Waking Evil

by Brant, Kylie

  Cait used the loupe to take a close look at the femur of the second skeleton. The guy had suffered a fracture to it at some point in his life. It had knit cleanly, suggesting certain medical attention. “I am,” she responded absently. She looked up then to arrow a look at Andrews. “My assistant will be arriving at dawn tomorrow with our equipment. Will this facility remain available to us?”

  “It will. The building is less than a year old and state of the art.” The look of satisfaction stamping the sheriff’s face told Cait better than words that the other woman had been a driving force behind the new morgue. “Anything you need, talk to the Lane County medical examiner. His name is Steve Michaels. You’ll have to meet him tomorrow.” Cait followed the direction of the woman’s gaze to the clock on the wall. Eight P.M. And she’d left home at six in the morning in order to catch her flight from Dulles. Weariness was edging in, warring with hunger.

  “I’ve arranged two rooms for you and your assistant at the Landview Suites here in Eugene. You’ve rented a vehicle?”

  “Picked it up at the airport.” The compact SUV looked perfect for the ground she’d be covering in the course of this investigation. “I’d like all the maps you can provide for the area. Roads, forests, surrounding towns . . .” A thought struck her then and she looked at the other woman. “And thanks for arranging for the weapon permit so quickly.” Raiker refused to let any of his consultants work without one.

  Andrews lifted a shoulder. “Your boss made it clear that condition wasn’t up for discussion. I doubt you’ll need it. These bones may have been in that cave for decades. Even if foul play is determined, the unknown subject is probably long gone by now. The threat should be minimal.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. It certainly doesn’t take decades for a corpse to be reduced to a skeleton. In some climates it’d be a week if the body were left out in the elements. In Oregon it’d take several weeks or months, depending on where the body’s dumped, the season, the temperature, insect and animal access. Maybe you’re right and these bones have been there for that long. But not necessarily.”

  When she saw the satisfied gleam in the sheriff’s eye, Cait knew she’d read the woman correctly. Whatever the outcome of this case, Andrews was going use it to vault her political career. And solving a current crime spree would make for a lot better press than some old murders that had happened long ago.

  But the woman only said, “I’ve got a copy of the case file for you in the car. You’ll be reporting directly to me, but in the field you may be working with my lead detective, Mitch Barnes. You can meet him tomorrow, too.”

  Cait’s attention had already returned to the skeletons. There was a lot of preparatory work to be done on them, but it would have to wait until tomorrow when Kristy arrived. Although she’d be supervising the lab work, these days Cait was an investigator first, a forensic anthropologist second. And she was anxious to get a look at the secondary scene.

  “I’ll want to get my assistant started first thing tomorrow morning. Have Barnes meet me here at nine and tell Sharper to stand by. We’ll head up to . . .”

  “Castle Rock,” the other woman supplied.

  “. . . and he can show me how he happened to discover the remains of seven people.” She shot a glance at the sheriff as they headed to the door. “How did Sharper react to the discovery? Is he pretty shaken up?”

  Andrews gave a bark of laughter, real amusement showing in her expression. “Nothing shakes up Sharper, unless it’s people wasting his time. He’ll be steady enough, don’t worry. But he won’t win any congeniality contests.”

  Cait shrugged. “I don’t need congenial. I’ll be satisfied with competent.”

  Andrews led the way out of the morgue, the echo of her booted footsteps ringing hollowly. “I may need to remind you of those words after you meet him.”

  Her first stop had been an office supply store. The next was a fast food drive-through for a grilled chicken salad with definite wilting around the edges. Cait had eaten in between setting up her work area. The crime scene photos were tacked to the white display boards sitting on top of the desk. A collection of labels, index cards, markers, and Post-it notes sat neatly at the base.

  Now she sat on the bed leaning against the headboard, the contents of the fat accordion file folder scattered across her lap and on the mattress. The photographs taken in the cave chamber had been taken with a low-light lens, but they were still darker than she’d like. While she was able to easily make out the bags’ proximity to one another, it was more difficult to read the plastic numbered evidence markers that had been set in front of each to tell which one was which.

  There was a preliminary report from the ME, Steve Michaels, and it appeared to be solid work. Measurements of each set of bones were included, as was a thorough examination for evidence of trauma. None of the skeletons showed recent signs of injury. Perhaps the missing skulls would. Or maybe the deaths were the result of poison. Cait narrowed her eyes, considering. She found herself hoping for the victims’ sakes that the decapitation had been enacted posthumously.

