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“No ID yet,” the coroner said as she drew near. “Ran it twice.”
Rachel bent down beside the nearest victim. “When can you get them out of here? The manager wants us out of his hair.”
“He’ll have to wait his turn like everyone else.” The coroner sighed, swatting at the flies buzzing around the bodies. “My team is already overwhelmed. It’ll be at least twenty-four hours before I can get anyone out here.”
Rachel nodded once.
“Anything stand out?” Morgan asked, coming up beside her.
The coroner had come and gone twice already. The first time for a preliminary, the second for pictures. This was her third visit to the corpses, and the thin glaze of sweat across her brow suggested the hike through the sweltering fields was taking its toll.
“Ligature marks suggest he kept them alive for a while,” Dr. Avery said. “But the killing blow was quick. Almost merciful.”
“Find anything when you ran their faces?” Rachel said.
“Haven’t got to that yet,” Avery replied, testily.
Rachel noted the coroner’s tone but let it slide. The woman was under a lot of pressure. Having worked with Dr. Avery before, she knew the woman was just as overwhelmed and frustrated as the rest of them.
“Let’s get their prints and dental records to the lab. See if we can get an ID,” Rachel said.
Avery began to reply, but before she could, they were all distracted by shouting.
“One moment, sir!” an officer was saying, standing by a sawhorse a hundred yards ahead. The officer had been stationed to cordon off the scene.
But now, a man was approaching them, shrugging off the officer’s hand and striding forward, frowning as if his life depended on it.
And while his life was safe, his livelihood had currently come to a grinding halt.
“Manager?” Morgan guessed under his breath.
Avery just nodded, lips tight.
The manager stormed over, expensive Italian loafers crunching on the gravel. “Do you have any idea how much money you’re costing me?” He jabbed a finger at Rachel, then at Morgan, then back at Rachel, as if he were trying to detectwhoexactly he could blame.
The man looked more like a Wall Street broker than a Texas oil field manager with equity in the company. He had sunken features and sun-stained skin, but his thin beard was trimmed in a neat line like a manicured garden outside a dilapidated home.
“Mr. Toney, we’re doing everything we can,” Rachel said quietly. “But you can’t be here right now, sir.”
His gaze settled on her now, and his eyes narrowed. Having decided on a target for his ire, he drew in a breath and exclaimed, “I want your badge for this. You’re done here!”
Rachel kept her gaze level, refusing to be intimidated. She had faced far greater threats than an irate businessman. “There have been murders on your property. This is now a crime scene, and you will give my team full access until our investigation is complete.”
She spoke slowly, firmly, but without attitude. She was simply stating facts, not trying to piss him off or get into a power trip contest.
But he took it the wrong way.
“You can’t talk to me like that!” He puffed up, trying to assert his authority, but Rachel didn’t flinch. She merely stared at him, as unmoving as a mountain.
“What’s your name?” he demanded. “Badge number?”
“Sir,” she said quietly, “you’re not allowed to be here. You’re contaminating my crime scene.”
“Like hell I am.”
She pointed at his feet, then at the ground behind him. “Size nines,” she said simply. “The other tracks were size tens. You’ve ruined three prints, and the cigarette smoke I can detect on you is going to get on the bodies and show up on her tox screens.”
He opened his mouth as if ready to yell some more, but then stiffened as he realized what she was saying.
