Buried Deep_A dark Romantic Suspense

by Vella Day

  “His family is grieving. They need closure.”

  Her father’s eyes narrowed. “You...aren’t...a...cop. Let Detective Kinsey do his job. You analyze the bones. Nothing more.” His jaw clenched so hard she was afraid his porcelain veneers would crack.

  She understood her dad was scared. His narrowed lids told her how much he wanted to protect her from all of life’s traumas.

  “I’m only going to talk with the wife to learn more. I’m hoping it will help me with the identification of the others.” His anger had surprised her. “You always told me to go after what I wanted and not to let barriers stop me and all that good stuff.”

  She definitely wouldn’t tell him how her mentor had become involved with a serial killer a few months back. Good Lord, her parents would insist she move back home if they believed the same danger might come to her.

  “You make sure you’re careful,” her dad said.

  She stood. “I promise. I’ll see you when you return back from your trip to NYC. I hope you raise lots of money for deaf research.”

  Last month’s fund raising adventure had been for abused children, the month before that for the homeless. While she loved that her parents helped others, she wished that they hadn’t been gone so much during her childhood.

  Lara’s eyes blurred. Even two cups of coffee hadn’t done the trick this morning. From many late nights, she knew a lack of sleep always hindered the investigative process. To jump start her mind, she organized her tools just the way she liked them on the lab counter. Next, she extracted the bones from the pot, cleaned and dried them, constantly stifling her yawns.

  Unfortunately, the cobwebs clouding her brain were making it impossible to concentrate on what the victims were trying to tell her—or was it Trevor Kinsey’s abrupt departure yesterday that had her frustrated and not the lack of sleep? The hurt when people abandoned her ran deep.

  Lara placed the diagram of the body on the counter in order to mark the areas of interest on John Doe #2 when a voice accompanied a tap on her shoulder.

  “Dr. Romano?”

  She swiveled around and her breath caught in her throat. Detective Kinsey—the man she’d been chastising in her mind. She stepped back and bumped into the metal gurney. The wheeled cart slid backwards, and she lost her balance. Kinsey reached out to steady her, but he withdrew his hand when she caught herself.

  Dressed in a white buttoned down shirt opened at the throat and black slacks that molded to his lean body, he looked like he’d come from a magazine shoot. His appearance was quite different from yesterday’s I-am-cowboy getup. She looked away. Analyzing the bones needed her full attention. Her interest in Detective Kinsey, no doubt, was purely physical. Surely, they had nothing in common other than a desire to find closure for the families.

  Trevor moved back. “Have you learned anything about my men?”

  The man did care about his job, and he clearly wanted to help the victims and their families. “Yes.” His brows rose as he walked around to the other side of the gurney where she’d spread out John Doe #2’s remains. When he returned his focus to the bones, she relaxed. “This man, who I’ve named John Doe #2, had a broken hyoid.”

  “A who-oid?” Kinsey winked.

  She wasn’t sure if he was only pretending he didn’t know where the bone was located or if he really didn’t know, so she explained to be sure. “The hyoid bone is right about here.”

  She leaned across the metal expanse and wrapped her thumb and forefinger above Trevor’s Adam’s apple, but just touching his whiskered neck sent off signals she wasn’t ready to interpret. Lara immediately dropped her hand and cleared her throat, praying the heat that spread across her face didn’t show up as red.

  “Someone strangled him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Excellent.” Trevor pulled out a pad from his top pocket and scribbled something down.

  “You’re happy?” She couldn’t understand why.

  He narrowed his eyes. “Not happy this poor man was strangled. Hell, no. I’m pleased I have information that might help me. My brother, Ethan, who’s the lead homicide investigator on this case, will also be equally pleased.” He notched his chin up.

  “Oh.”

  When would she learn not to jump to conclusions? Since she couldn’t hear the inflection in their sentences, maybe she would when she became better at reading facial expressions.

  “What else did you learn?” His pen was poised to take more notes.

