And felt a heaviness begin to build in my chest. I’d never met Bobby Galloway, Ryder Palke, or Quentin Bonner. Knew almost nothing about them. Still, the pics hit me hard. They’d been so buoyantly youthful, so full of life. A life denied them by a cold-blooded killer.
