Minutes to Kill (Scarlet Falls)

by Melinda Leigh

  “That’s a question you’ll have to ask him.”

  No, thank you. She had no intention of getting to know Brody that well. Though the fact that Grant obviously knew Brody’s background but wasn’t talking piqued her curiosity. No piquing. She needed to stay focused. “I’m only here for a week. I doubt the topic will come up.”

  But she was sure she’d be seeing Brody soon. She’d sent him the e-mail, not that there was much he could do.

  As soon as they arrived back at the house, Hannah booted her computer and checked her inbox. Scanning her messages, she froze at a subject line: Jewel.

  Chapter Eight

  When a body was dumped in the great outdoors, insects were the first responders. The faint drone of insect wings buzzed in the background as Brody got out of his unmarked police car. He skirted the rusted skeleton of a child’s bike. The old rail yard was a grave site for more than unused freight cars. The enclosed area was a dumping ground for everything from abandoned vehicles to rotting mattresses. It was an excellent place to acquire tetanus—or dispose of a body.

  He walked past an SFPD cruiser. Two teenagers, a boy and a girl, stood next to the vehicle’s bumper. The boy shoved his hands in the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie. The girl, dressed in leggings and boots, wrapped a knee-length sweater tightly around her body as if she was freezing. Brody bypassed the kids. He’d interview them after he saw the body.

  Twenty feet of wet weeds separated the dirt road from a patch of waist-high scrubby plants. Treading carefully, Brody skirted a used condom and ducked under a strip of crime scene tape. Near the center of the space, a body sprawled next to a tractor tire. The wind shifted, and a fresh meat scent hit his nostrils.

  The sole female in the small SFPD, Officer Stella Dane stood on the periphery writing on a clipboard. She turned serious blue eyes on him. “The medical examiner should be here any minute.”

  Brody’s gaze shifted to the body. The victim lay on her back, her arms flung out. His gaze fell on her face. Disgust segued into anger. The victim’s features were pulp, and her skull partially smashed. She was dressed in a gray “I Love NY” sweatshirt and a light jacket. The bottom half of her body was naked, but dead pine needles, leaves, and loose dirt partially covered her. She didn’t seem to be positioned in any particular way. Her body looked truly dumped.

  He allowed himself one brief Who could do this to another human being? before settling back to work. He couldn’t bring her back to life, but he could catch the guilty bastard and make sure he never hurt another woman.

  “Those kids found her?” Brody asked.

  “Yes,” Stella said.

  “Did they say why they were here?”

  “They were taking a drive,” Stella deadpanned. Kids came to the rail yard to engage in one or more of the teenage triple threat: booze, drugs, and sex. “The boy said he walked out here to relieve himself and nearly stepped on the remains. I didn’t press them or search their vehicle. They could have hightailed it out of here, but they chose to do the right thing and report the find. Besides, they’ve been traumatized enough today.”

  “Agreed,” Brody said.

  His gaze swept over the ground, still spongy from a rainstorm the previous day. Two empty water bottles and a Styrofoam fast food container had blown up against the knobby tire. Dirt and scratches covered all three items, as if they’d been here a while. Except the random litter, nothing appeared out of the ordinary—other than the presence of a corpse. He spied a cigarette butt. “Is the county CSI team on the way?”

  “Yes.” Stella checked her watch. “They should be here any time.”

  With limited resources and a small police force, Scarlet Falls relied on Randolph County and the state police for assistance.

  The afternoon had been warm and sunny, and blowflies had found the body. Ignoring a swarm of insects, Brody leaned in for a closer look at the victim. He looked past her ruined face. He saw no obvious or visible knife or bullet wounds on the body, as if the trauma to the head wasn’t enough. Under splatters of mud, a rusty stain discolored the front of her shirt. Blood. Pine needles and a dead oak leaf matted her long dark hair. She was slender and small to average in size. Bruises mottled her legs. A small heart tattoo adorned her right hip. Though her face was battered beyond recognition, her body seemed young.

