See Her Die

by Leigh, Melinda

  Bree nodded. She didn’t want to talk about the dog. She wanted to forget about it.

  “Can you send animal control to pick him up?” Matt asked.

  “You know I can’t.” Bree glanced in the rearview mirror. “There was food, water, and shelter. We didn’t witness him injure the dog.”

  Matt crossed his arms. “We both know Earl’s abusing that animal. The dog is thin.”

  “He didn’t look like he was starving, and what we know and what we can prove are two entirely different things.”

  “Story of our lives, right?” Matt punched his knee, frustrated.

  “Yep.” Putting the dog out of her mind, Bree turned the dashboard computer toward Matt. “See if either Joe or Zachary drives a Dodge Charger.”

  Matt typed. “Nope.”

  “Criminal records?”

  Matt worked the computer. “Nothing on Joe. Zachary has a couple of marijuana busts. He paid fines. The guy in the Charger could have borrowed or rented a car,” Matt pointed out. “The vehicle doesn’t have to belong to him.”

  “I know, but we have so little physical evidence. It would be great if we could get a lead on either the Charger or the birthmark.”

  “Too bad it isn’t summer. No one would be wearing gloves.”

  “Yes.” Bree’s phone rang. She glanced at the screen. Todd. She answered the call. “What’s going on?”

  “We have another body,” Todd said.

  “Shit. Where?” Bree asked.

  “Near the dock at the Grey Lake Inn.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Matt followed Bree down the slope of the inn’s back lawn to the edge of the lake. The sun shone from a cloudless sky. In places where the wind was blocked, the day felt almost warm. Patches of dormant grass showed through the melting snow.

  Another body was the last thing they needed. They couldn’t keep up with the killings.

  Todd walked next to Bree and filled her in on the details of the new body.

  “The forensics techs brought in lights and worked all night to process the evidence you found in the garage yesterday,” Todd said. “Deputy Oscar arrived this afternoon to relieve the deputy who had been in charge. Oscar spotted a couple of kids out on the lake, watching. He went down there to run them off when he saw the body.”

  They walked along the bank for about a hundred feet until they reached a small culvert. Deputy Oscar stood on the bank. Freezing wind swept over the lake.

  Matt shoved his injured hand into his coat pocket. Gloves weren’t enough on days like this.

  Oscar repeated his story. He hunched his shoulders against a sudden gust. “It was right under my feet. I was standing on top of it.”

  Matt didn’t think the deputy’s shivering had anything to do with the cold.

  But Bree took pity on him. “Thank you, Deputy. If you need to warm up, go sit in your car for a while.”

  Oscar shook his head. “I’ll stay.”

  They stared down at the ice where the ditch and drainpipe met the lake.

  “Where is it?” Bree asked, scanning the area.

  Todd pointed. They all looked down.

  And Matt saw the back of a head, just barely visible through the opaque ice.

  “Has the ME been notified?” Bree asked.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Todd said. “And the dive team is on the way.”

  Many of the Randolph County deputies served on special teams, including a dive team for underwater search and recovery.

  Oscar crossed his arms and tucked his hands under his arms, as if the thought of going into the frigid water made him colder.

  Matt scanned the lake. His gut twisted. Who was down there?

  Ice crunched under boots. They all turned. The medical examiner and her assistant approached, each carrying a kit. Dr. Jones stopped next to Bree and motioned to the assistant behind her. “Let’s get pictures. We’ll map out which way the body is oriented to make sure we don’t damage the remains while recovering them.”

  The ME waited for her assistant to photograph the remains from various angles and distances. Then Dr. Jones took a brush from her case and moved closer. She crouched and began brushing the ice. Removing the top layer of frost slightly improved the clarity. “Here’s the neck. The back extends this way.” She gestured. “I need to mark these locations.”

  “I have spray paint in my trunk.” Todd turned and jogged back up the slope toward the inn. He returned a few minutes later with a can, which he handed to the ME.