  Had the skulls been removed to impede identification of the victims? To prevent investigators from detecting the method of death? Or were they kept by the perp as trophies?

  Taking a look at her watch, Cait began gathering up the materials and replacing them in the file. But it occurred to her that if she could answer those questions, she’d be a long way toward profiling the UNSUB they were searching for.

  Kristy Jensen was a full foot shorter than Cait at four-eleven, a wispy ethereal creature with an otherworldly air. Slap a pair of wings on her, and with her elfin features and blonde wavy hair, she’d looked like a fairy in a kid’s story-book.

  Once she opened her mouth, however, that notion would be dispelled forever.

  “There is no fucking good way to get to this fuck dump of a town, you know that, don’t you?” Kristy sipped at her Star-bucks coffee and aimed a gimlet stare over the rim from cornflower blue eyes. “Charter plane, my ass. Eight fucking hours it took me from Dulles. I could have walked faster. I could have parachuted half way here, hitched a ride on a mother-fucking migrating duck and still gotten here before that damn plane.”

  “So the plane ride was good?” Cait laughed as her diminutive friend gave her the finger as they entered the morgue. “And you owe me four bucks. I’m giving you a pass on the ‘damn,’ and the one-finger salute because at least that’s silent.”

  “We haven’t even started work yet,” Kristy complained. But she was already digging in her purse to pull out the money. “I think we should change the rules so it only counts during work time.”

  “Tough love.” Cait snatched the five from the woman’s hand and dug in her purse until she found a one for change. “You wanted help cleaning up your language. Can’t change the rules midcourse.”

  “Why not? Nothing else has changed, except for my disposable income. I’m still swearing like a one-legged sailor.”

  They showed their temporary ID to the clerk at the front desk and headed down the long hallway to the room where Andrews had brought Cait the evening before.

  “Discipline,” she chided. But there was no heat to the word. She could care less whether or not Kristy swore like a seasoned dock worker, as long as she did her job to Cait’s exact specifications. And since Kristy was the best tech she’d ever been assigned, Cait was satisfied. “Anyway you’ll cheer up quick enough once you see what we have to work with.” She paused in front of the door at the end of the hall before opening it with a dramatic flourish.

  “Sweeeeet,” Kristy breathed, when she got a glimpse of the remains on the gurneys. “Very sweet. What do we have, mass burial? Mass murder,” she corrected as she got closer and noted the lack of human skulls attached.

  “I suppose we have to allow for the possibility that someone stumbled upon that cave long before the guide did,” mused Cait. The thought had occurred belatedly, once she’d gone to bed, her mind still filled with the contents of th
e files. “Someone with a sense of the macabre who took the skulls as souvenirs.”

  Kristy was practically salivating as she walked between each gurney. “So I’ll double-check them, right? Make sure the right parts are with the proper skeleton?”

  “I want you to start a photograph log first,” Cait corrected. “I need a notebook kept of images of each skeleton throughout each step of the process.” It would be easier to correct mistakes that way, especially in the tricky process of reassembling the full remains of each, which was often a matter of trial and error. “The ME should be around somewhere. Get him to give you a copy of the measurements he’s done.” She’d left her copy in her case file back at the motel.

  “But you’ll want me to do my own.”

  Cait sent her a look of approval. “I doubt he had a caliper to do the measurements with. Then you can ensure each bone is with the right remains.” And when Kristy was done, Cait would go over them carefully again, just to be certain. “We’ve got assorted bones on the last gurney that will have to be matched, as well. Then we’ll see exactly what we’ve got here.”

  “What should I do in my spare time?” But her sarcasm was checked. Kristy was hooked by the enormity of their task, just as Cait was. Anticipation was all but radiating off her.

  “I heard voices.” At the sound of the newcomer the women turned toward the door. The man approaching them was average height, with hair as dark as Cait’s. He wore blue scrubs, shoe covers, and a slight smile that faded as he got closer. Then his face took on that slightly stunned expression that was all too familiar. He stared from Cait to Kristy and back again, with the look of a starving man surrounded by a steaming banquet. “Ah . . . Michaels.” He held out his hand to each of them in turn, visibly wrestling to get the words out in proper order. “Steve. I am, that is.”

  He looked chagrined, but Cait spared him no slack. “Well, Michaels Steve, I’m Cait Fleming.” She jerked a thumb at the other woman. “My assistant, Kristy Jensen. I’ve got your preliminary report. Appreciate it. Kristy will be working down here most of the time. I’ve been assured that whatever she needs, she can come to you.”

