The Fog

by Amanda McKinney

  “Any bruising anywhere else?”

  “No, but she has a small—I’m talking teeny-tiny—laceration just between her seventh and eighth rib. Barely pierces the skin.”

  Dean raised his eyebrows. “So she was possibly kidnapped at knifepoint.”

  Wesley nodded. “And forced to go to my place, then forced across the field to the basement.”

  “But in whose car?”

  “Whoever drives a dark SUV.” Wesley's gaze leveled on Jessica. “No other injuries at all?”

  “No. She wasn’t sexually assaulted, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  He surprised himself by releasing an audible exhale. Thank God.

  “But, hang on, I’m not done…”

  He went still, and she continued. “I did find something interesting…” she cleared her throat as if taking a second to gather her thoughts. “Well, in the incision on her throat…” She cleared her throat again. “I found maggots.”

  “Maggots?”

  “Well, not actual maggots. Eggs. Insect eggs.”

  Dean’s brow furrowed. “What the—

  “Yeah, my thoughts exactly. I actually said those exact words the moment I noticed it. Obviously, she hadn’t been dead long enough for insects to crawl inside and lay eggs, so yeah…” she reached up and scratched her head. “It was an interesting find.” She looked at Wesley. “So, unless you’ve got nasty, rotting carcasses in your basement…”

  Wesley’s confused expression matched Dean’s. “No, of course not. Are you sure?”

  “I’m always sure.”

  “But, how? How is it possible?”

  “Hey, it’s not my job to figure that out. I just tell y’all what I find, you go figure it out.”

  “Wait…” Willard cocked his head. “Don’t flies lay eggs that turn into maggots? Isn’t that what a maggot is? Eggs from a fly?”

  “Yeah, I mean, I’m no bug expert, but yeah.”

  “Couldn’t a fly have just landed on her and laid the eggs?”

  Jessica shook her head. “No. Dude, she’d only been dead minutes before Wesley found her. And, the eggs were deep inside the wound. If it had happened as quickly as it would’ve had to, the eggs would have been on top.”

  Baffled, Wesley stared blankly back at her.

  Jessica took another bite, chewed a minute, then said, “It’s interesting for sure. Worth looking into but that’s just my two cents.”

  Dean nodded. “We need an entomologist.”

  “Forensic entomologist,” Jessica corrected.

  “I think the state crime lab contracts that out. Not too many around here.” He looked up with a grim look on his face. “Definitely won’t be a fast process.”

  Wesley vehemently shook his head. “No way. We need this done now. Like, today.” He looked at Jessica who had moved onto the fries. “Who’s the best around?”

  “Best what?”

  “Forensic ento… whatever.”

  She snorted. “You won’t get her.”

  “Name?”

  “Seriously, Wesley, she’s busy as hell. Travels the country giving lectures when she’s not working a case.” She grinned. “She’s not really your type of gal, anyway.”

  His eyebrows tipped up. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

  “She eats guys like you for breakfast.”

  “Guys like me?”

  She flashed a devilish smirk, “Yeah, cocky, alpha, can’t-take-no-for-an-answer kind of guys.”

  Willard chuckled.

  She continued, “You’ll never get her. She’s self-employed, does contract work all over the world. No way in hell you guys can afford her. The department will never cover that cost. You’ll have to wait for the state—

  “I’ll pay for it.” Wesley grabbed his phone. “What’s the name, Jess?”

  Jessica huffed out a breath. “Gwyneth Reece.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Gwen hit a pothole, bouncing her out of her seat. She heard the thump of the bottom of her rental car hitting a rock. She ground her teeth and gripped the steering wheel. Was she even on a road? She looked down at the row of grass running through the middle of tire tracks.

  A few miles down a “dirt road,” they’d said.

  This was more of a trail. Not a stay-at-home-mommy-jogging-with-her-fancy-stroller kind of trail, no, this was a here’s-the-money-where’s-my-fucking-drugs kind of trail.