  “The hyoid bone was broken in three places. It’s one of the most difficult bones in the body to break since it’s not attached to any other bone. To me, this implies the killer is very strong.”

  “So we’re looking at a male killer?”

  “Most likely. Victim #2 also had a crushed metatarsal bone. That’s in his foot.”

  His brows rose then dropped. “That bone I do know about. I broke mine when I ran track in high school. Stress fracture.”

  She winced, and her gaze shot to his boot. “Our man also had an unhealed fractured finger. It wasn’t life threatening, but I’d say he didn’t die without a struggle.”

  “Sounds reasonable.” He nodded to the other gurney. “What about that fellow?”

  Lara walked to the table in the middle of the room. “This man, John Doe #1, was shot in the head. From the trajectory of the bullet, I’m guessing the killer was about six to eight inches taller than this man.”

  A slow smile spread across his face. “That’s fantastic.”

  At his praise, her breath hitched. “I’m glad I could help.”

  “So we’re looking at a man who’s close to six two.”

  Like Trevor. “Yes.” She was five-seven, and he was a good half-foot taller. He remembered heights, and she remembered almost every number that flashed in front of her, from license plates to phone numbers to bone lengths. He nodded toward the table. “Anything else?”

  “Yes. Both men had bad teeth, probably from eating a poor diet.” If he asked how she knew, she’d give him all the boring details.

  “Many of those on the Reservation didn’t receive proper health care until the tribe bought the casino back in 2006 and everyone received a monthly stipend from the profits.”

  “That makes our pool of candidates rather large. I guess we’ll have to investigate.” Together—in the field. While HOPEFAL allowed, and even encouraged, their scientists to find answers anyway they could, she’d always stayed in her safe little lab. It might be time to change that.

  He furrowed his brow. “There is no we here. You’re staying out of harm’s way. I’ll do the legwork.”

  Lara puffed out her chest. “I have expertise you don’t.”

  “We’ll discuss your contribution later.” He strode over to the exit, yanked the lab door and rushed out. Fine. She let him go this time. He’ll be back.

  The moment the lab door closed, she flipped over the business card on the counter he’d left yesterday and fetched her cell phone. Trevor would be down the hall and out the building door in, say, thirty seconds.

  She counted to twenty-five and dialed his number.

  “Kinsey,” he answered.

  “I assume you are well versed in the deaf world.”

  Silence. He let out a tentative breath. “Look if I offended…”

  “You didn’t stay long enough to learn about the most decisive piece of evidence our victim had for us.” For the first time in forever, a sense of power surged inside her.

  “What? There was more than the teeth?”

  “Yes. I’ll be here for a few more minutes before I leave to follow up on the clues.” Liar. It was too late to leave now, but he didn’t have to know that. Besides, she’s promised her father she wouldn’t go alone if she spoke with the any family members of the dead men.

  She hung up and crossed her arms, leaning against a lab table, watching the door, and counting the seconds.

  3

  Trevor eased off the Interstate and mentally recited the directions he’d
jotted down from the missing man’s wife. If he’d thought to take the cruiser, he’d have GPS, but he’d spent so much time trying to convince Lara she didn’t need to come, he had no time to swing by the station. It didn’t really matter. He’d found Larry Jumper’s house by himself with a few minutes to spare.

  He glanced across the truck seat at Lara. She didn’t believe either of her two skeletons belonged to the three families whose X-rays and MRI’s he’d shown her. That left five families to put through hell again. Deep in his gut, he knew her skeletons were his missing men, since the timeline of their disappearance fit too well, not to mention age, race and height.

  The only wife who’d been free to meet with them this afternoon was Mrs. Jumper, and she’d said Larry hadn’t been deaf. Later in the week, he hoped to finish making the rounds to get more details on the other men.

  He flipped off the radio’s classical rock music and stopped at the light. He thrummed his fingers on the wheel, and when he glanced over at her, she’d tucked a shapely leg underneath her, most likely to torment him, and he shook his head a few times.