  She outlined a rough oval in dotted lines on the frozen surface to mark the location of the body. While they waited for the dive team, the ME and her assistant took samples, measurements, and temperature readings.

  Four members of the dive team responded. They parked the truck and equipment trailer on the back lawn of the lodge. Two deputies set up the equipment while the other two donned dark-orange dry suits that would protect them from the frigid water. After the body was recovered, they would need to search the bottom of the lake for evidence, as they would in a crime scene on land.

  Matt and Bree backed away while the men cut the ice away in chunks. It took thirty minutes to carve a rectangle large enough to allow the divers into the water with an underwater body bag made of heavy-duty, vinyl-coated mesh, which allowed water to drain when it was hauled ashore but kept forensic evidence inside. The tightly woven mesh would also protect the victim’s privacy from onlookers as the body was removed from the lake. Floaters could be particularly nasty. Family members didn’t need to see their loved one’s bloated remains being dragged out of the water.

  The ME consulted with the divers as they suited up. “The previous body had defense wounds and tissue under the nails. This is our first time working together, so I’m unsure of your procedures. I want to make sure any trace evidence that could be under the nails isn’t dislodged during the removal.”

  The paper bags the ME used on land would not work underwater.

  The divers frowned.

  The ME pulled ziplock bags from her kit. “These are women’s nylon knee-high stockings. I rolled them so you can unroll them on the victim’s hands and feet, like putting on a condom. The water drains, but the nylon should protect and preserve any evidence under the nails.”

  “That’s a damned good idea.” The diver took two bags and handed two to his partner.

  The ME stepped back, satisfied.

  The pair of divers donned tanks and helmets equipped with mini cameras. Matt stood a few feet from the team as they double-checked equipment that would monitor the men underwater.

  The divers slipped into the lake. The recovery took nearly thirty minutes. They pulled the entire zipped body bag from the hole. Water drained from the bag as it lay on the ice, then it was loaded onto the ME’s gurney and wheeled toward her van.

  Matt went queasy as he and Bree followed the gurney to the parking lot in front of the inn. He and Bree exchanged a look.

  Was this Eli?

  Bree stopped the ME before she and the assistant loaded the body into the van. “Can you open it just a little? I need to see the body.”

  The ME glanced around the lot. The news crews were down by the water, watching the dive team. The divers would go back into the water and search the lake bottom for evidence. Dr. Jones opened a few feet of zipper. The corpse was a young male. He wore only boxer shorts, and his face was destroyed. His hair was shorn close to the scalp, like Brian’s had been.

  Matt lowered his voice. “Our missing person has a rectangular birthmark on the back of his shoulder.”

  The ME nodded. She’d already reviewed Eli’s medical records once when she was trying to ID Brian’s body. No doubt she remembered the birthmark. Matt braced himself as she lifted one of the corpse’s shoulders. The mark was the size of a playing card.

  Eli.

  Matt instantly pictured Mrs. Whitney and felt sick at the pain Eli’s death would bring to her.

  Bree moved forward to stand next to Dr. Jones. She kept her voice low
also. “Any estimate of how long he’s been in the lake?”

  But Dr. Jones had already zipped the bag. “Let me get him back to the morgue and do the calculations.”

  As with Brian O’Neil’s body, determining time of death would be challenging, and the ME would only be able to give a window of time.

  “I’ll do his autopsy this afternoon,” Dr. Jones said. “You’ll have some answers by evening.”

  “Thank you,” Bree said.

  Then the victim was loaded into the van.

  Bree and Matt returned to the rear yard. The inn had been designated a crime scene, but several news teams had ventured out onto the ice from the adjacent property to try to get a clear shot of the crime scene and the dive team at work.

  A few minutes later, one of the divers emerged from the hole. He set his evidence bag on the ice next to him. He spit out his mouthpiece and removed his helmet. “Sheriff!” He motioned for her to come closer.