  She glanced at the GPS on her console. She was going in the right direction, right? Shouldn’t she be there by now? She’d put in the coordinates correctly, hadn’t she? Maybe the GPS had short-circuited. After all, “there” was a tiny speck hidden deep in the Cascade Mountains, in some of the most treacherous terrain in the Northwest.

  As if setting the scene, the waning light of dusk cast deep shadows around her, darkening the forest with each passing minute. Tiny droplets blurred her windshield. It wasn’t rain or drizzle, but a relentless mist. Like a fog, except wetter.

  Her eyes scanned the woods. Thousands and thousands of deep green firs spearing against the muted fall colors of the underbrush. She’d never seen trees so tall, or so close to a “road.” She’d eventually given up on worrying about the branches swiping—no doubt scratching—the little, tomato-red Prius that the airport had rented her. She had much more important things to worry about.

  Like what kind of nightmare awaited her at the end of this journey.

  She slowed down—not that she needed to. She hadn’t passed a single vehicle in forty-five minutes—and released one hand from the steering wheel. Keeping one eye on the road, she shuffled through the papers in the brown manila envelope on the passenger seat and found the directions to the site in her barely legible scribbles just below the name Eva Mancuso. She read off the coordinates and doubled checked the GPS. Yep, she was on the right track—assuming the ancient-looking device was accurate.

  What if it wasn’t?

  If something happened to her out here, would anyone even find her? Her stomach sank at the thought. She really was out in the middle of freaking nowhere.

  She took a deep breath and turned on the headlights. There was enough light to see for the moment, but she wanted the comfort of the extra light. A false comfort, but comfort nonetheless.

  Her fingers anxiously tapped the steering wheel, and she reached down and fiddled with the radio. Crackle, crackle, crackle… crackle, crackle was all she got.

  She blew out a breath and felt the queasiness that accompanied exhaustion. It had been a hell of a day. Twenty-four hours, really. She’d spent most of the evening polishing off a six-pack while catching up on the mountain of work she was behind on. Five hours later, she received a call from the FBI, and after spending the remainder of the evening studying the regional insect fauna of Oregon, she’d booked the first flight out, packed up, and hightailed it to the airport, where her plane had been delayed due to weather. Storms, apparently. The delay she could handle, but the hairy, drunk, beast of a man she was seated next to when she’d finally boarded ate up her last bit of patience. Especially when he’d snored like a foghorn the entire flight. She’d landed in Colorado for her layover, and was delayed, yet again.

  It had been a full day of travel from her hometown of Austin, Texas, to the tiny town of Mount Hood, Oregon.

  She clicked on her high beams and squinted. Up ahead she saw a small clearing and her lights bounced off the red reflective tail lights of a truck.

  Thank God!

  A renewed energy had her sitting up straight. As she drew closer, she took note of three more vehicles and a black van. The CSI team was already there. She was probably the last person to arrive. She parked off to the side, half-way in a ditch, and fumbled for her flashlight. Grabbing her coat and bag, she pushed out of the car.

  The air was wet and thin. Her chest felt like it was squeezing and she took a few quick breaths. What elevation had she climbed to? She set her bag on the hood, slipped on her all-weather jacket and pulled her long, brown hair—a ball of fr
izz now—back in a bun. According to the email she’d printed out, she should see a trail leading through the trees. But if it was anything like the “road” she’d been on, the “trail” might be no more than a few twigs snapped off. She noticed boot tracks in the mud and followed them to, not surprisingly, a barely-there pathway cutting through the forest. She clicked on her flashlight and descended into the woods. Her final destination should be about a quarter mile past the clearing where she’d parked, at the edge of a ravine.

  She glanced up at the dimming sky, the stars just beginning to twinkle. It would be completely dark by the time she arrived.

  She shook her head. Just perfect.

  A cold gust of wind blew past her. She zipped up her jacket as she glanced into the woods, unable to see but a few feet from the trail. A feeling of unease crept up. Shouldn’t she be able to hear them? Muffled voices in the distance, at least?

