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“All we know is she’s not one of ours,” Boyle said, then pointed at Nox. “Your mom make you bring your little brother with you?” he asked and Nelson’s head snapped up and he looked momentarily confused as he blinked back at Boyle.
“That would be a breach of numerous protocols and regulations. This is Professor Lennox MacIlwraith of Georgetown University. He’s consulting with the FBI on cases involving ritual killings and pagan symbols.”
“Thanks!” Nox said, crossing his arms over his chest and raising a brow back at Boyle. “Every day might be bring-your-nephew-to-work day here in the Appalachians, but the FBI tends to vet their experts before sending them into the field.”
“You’re a professor?” Boyle said dubiously.
“Yup.” Nox smiled despite the urge to sneer and tell this half-brained hillbilly to kiss his ass. He was used to cops treating him like a punk because of his age and appearance and Nox was determined to prove that he could be useful to Nelson. But Nox really wanted to push Boyle’s buttons and see what it would take to make him explode. He was already turning red as his gaze pinged between Nelson and Nox. It settled on Nelson because he was the one Boyle felt safest with, the one who seemed most familiar.
“They sent Dr. Bixby up from Roanoke and he’s still taking notes and pictures. But I think he’s about ready to untie her and get her loaded into the van here,” he said, waving his ball cap at the medical examiner’s van.
“What about the hunters? The MacCrorys?” Nelson asked as he scribbled with a pencil. There were about three inches left, it was covered in teeth marks, and the eraser was nearly flat. “Did you get their boots and nail down their whereabouts the evening prior?”
“Their whereabouts?” Boyle shook his head. “Brian and ol’ Colin wouldn’t have anything to do with this. Brian runs the auto repair shop over by the diner off of Route 615 and minds his business. Lives just a few miles due west on the MacCrory property with his ma and pa. Family’s been here forever and everyone knows them. They’re a little…rough, but they’re good people and Brian’s the town’s only mechanic.”
“I’m going to want their boots,” Nelson said, making a note on a different page, then flipping back. He wasn’t watching Boyle and hadn’t noticed that he was turning an even deeper shade of red.
“You can go ahead and waste your time looking at the MacCrorys. But mark my words, some psycho dumped her here. Nobody from New Castle or Abbott has that kind of evil in them.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Nelson said distractedly, then nodded at the muddy trail on the other side of the tape. “We’re just here so the professor can take a look. He’s not even sure if this is of interest to the FBI yet. But I’m seeing at least eight different sets of sneaker and boot imprints over there and whoever gets this case is going to have to sort those out. I’d suggest bagging those boots as soon as possible so you can eliminate them and getting good soil samples from the treads. Just to be safe.”
Nox was about to open his mouth and say that he was 100% certain the FBI would be interested when Boyle began to splutter.
“Hold on now!” He was suddenly ready to talk to Nox. “We don’t have the facilities or the manpower to run an investigation like this and she ain’t from around here. We’d know. They could have brought her here from West Virginia or North Carolina. We’re smack-dab in between Craig County and Montgomery County as it is! We’ve been arguin’ all afternoon about who’s gettin’ stuck with her if the FBI won’t take over,” he said and Nox’s head canted.
“Who’s…stuck with her?” He stared at Boyle until the older man’s face went slack.
“Now, you know what I meant. Don’t go twistin’ my words.”
Nox held up a hand, his lips pulling into a hard, flat line as he dismissed Boyle. “Don’t think any twisting’s necessary. I’ll wait over there.” He nodded at Nelson and went to the tape cutting off the trail and thanked another deputy when he raised it for Nox. This kid was even younger than Duncan and Nox had noticed that he’d kept his back to the trail and stared longingly at the other vehicles parked along the road. “Jesse?” He guessed and the boy nodded. “Bet you’re ready to get out of here.”
A muscle in the kid’s jaw twitched and his eyes remained on the road. “That’s hell back there, sir. I don’t know what business you’ve got with that but—” His voice broke and his teeth chattered as he rubbed his arms. “That’s hell back there and I don’t know how I’ll get it out of my head.”
“I’m not a sir,” Nox said gently. He didn’t even like it when he was called professor because that was his dad and Nox rankled at the thought of being in any kind of position of authority. “I’m just here to learn as much as I can and help the FBI make sense of this,” he explained.
Jesse squeezed his eyes shut. “God, I hope someone can.”
He’d probably been tasked with guarding the tape and access to the crime scene because he was the youngest and most inexperienced. He’d earned more trauma than experience, Nox sensed as he stood next to the young deputy. They could see the small gathering of law enforcement and haphazardly parked vehicles amidst the backdrop of the damp, dreary forest. It was a bitterly cold evening, but Nox felt a deeper, more sinister chill behind him as he waited for Nelson.
Something horrendous had been left in the woods and Nox could feel subtle nauseating vibrations and he could still hear the echoes of terror whenever the wind grew quiet. He wasn’t a psychic as far as he knew, but Nox could sense things that others couldn’t. His ears picked up sounds and whispers as if they lingered in the air like fumes, and he could see traces of rage or lust the way cops could see blood spatter patterns and bullet holes.
Nox was also enthralled by symbols and rituals and the way man had codified and classified the world around him to not only explain the unexplainable but to organize himself and establish a hierarchy. He was observing one set of rituals and the establishment of a pecking order as Nelson tucked his badge back into his coat and excused himself, receiving deferential nods from Boyle and the other men.
“I think we’re heading out soon,” the young deputy said under his breath. He sounded relieved and tipped his head at Nelson as he approached. “Sir,” he said as he raised the tape.
There was no questioning Nelson’s authority thanks to his badge and his über conservative suit, despite his young age. But it was also his bearing. Agent Grady Nelson exuded too much competency and professionalism and Nox could see how that might rub his peers and superiors the wrong way.
“Boyle says he’ll send someone to replace you once the victim’s on her way to Roanoke and Dr. Bixby and his team have everything they need for the night,” Nelson told the deputy before gesturing for Nox to join him as he trudged up the trail. “They’re setting up a detail to watch the scene until all the evidence has been collected. There’s already been a stampede through here so stay on the path and search the places that haven’t been trampled.”
“Got it,” Nox said, doing his best to follow in Nelson’s footsteps. He was keeping his hands stuffed in his pockets because he was cold, but he didn’t want to accidentally touch something he shouldn’t. “Do you think Boyle’s right, that she’s from North Carolina or West Virginia?”
“I think that the only thing Boyle’s sure of is that the victim isn’t from around here,” Nelson said, also telling Nox just what he thought about the rest of Boyle’s assumptions. “New Castle is the only town in the county and we left it behind miles ago. According to the last census, there’s a population of 125 so the odds of Boyle not knowing the victim are slim. I’d like to believe that the MacCrorys know better than to leave a body in their own backyard and most ritual killers prefer to work away from home. Unless they’re ready to call attention to themselves and want to get caught.”
“I once read that serial killers are only caught when they’re ready to be caught and that there are thousands out there.”
“We don’t know if there’s anything serial about this yet,” Nelson reminded Nox as he surveyed the path around them. “We don’t even know if there’s a connection to our missing girls.”
“But she’s not from here and you saw the symbol in the photos,” Nox argued. A contact at the Roanoke examiner’s office had noticed the swirling burn pattern when the call came in and had sent a scan of one of the photos to Nox to see if he had any idea what it could be.