  Bree hurried to his side and crouched low. Matt tuned in to hear.

  The diver said, “There’s another body down there.”

  Shock filled Matt. That was the last thing he’d expected to hear.

  “We need another body bag.” Bree glanced at the reporters. “And more of those nylons.” She called for her chief deputy. “Todd, see if the ME is still here.”

  Dr. Jones was still in the parking lot. She returned with more nylons. The press sensed something was up and started filming.

  A short while later, the second diver surfaced, and the other dive team members helped haul the second yellow mesh bag out of the water. The diver emerged from the hole, sat on the edge, and removed his helmet. Bree and the ME moved closer.

  “Another male?” Bree asked.

  The diver shook his head. “I’m not sure. It’s dark down there, but the body has long hair and is still dressed.”

  Dr. Jones squatted next to the bag and discreetly opened the zipper enough to see the face. It was a woman with long dark hair. The collar of a coat was also visible. “Does she look familiar to anyone?”

  “Yes.” Bree whispered a name to the ME. “Her prints are probably in the system.”

  ID’ing her should be quick.

  Matt breathed in Bree’s ear. “Did you see her?”

  Bree nodded. “She was fully dressed, and her face was intact. It looked like Sara Harper.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Killing was addictive.

  But he had to resist the temptation to rush. He needed to wait for the right opportunity, just like he’d planned. Poor timing could ruin everything, but it was getting harder to be patient. Since the press conference, he was almost afraid to use the Charger. But the vehicle was pretty common. It didn’t really attract attention. He had removed the rideshare app sign. But the fact that the sheriff had a photo of the car made him unwilling to use his own vehicle. The Charger he could hide, but he couldn’t afford to replace his regular vehicle.

  He’d also been careful to wear gloves everywhere possible, and he’d used special makeup to cover the back of his hand. That bitch sheriff was trying to ruin everything. Maybe when he was finished with his current list, he’d make Bree Taggert a future target. The assholes he was currently hunting weren’t so smart. The sheriff would present a whole new challenge.

  Through his windshield, he watched pedestrians navigate a crosswalk. A few blocks off the main road through campus, parked vehicles clogged the street. The houses here were big and old. Most had been divided into apartments. The light turned green, and he let the car roll forward.

  As he drove the next two blocks, the scenery changed from residences to university buildings. The student center was around the corner. He stopped at the light and scanned the sidewalks. He’d stalked his prey long enough on social media. The target usually went to the student center before his afternoon class.

  He got lucky as he approached the student center. A car pulled away from the curb, and he slid into the spot and turned off the engine.

  Three girls emerged from the building. They wore tight black pants and puffy jackets, backpacks slung over shoulders. Under knit caps, dark hair cascaded down their backs. One of the girls turned and said something to her friend. She was beautiful. The sort of woman who thought she was too good for him. The girl laughed, her perfect smile gnawing at him.

  Bitterness burned deep in his belly. Seething, he slumped down in the seat, crossed his arms over his chest, and waited. Frustration burned inside him. It had to be today. He couldn’t wait any longer. He curled his hand into a fist and punched his leg.

  This street was too busy. The cold seeped into the car, but anger warmed him from the inside out. A half hour later, his target ambled out of the student center, late for class, as usual. He stared at his phone as he walked down the street. Instead of walking to the corner, he darted between two parked cars and jaywalked.

  He wanted to kill him so badly that his fingers ached. His hands curled around the steering wheel, and his toe touched the gas pedal. He could just run him over right now. Easy. It would be done. One more down. He imagined his car striking the body, the boy flying into the air and flopping onto the street.

  Anticipation buzzed in his veins. Would there be blood? Would the man die immediately? Too many uncertainties. He needed to be sure.

  Plus, that’s not how it was supposed to go down. Using the car was too quick, too remote. He wouldn’t get to tell the fucker exactly why he was killing him. He wouldn’t get to see the shock on his prey’s face when he recognized him.