  She focused on her footsteps, the pine needles crunching beneath her feet, each step taking her closer to seeing an actual human being… and a dead one. She listened to the sounds of nature around her and zeroed in on the insects, naming each one by the sound of their chirp. A game. A carefree game to pass the time while she walked alone through the middle of the woods.

  Just then, leaves rustled behind her. A zing of fear shot up her spine, and she spun on her heel expecting to see either a massive bear or a serial killer.

  But there was nothing. Just a rocky trail that faded into darkness.

  Geez, she was abnormally jumpy. Probably from the lack of sleep, and maybe that six-pack she’d drank before bed.

  She took a deep breath, turned and pressed on.

  Minutes ticked by and finally, beams of fluorescent light cut through the trees in the distance.

  Thank. God.

  She picked up her pace. The path took a curve, and the scene opened up around her. Multiple klieg lights circled a small clearing, illuminating the ground as if it were a stage. The fog looked like a cloud under the bright lights, slowly swaying over the scene. Beyond the big spotlight on the ground, total darkness. She counted six people, each with navy-blue jackets with FBI written in bright yellow across the back. Two on their knees hovering over a lump on the ground, three slowly scanning the area with flashlights, and one on his cell phone. A German Shepherd, also wearing an FBI vest, barked at her arrival and a few heads lifted, locking on her as she stepped out of the woods.

  “Miss Reece.”

  She stopped, startled at the deep voice that came out of nowhere beside her. A short, stocky man with a shaved head stepped out of the woods, with a flashlight in his hand and a hard look on his face—a look she’d seen many times before.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Agent Stein. Thanks for coming on such short notice.”

  “Not a problem.” She received a firm handshake from fingers that felt like a leather belt.

  He pulled a notebook from his pocket. “I’m going to need you to sign here, please.”

  She scribbled her name on the crime scene log.

  “Thanks.” He tucked the notebook back into his pocket, and they fell into step together.

  “A couple of hunters found her this morning,” he said. “Called it in immediately, and they called us.”

  “No official ID yet?”

  He shook his head.

  “And you think it’s possibly related to the Caregiver Killer?” A horrific name created by the media, she thought.

  “A possibility, yes.”

  A good possibility. She’d read the report.

  Over the last two months, a deranged serial killer had murdered three elderly women, each taken from various nursing homes or assisted living facilities within a sixty-mile radius. Each a petite woman with mental illness. Each brutally sexually assaulted with various tools, then strangled to death, their bodies found weeks later in remote areas of the Cascade Mountains. Three bodies found, two still missing, one named Eva Mancuso. The story had made national news. After the second body had been found, the local police passed the case to the state, who promptly engaged the FBI. After weeks of investigating false leads, dead-ends, and chasing their tails, the federal agents were no closer to pinning down the killer. Due to the state the latest body found was in, Gwen had received a call.

  He continued, “The body is short. Very short.”

  “How tall is Eva?”

  “Five-two.”

  “And how long has Eva been missing?”

  “Forty-nine days.”

  Forty-nine days. Shit.

  A moment passed, then Stein said, “She’s not in good shape.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Advanced decay.”

  “You said she. I’m assuming you know it’s a female from the pelvic bone?”

  “Exactly. Also, her bones show advanced osteoporosis, and short gray hair is still attached to the skull.”

  “An elderly woman. It’s got to be her.”

  He clenched his jaw and nodded.

  “Injuries?”

  He looked at her. “To the pelvic region, you mean?”

  She slowly nodded.

  His eyes narrowed as he looked at the lump on the ground just ahead of them. “Yes.” His tone was as cold as ice. “Knife marks on the bone.”

  Her gut clenched. Although she’d seen countless numbers of dead bodies, countless murdered victims, sexual assault was something she never got used to. Never accepted.

  “Clothing?” She asked.

  “No.”

  Her gaze fixed on the carcass between the two agents who hovered over it as they walked up.

  Agent Stein cleared his throat. “Agent Mackenzie, Dr. Perez, this is Gwyneth Reece, our forensic entomologist.”