  Young, slender, long dark hair. No. It couldn’t be. Brody couldn’t stop the sharp intake of foul air. He straightened. “Do you know where Chet is today?”

  “No, sir.” Stella’s pencil paused. She lifted her gaze to meet Brody’s. Her mouth went grim. “You don’t think this could be Teresa, do you?”

  “I doubt it. Last time Chet got close to her, she was in New York City, but that was last winter. She hasn’t been seen around here for years.” Brody stared at the famous New York City heart logo on the victim’s sweatshirt. A mental image of a troubled teen with long dark hair appeared in his mind. His gaze moved back to the ruined face, and his stomach soured. He couldn’t match the brutalized body in front of him to his memories of Chet’s daughter. “It’s probably not her.” His instincts were telling him this wasn’t Teresa, or maybe Brody simply didn’t want to think this savagely beaten young woman was his friend’s daughter. “But the general physical description fits. So let’s keep Chet away from the scene.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  Brody sighed. Once Chet found out they’d found a body that roughly matched his missing daughter’s description, keeping him away from the case would require a tranquilizer dart dosed for a black bear.

  A door slammed, and Brody looked toward the road. A car parked on the shoulder. The medical examiner got out and opened his trunk to don coveralls and boots. As animated as one of his subjects, Dr. Frank Jenkins was not known for small talk. He approached the clearing and pulled the zipper of his tan coveralls from his stomach to the base of his neck.

  “Afternoon, Frank,” Brody said.

  Frank acknowledged him with a nod as he set his kit on the ground and gloved up. He scanned the body and surrounding scene. His face tightened as he leaned over the corpse, and he murmured under his breath, “Someone beat the shit out of her.”

  After an initial external examination, he lifted the victim’s sweatshirt and examined the torso. Brody could see the darkened skin along the victim’s left side. Upon death, blood pooled in the lowest part of the body. Lividity became fixed within six to eight hours. The victim was now positioned on her back, indicating she was killed elsewhere and dumped.

  The sounds of car doors and voices drifted over the clearing. A three-member team of the Randolph County Crime Scene Investigator unit approached, their hands full of cameras and plastic containers that resembled tackle boxes. They waited in silence for the ME to finish his initial assessment. No one wanted to irritate Frank. After he waved them into the scene, they began by circling the corpse, measuring distances, and snapping pictures. They started at the outside of the clearing and spiraled inward. Frank issued orders while they worked.

  “What can you tell me, Frank?” Brody asked.

  “You know I hate to guess, Brody.”

  “And you know how important these first few hours are to my investigation, Frank. I won’t hold you to anything. Just give me somewhere to start.” Brody lowered his voice. “For Chet.”

  Frank frowned at the body. “Do you have any specific reason to believe it’s his daughter?”

  Brody glanced around. He didn’t want any false statements getting back to Chet or to the media. “Nothing beyond basic description. I’d like to ease his mind if possible.”

  Frank met his eye. “My preliminary observations. Victim is female. Caucasian. Body is slender. Hard to age her with the amount of damage to her face, but skin and muscle tone indicates she is likely young. Facial trauma will make identification by appearance impossible. From the bruising patterns on her forearms I’d say she tried to blo
ck the blows, maybe even fought back a little.”

  “Maybe we’ll get some DNA under her nails,” Brody said.

  “We can hope.” Frank scratched his bald head.

  “Time of death?”

  Frank’s lips pursed. Hands on hips, he stared back at the body. “Twelve to twenty-four hours. I’ll narrow that window when I get her on the table.”

  “When do you think you’ll get to the autopsy?”

  “First thing tomorrow morning. I’d do it tonight, but I don’t have the staff available. I won’t half-ass it, though. I’ll get the body fingerprinted ASAP.”

  “Thanks, Frank,” Brody said.

  “I hope it’s not her.” The ME turned back to the clearing. Brody watched him slip paper bags over the victim’s hands to protect any tissue that might be lodged under her fingernails.

  Don’t we all. Brody walked through the scene with the lead crime scene investigator. They agreed on the search perimeter and discussed evidence to be bagged. Brody pointed out the used condom by the lane. “Plus, the usual soil and bug samples.”