  “What?” She looked all wide-eyed and innocent as if she had no idea how provocative she was in her slim calf-length pants and tight, white top.

  “I’m still trying to figure out how you convinced me to let you join me.” She was a civilian for God’s sake, and he couldn’t afford for anything bad to happen to her. Best case scenario, her presence might help ease the pain of dragging the families through the men’s disappearance again.

  “Is it against department policy?”

  “Close. You work at the lab, so I won’t get a citation or anything but—”

  “You know you need me. Besides, you might not know what questions to ask.” She lifted her cute nose into the air.

  He studied her for a moment longer. Was she challenging him or just excited to be part of this grueling mess?

  “I’ll have you know my eight years with the NYPD more than qualifies me to know what I’m doing and what questions to ask.”

  “Okay, Mr. Detective. If you’re so smart, how come you didn’t even know where the hyoid bone was located?”

  Maybe he shouldn’t have pretended not to know. “I was—”

  A horn beeped. With a quick glance at the traffic behind him, he pressed the pedal too hard, and they shot forward.

  Lara grabbed the dash. “Easy.” She hiccupped and sat back.

  “Sorry. You could have written down the questions I need to ask Mrs. Jumper.”

  She rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t work that way. Sure, the first two or three might be routine, but the questions after that will depend on her responses. You don’t have the expertise of a forensic anthropologist.”

  He blew out a breath, mostly for her sake. “All right, you win.”

  She’d already proven how invaluable she was, but he wanted to understand if she had a hidden agenda. Damn sure her insistence to come wasn’t to go on a road trip with him. Every time he studied her, she averted her gaze. Lara was bold when it came to work but shy with interpersonal relationships, a combination he found attractive.

  “Truth is, this is the first time I’ve been out of the lab investigating a case. There had never been a need before. But now, I figure the more field experience I get, the better I’ll be at helping you guys.”

  That sounded plausible but something was missing. He slapped the wheel. “Wait a minute. Did one of the Native Americans being deaf have anything to do with your desire to see justice done?” Her big news centered on the fact that according to the MRI, one of his missing men, Nate Roberts, had been deaf. Part of her skeleton was missing, which meant she couldn’t tell if Nate was the man in the coffin. In the end, they decided he wasn’t.

  She pressed her lips together. “I’m not that shallow.”

  “I didn’t think so.” He winked and the strange sensation of flirting stunned him for a moment. This was the first time since his fiancée’s death that he even felt like connecting with a woman.

  Trevor refocused on the road. The Reservation was up ahead, located on the outskirts of the Seminole Indians’ cash cow, the Grand Casino. When he turned onto the street past a large lot, parked cars on each side blocked the flow of traffic, forcing him to slow. He rolled down the window. Music blared from the park and the sweet scent of cooked corn filled the air.

  Lara sat up straight. “What’s going on?”

  “Mrs. Jumper said a Snake Festival was taking place in the park this afternoon, but I didn’t think there would be this many folks about so early.”

  Around forty people were setting up tents and chairs and another fifty or so were wandering around in tribal costumes.

  “A snake festival? They worship snakes?” Her eyes widened, and she wrapped her arms around her shoulders.

  He chuckled. “You see dead bodies every day and more horror than anyone should have to deal with. A little snake shouldn’t trouble you.” He spotted Mrs. Jumper’s street and made a right.

  “Snakes are alive. My bodies are not.”

  If he ever had a free moment, he’d like to delve into her fears.

  Damn. Where had that thought come from? Even before he’d met Claire, he avoided work-related relationships because they always turned into trouble. Right now, his focus had to be on making it into the homicide division, which meant he needed to solve the case of the missing men. He couldn’t afford to let his testosterone override his work. His father always preached to keep your eyes straight ahead and not veer from your goals or disaster could strike. And Lara Romano was definitely off the path.

  She pointed to a bent mailbox. “There’s 4356.”