  Agent Mackenzie looked over her shoulder, surprising Gwen with stunning green, almond-shaped eyes and a beautiful smile. Gwen had been to plenty of crime scenes and stunning and beautiful usually weren’t the words she’d use to describe the agents. Ninety-percent of the time, she worked with men; older men with frown lines and bags under their eyes, a chronic side effect of spending twenty-four hours a day working homicides.

  “Miss Reece, pleasure to meet you. Your reputation precedes you.”

  She smiled and shifted her attention to a dark-haired man who’d yet to acknowledge her presence. He’d been introduced as a doctor, and Gwen assumed he was the forensic medical examiner.

  Agent Mackenzie gave a subtle eye roll at his dismissal of the new girl. “Perez. This is Gwyneth Reece.”

  Without looking up, he said, “Haven’t heard of her.”

  Gwen cocked an eyebrow. Fantastic. Another overworked, cocky, male chauvinist. She was definitely used to that. Due to her age and the fact that she had a vagina, men in her field didn’t take her seriously. Of the ninety-percent she crossed paths with, eighty-five were assholes. Some sexist, some jealous of her accolades, but most jealous of her bank account. Being self-employed, she made triple what government and city employees made. In some cases, quadruple.

  Well, Dr. Dickhead was going to have to get over whatever issue he had with her because she was here to get a job done, and nothing was going to stand in the way of that.

  She grabbed two latex gloves from her bag and slid them on as Mackenzie updated her.

  “Based on how decomposed the victim is, we’re thinking she’s at least a month deceased, more than likely longer. Hoping you can nail down a tighter timeframe.”

  Gwen nodded. The longer a body decomposed, the fewer insects inhabited it, making her job much harder to pull a solid analysis, especially when the body had been exposed to the elements the entire time.

  But it wasn’t impossible.

  Dr. Dickhead stood, yanked off his gloves and stretched his back. “Don’t see any bugs.” He finally looked at her. “You’ve got your work cut out for you.”

  She met his gaze, narrowed her eyes. “I like a challenge.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Have at it, then.”

  “Can I move he
r freely?”

  He nodded, then turned to Agent Stein. “Coffee in the van?”

  “Just brewed it.”

  “Perfect. Be right back.”

  The doctor limped away, and for a split-second, she had sympathy for the man. He was probably one of the first people on the scene and had been bent over a rotted corpse for hours upon hours, searching for the most minute piece of evidence that could finally nail down the Caregiver Killer.

  Agent Mackenzie peeled off her gloves, too. “Coffee actually sounds good.” She turned to Gwen. “Temperature’s dropped about ten degrees with the sun. You want some?”

  “No, thanks. Had a gallon on the plane.”

  “Alright, then. I’ll be back in a sec.”

  Mackenzie walked away as Agent Stein lingered a moment. “Sorry, Dr. Perez is—

  “It’s fine.” She kneeled down, already forgetting about Dr. Dickhead as her mind switched to analytical.

  “Good.” His phone rang, and he stepped away.

  Finally, she was alone. Just the way she liked it.

  A line of concentration ran down her forehead as she looked at the remnants of what used to be a woman. Agent Stein said the body was in advanced decay, and he was right. At this stage in decomposition, animals had eaten ninety-percent of the organs and skin. Only a few scraps remained on the brittle gray bones, which were covered in small teeth marks. Strands of stringy gray hair clung to the skull, which was completely devoid of tissue. Black holes stared at her from where the eyes had been. The jaw was stretched open as if she’d died mid-scream. Gwen had seen enough dead bodies to recognize the sex from the bone structure alone. This woman had a small jaw, high cheekbones, and petite frame. She bet she’d been beautiful.

  The grass that surrounded the corpse was dead, colored brown from the fluids that had drained from the body. Below the torso, she noticed a decent amount of dry flesh still attached to the bottom of the corpse. Hope shot through her. Maybe she’d find something useful after all.

  She recorded the temperature of the air and soil, humidity, elevation, and details of the body, then took multiple samples of the soil and vegetation around the body. Finally, with the utmost delicacy, she slid her fingers under the body—