  “Hey, Brody.” A tech brought him a slip of paper. “We found a receipt in her jacket pocket.”

  Brody brightened with thoughts of store surveillance tapes and an easy visual ID. “A receipt?”

  “Unfortunately, it’s a generic register tape. No store name.” The tech showed him a small plastic baggie containing the paper. “I’ll get you a copy of this.”

  “Thanks.” Why is it never that easy? Brody squinted at the paper. She’d purchased cigarettes yesterday at eight in the evening. Today was Sunday. She’d been killed between four p.m. Saturday and four a.m. Sunday. This receipt just narrowed the likely window. She was probably alive at eight p.m.

  Brody headed toward the teenagers. Stella broke into a jog to catch up. In the street, she introduced him to the seventeen-year-olds, who confirmed the accidental finding of the body. Stella had already taken their statements, driver’s license numbers, and contact information, so Brody let the kids go home, despite the faint scent of marijuana wafting from them. Like Stella, Brody was willing to give them a break for doing the right thing. They climbed into an aging Honda and drove off. A van from the medical examiner’s office parked in the Honda’s place. Two attendants jumped down from the cab, opened the back, and wheeled out the gurney.

  “Oh, no.” Stella tapped his arm and pointed down the road. A dark blue sedan pulled onto the shoulder near the gate. Chet got out and walked toward them.

  “What do you have?” Chet braced his hands on his hips. His suit jacket and white shirt bagged on his frame. He’d given up eating real food when his wife died.

  Brody tried to act casual. “Road crew found the body of a dead woman. The ME’s crew is collecting her now. Scene is being processed by county.”

  Chet turned and took a step toward the woods.

  Heart bleeding for his friend, Brody planted a hand in the center of Chet’s chest. “Don’t go back there.”

  “I heard she’s young and has long dark hair.” Chet knew everyone in law enforcement and emergency response, from the clerk’s office to animal control. Someone had called him.

  “It’s probably not her,” Brody said quietly. “But you don’t need to see. Don’t torture yourself.”

  “Move your hand, Brody.” Chet spoke through clenched teeth. “If there’s any chance that woman is Teresa, I have to see her.”

  But Brody held fast. “Please. Don’t do this.” Once Chet saw this woman, he would see her every time he closed his eyes.

  Morgue attendants wheeled a stretcher through the grass toward the road. A black body bag was strapped to the gurney. Chet held up a hand to stop their movement.

  Frank, walking next to the body, stepped up. “Are you sure? We have no proof it’s her.”

  Chet nodded. “I need to see.”

  “Brace yourself. Once this is in your head, you won’t be able to get it out.” Frank waited for Chet’s tight nod before he unzipped the bag. The crew had wrapped the body in a white sheet to preserve evidence. Frank peeled the sheet off the upper part of the body, leaving the unclothed lower half covered.

  Chet flinched. His face went gray, and his lips mashed together until every drop of blood was forced out of them. His gaze fell to the “I Love NY” logo on the victim’s T-shirt, and the light in his eyes dimmed faster than taillights on a car speeding away in the darkness.

  No one spoke. Just as Chet knew all the municipal employees, the entire town knew his story as well. Three years before, his fifteen-year-old, mentally ill daughter had run away. Chet had been unable to track her down for a year. He’d caught sight of her last winter, in New York City, but she’d evaded him. He’d stopped actively searching since her eighteenth birthday this past spring, when Chet had taken his vacation and spent two weeks trying to drown himself in Johnnie Walker.

  Frank straightened the sheet, zipped the bag, and motioned for the attendants to roll onward. He paused and spoke in a low voice to Chet, “We’ll take care of her.”

  Discomfort at the ME’s unusual display of emotion spread through the group in a wave of bodies shifting position.

  “I’ll have her dental records sent over to your office,” Chet said.

  The morgue crew loaded the body into the van and drove away.

  “I’m going home. You’ll fill me in later?” Chet spoke to the grass at his feet.

