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“Me too,” Michael said. “I see they got you a new cruiser.”
“It’s a loaner from the department until you’re finished with mine. No rush, of course. Take your time. I mean, don’t take your time, but…” he trailed off. “This has got me all messed up.”
“We can take it from here, Sergeant,” Faith said gently. “Have you called Dr. Heath yet?”
No sooner had Faith said that than the headlights of an approaching vehicle illuminated them. Dr. Heath’s Major Crimes van parked next to the cruisers and a moment later, the doctor herself reached them, along with four CSIs.
She smiled halfheartedly at Faith. “Another day, another dollar,” she offered wearily.
She looked exhausted, and Faith didn't blame her. That was how she felt. She reminded herself that it was normal not to catch a serial killer right away, but knowing that something was true didn't make it feel any better. In this case, it felt a whole lot worse, as a matter of fact.
“Has the family been notified yet?” Faith asked.
“No, not until we transport the body to the morgue,” Dr. Heath replied, watching as the CSIs took measurements and prints and photographs.
Kevin Malloy, like the previous two victims, had died near the door of the silo. Like the previous two, he had been sliced open just below his left armpit and allowed to bleed out. Judging by the depth of the wound, at least as far as Faith could see watching the CSIs work, he had bled out much sooner than the other two. Faith wasn’t sure if that was an accident or intentional. Kevin was younger than the previous two victims and in good shape. The killer might have wanted him to die sooner to avoid a physical confrontation with him.
But why him? Why the other two? Why two grain silos and a storm shelter?
“Who called it in?” she asked Sergeant Forster.
“It was an anonymous tip from a payphone in Sioux City. We called Sioux City PD, but whoever made the call wiped their prints.”
And is almost certainly halfway to Nevada right now, Faith thought. Well, he probably wasn’t the killer. The killer hid his victims in abandoned buildings and left no sign that they were there. He wouldn’t call the police to announce his own killing.
“I have a feeling that’s our thief,” she said.
“Pardon?” Forster replied.
“There’s been a series of break-ins recently,” Faith said. “I think the person who called this in is the thief.”
“Ah,” Forster said, “that’s why he called anonymously from an hour away.”
“Yes,” Faith agreed.
“So, who do you think did this?" Forster replied.
Faith laughed mirthlessly. “If only it were that easy.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Police reported last night that they have found yet another body in an abandoned grain silo, this one located near the site where the second victim of what police believe is an active serial killer in our midst was found in an old storm shelter near the Plato grain mill.”
His eyes snapped to his radio, mouth open in shock.
“After receiving an anonymous tip of a dead body at the site of an old abandoned grain silo near Farm-to-Market road fifty-five, State Patrol Officer Brady Forster came across the body of Kevin Malloy—”
“Shit!” he shouted, slamming his hand against the steering wheel. “Shit, shit, shit!”
“Calm the hell down, boy!” Grandpa shouted.
Aloud.
Clear as day.
He jumped and looked at his rearview mirror. Grandpa was sitting in the backseat. He spun around and there he was, leather-skinned, wiry and gray-haired with a beard that reached almost to his waist and shrewd, deep-set gray eyes. "Turn around and watch where you're driving, boy," he said calmly.
He spun back around and narrowly managed to avoid driving off the highway. He brought the truck back under control and said, “You’re… you’re real. You’re really real.”