  No. This death had to be as personal as the others.

  He dimmed his excitement—for now. He would do this the right way. He would look the guy in the eyes as he pulled the trigger. It was vital that his victims knew exactly who was killing them and why. Otherwise, what was the point?

  He needs to be punished!

  No doubt this one knew what had happened to his friends and would be even more scared.

  He rolled his shoulder and shifted into drive. He rolled away from the curb and followed his quarry.

  The fucker looked over his shoulder. Could he sense the danger? Was he already nervous?

  I hope so.

  He cruised, keeping a hundred feet between him and his prey. The fucker turned onto the next street. He steered through the turn. This street was almost empty. The closest other students were a half block away. He waited for them to turn the corner, out of sight, then checked the road in both directions.

  Clear. No moving cars. No people. But he had to hurry.

  He pulled the ski mask down over his face. He’d smeared mud on his license plate. Even if his vehicle was caught on camera, the bitch sheriff wouldn’t have any more evidence than she already did.

  Now.

  He punched the gas pedal. The car leaped forward, catching up to the target in a few seconds. The man veered toward the street. He was going to cross midblock.

  Perfect.

  He aimed just in front of his quarry, stopping just short of hitting him, as if he’d barely stopped in time by accident. The quick light of fear in the man’s eyes was awesome.

  “You asshole!” The jerk jumped back and dropped his phone. He slapped one hand on the hood of the car. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  “Me? You ran in front of my car!” He checked the rearview mirror. The street was still clear.

  He picked up his gun from the passenger seat and aimed it right at the guy’s face. The asshole’s eyes opened wide. He opened his car door and got out, keeping the gun steady. “Get in the back seat.”

  “No.” Wide-eyed, the guy backed up. His face went white. He glanced at the phone at his feet.

  “Don’t touch it.” Power surged through him. “I’ll fucking shoot you right here.”

  The target moved on shaky legs to the rear door of the car, opened it, and stepped inside. He hesitated halfway in, as soon as he realized there was a divider between the front and rear seats. The car was an old police vehicle purchased a
t auction.

  Scanning the street again, he slid behind the wheel and locked the doors. The man slid to the other side of the seat and grabbed for the door handle. Nothing happened. Because it was an old police car, the rear doors didn’t open from the inside.

  “There are handcuffs on the floor,” he commanded. “Put them on.”

  This time, the guy didn’t argue. He did as he was fucking told.

  “Why are you doing this?” the asshole whined.

  “Shut up.” He straightened the car in the street. He had to get out of here. Then he ran over the phone. Excitement flushed his body. He’d done it. Nothing was better than a perfectly executed plan.

  Except a perfect execution.

  He took off his ski mask and tossed it onto the passenger seat. If anyone saw them now, they’d see a guy sitting in the back seat of a car. That’s it. Nothing suspicious about that.

  He left the campus and headed for the new place he’d picked out.

  “I’ll pay you to let me go,” the guy begged.

  He looked in the rearview mirror. “If you say one more word, I’m going to pull over and shoot you in the leg.”

  The rest of the drive went by in silence. He used the time to envision what he was going to do to the occupant of his back seat. He imagined it over and over in his head. Just like he would watch the video over and over after the killing.

  But he had to be patient. The anticipation was part of the fun.

  When they reached the destination, he got out of the car and opened the rear door. “Let’s go.”

  Now that the sheriff had found the inn, he couldn’t go back there.

  His victim stepped out, lunged forward, and made a grab for his face with his bound hands.

  He’d been expecting a final, panicked effort to escape. These assholes were so predictable. He pulled a stun gun from his pocket and pressed it to the man’s forearm, holding it down for several seconds. The man’s body jerked and shook, then he went limp and slid to the ground. That would keep him quiet for a few minutes. The electrical impulses emitted by a stun gun traveled through muscles. The bigger, beefier guys took a harder hit.

  So easy.