  “I will,” Brody answered. “I can stop by your place when I’m done here.” He didn’t want Chet to be alone while he waited for news.

  “No need. I’ll be fine.” Chet’s jaw tightened. “I have work to do.” He turned away, then paused, his face nearly as gray as the corpse’s skin. “This isn’t the first time I’ve seen a body that could be hers.”

  But it might be the last.

  “Let me remind you that you can’t base an identification solely on very basic physical characteristics,” Brody said.

  With slow steps, Chet walked back to his car. He drove off slowly, as if even his vehicle were weighted with despair.

  Brody watched the sedan disappear, frustration and sadness filling him. Then he went to his car and brought up Teresa’s file on his laptop. The photo was several years old.

  Stella leaned into his vehicle through the open driver’s door. “It’s possible, but I wouldn’t put money on it.”

  “Hard to tell. I haven’t seen her for a long time.” If that body was Teresa, how would Chet survive? He’d given up actively searching for her, but there was still hope that someday she’d come home. And even if she didn’t, he knew she was out there somewhere, alive. What would he do if he learned she was gone for good?

  “When will we know for sure?” Stella asked.

  “Chet’s been through the identification process before. He doesn’t have Teresa’s fingerprints on file, so dental records will be compared when Frank x-rays the body in the morning. Hopefully, the X-rays won’t match, and Chet will have his answer before lunch.”

  In the meantime, Brody was going to do everything in his power to identify the dead woman and prove she wasn’t Teresa.

  Stella went back to her duties. Brody checked his cell for messages. The sun sank over the trees, and the forensics team broke out overhead lights and turned them to high noon. The next twelve hours were going to be the longest in history. Chet was going to have a very bad night.

  Chapter Nine

  Jewel opened her clenched fist and stared at the business card she’d snatched off the floor of the woman’s car. Hannah Barrett, whoever she was, had tried to help her. But look what she’d gotten for her good deed. Mick had cracked her good. She’d gone down hard. Had Mick and Sam gone back for her after they’d dragged Jewel from the car? Maybe Mick killed her. Maybe Mick was going to kill Jewel.

  Maybe that would be best.

  The last six months had made h
er feel less than human. Most people treated their dogs better, except Mick. He starved and beat Butch, too. Asshole.

  Sunbeams slanted through the dust-encrusted window high on the opposite wall. She licked her cracked lips. She’d been freezing all night, but the temperature in the shed had been rising all day. Sweat soaked her skirt and top. Dirt stuck to her damp skin. She straightened her leg to ease a cramp. Pain wracked her torso, her ribs screaming with every breath.

  What day was it? Sunday?

  Death couldn’t be too far away. She couldn’t last another day without water. The desert climate wasn’t natural to her. She never thought she’d say it, but she missed Toledo. At this point, she’d be happy to go back to her mom’s house and deal with the new boyfriend. Lenny’s abuse seemed like nothing after the hundreds of men since she’d been grabbed off the street and brought here.

  Mick was a master at causing pain. He wasn’t going to forgive her this time, and if he ever learned what else she’d done . . .

  Stupid is exactly what she was. All that risk for nothing. She’d thought she was smarter than him? That she could take him down? She shuddered. This beating was bad, but Mick could do much worse. But the worst thing was, despite her current misery, she could still envision escape. She didn’t want to die.

  The cuffs dug into her wrists. She rubbed them in the dirt to move them to a fresh quarter inch of skin. The dog whined at the back of the shed. Jewel inched to the wall and stuck her hand in a two-inch gap between the dirt and the side of the shed. A wet nose sniffed her fingers. As the dog licked her hand, Jewel’s eyes filled. Too bad Butch couldn’t dig her out.

  Footsteps outside the shed filled her with hope and dread. She wanted out of this shed, but Mick was pissed. Would it be better to die slowly of dehydration? If Mick did it, he’d make sure it hurt.

  The door opened. Jewel tried to slide backward, to get as far away from her visitor as possible.

  Lisa stood in the opening, a bucket in her hand, a plastic bag in the other. Behind her, Jewel could see Butch chewing on a large hunk of red and raw meat.