  He stopped in front of an all-block home that desperately needed a new coat of paint. He slid from the car and pulled open the passenger’s door. Not that Lara needed help, but he wanted to show her they could work together. When he extended a hand, her delicate palm fit snugly in his. Nice. He attributed the rise in body temperature to the bright sunshine beating down on his head.

  As soon as she stood, she withdrew her hand from his grasp. Wasn’t she Miss Independent? Was it him or all men she wanted to avoid?

  Before he had a chance to ponder her actions, Mrs. Jumper opened the front door. Her cheeks sagged more than he remembered from the first interview, and her apron looked like she’d spilled a good many dinners on it.

  Without saying anything, the woman motioned they come in. Lara halted inside the door. Her wide-eyed gaze bounced from the sheets covering the sofa and chairs to the toys scattered all over the floor.

  Mrs. Jumper wiped her hands on her apron. “Sorry about the mess. Ever since Larry left, I’ve not had the energy to clean or do repairs.”

  After Claire died, he’d barely eaten or slept. “I understand.” He nodded toward Lara. “Dr. Romano, here, works at a forensic lab. Recently, we unearthed two Native American skeletons. She’d like to ask a few questions to rule out one of them being Larry.”

  Mrs. Jumper clamped a hand over her mouth. “You think it could be him?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to determine, but one was five foot six, the same height as Larry, and the time frame of his disappearance matches.”

  Her eyes glazed over for a moment. “Where are my manners? Please sit down.”

  Lara sat on the edge of the chair with her back ramrod straight, her hands folded on her lap. “Mrs. Jumper, did your husband have any deformities?”

  “Deformities?” The woman glanced from Lara to Trevor and back to Lara, as if she didn’t understand the word.

  “Were his legs curved?” she said. “Or his back bent?”

  Mrs. Jumper jutted her chin at the question as if what Lara asked was too personal. “He didn’t limp if that’s what you mean.”

  To her credit, Lara didn’t react.

  Two small children, both girls, ran through the living room screaming. Mrs. Jumper had probably promised to take them to the festival. She yelled at them in her native language, and they dashed down
the hall.

  Lara watched the two kids until they disappeared. Her face softened for a moment, before turning her attention back to the mom. “If I was unclear, I apologize. Did your husband have scoliosis? Or were his legs bowlegged?”

  “We never went to a doctor. I think his back was fine, but his legs weren’t exactly straight.”

  Lara jotted the information in an expensive looking red leather notepad. “Could you tell me if he was missing any teeth?”

  “Yes. A few. We couldn’t afford dental care back then. I kept telling him to stop smoking or he’d lose all his teeth. My grandfather couldn’t chew his food when his gums went bad. The doctor said it was the tobacco.”

  Lara scrunched her brows as she glanced at Trevor.

  He wasn’t sure what to say. “Maybe the doctor was wrong.” He made the comment to break the uncomfortable line of questioning.

  Mrs. Jumper pressed her lips together.

  Lara’s face softened once again, and she pointed to a framed photo on the side table. “Is that a picture of your husband?”

  Mrs. Jumper nodded and handed her the portrait.

  “His left incisor is missing.” She said it so softly it was as if she were talking to herself.

  Mrs. Jumper squinted and shook her head a few times. Trevor pointed next to the eyetooth. The woman nodded. “He lost that tooth about five years ago.”

  Lara placed the photo back on the table. “Do you have a hairbrush of your husband’s or a toothbrush?”

  Her eyes widened. “What for?”

  “I’d like to have his DNA.”

  Shoulders slumped, Mrs. Jumper rose and disappeared down the hall, her gait slow. She returned a minute later with the requested items. Her hand shook as she handed her the two brushes, which Lara placed in an evidence bag.

  “When will you know if my Larry is....?”

  Dead? “It will probably take a few weeks. HOPEFAL has a fairly fast turnaround for DNA.”

  “Hopeful?”

  Lara interjected. “HOPEFAL is short for the Henry O. Pomerantz Center for Excellence Forensic Analysis Lab.”