  While she spoke the man seemed to have regained his powers of speech. But twin flags of color rode high on his cheeks and his dark eyes still looked dazed. “Certainly.” He dragged his gaze away from Cait and fixed it on Kristy. “Certainly,” he repeated.

  “Then I’ll leave you to get started.” She didn’t know if Barnes would be here yet, but she wasn’t anxious to spend any more time with the ME who looked like he’d just cast them in a low-budget porn fantasy involving a threesome and a stainless steel coroner’s station. She started out of the room, throwing a look at Kristy over her shoulder. “Keep me posted.”

  As she headed through the door she heard her assistant say sweetly, “So Michaels Steve, why don’t we go out to the truck and you can help unload the mother-fucking equipment.”

  A smirk on her lips, Cait decided to let it slide. Nothing was more guaranteed to shatter a guy’s X-rated fantasy than a pint-sized angelic blonde with a mouth like a sewage plant. She almost felt sorry for him. Would have if she weren’t still annoyed at his all too common reaction. As it was, she figured he was going to get exactly what he deserved working with Kristy.

  When she stepped out of the morgue doors she saw the Lane County sheriff patrol car pulling up to the curb a full fifteen minutes early. Her good humor restored, Cait rounded it to approach the driver’s door. A stocky deputy got out, extended his hand. “Mitch Barnes, Ms. Fleming.”

  Belatedly, Cait realized she was still wearing the morgue temporary ID. She snatched it off with one hand and she offered him the other. “Looking forward to working with you, Mitch.”

  The man came to her chin, had receding blond hair and brown eyes that were pure cop. And it’d been her ID that drew his attention rather than her face or figure. She liked him immediately for that fact alone.

  “Sheriff says you want to head up toward McKenzie Bridge. Over to Castle Rock.”

  She nodded as she dropped her ID into her purse. “I’d like to get a look at the dump site. Get a feel for it.”

  “You got the pictures?”

  Understanding what he was getting at, she nodded. “Still want to see it.”

  Shrugging, he leaned into his front seat only to withdraw a moment later with an armful of maps. “Andrews said you asked for these.”

  “I did, thanks.” She took the stack from him. “If you want to lead the way up to the McKenzie Bridge area, I’ll follow this time. That way you don’t have to wait around while I go through the cave if you don’t want to.”

  “Sounds good. It’s about a forty-five minute drive. I’ll call Sharper on the way and let him know we’re coming by.” A smirk flashed across the man’s otherwise professional demeanor. “He’ll be thrilled to take you to the cave.”

  Coupled with the sheriff’s comments the night before, Cait had the distinct impression that the guide they kept mentioning was light on social graces. The thought didn’t bother her nearly as much as it would if he were another ogler like the ME.

  Men like that rarely brought out the best in her.

  How the hell had he gotten into this mess?

  Fuming, Zach Sharper threw another look at the rearview mirror and the empty ribbon of road behind him. The answer was swift in coming. Ever since he’d reported his findings from that cave, Andrews had had him wrapped up like a damn trick monkey. First he’d had to lead law enforcement to the place. Hang around while they did their thing. Then there’d been the endless questioning.

  And now he found himself forced to be at the beck and call of some consultant hired by the sheriff’s office. Playing glorified nursemaid to a cop—or close enough to it—promised to be worse than the biggest pain-in-the-ass client he ran across from time to time. At least he had a choice when taking on the clients.

  Yeah, not being given a choice here rankled the most.

  He saw the county car headed toward him. Zach put on his sunglasses and got out of his Trailblazer. Damned if he’d been about to travel down to Eugene and then back again once he’d heard what the consultant wanted. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to arrange for the cops to meet him at his place. Whispering Pines was his getaway. His refuge. Guests were rarely invited.

  A navy SUV pulled off the road in back of the sheriff’s car. He was unsurprised to see Mitch Barnes get out of the lead car. The way Zach heard it, Barnes did most of the grunt work for Andrews while she got all the glory. He’d been the first of the cops to follow Zach into that cave. The sheriff sure hadn’t gone in, though she’d been present, running things on top Castle Rock while her people had hauled the bones out. If Barnes wanted another pass at the cave he sure as hell didn’t need Zach. He knew where it was located.

  Made a guy wonder if this was just one more way for Andrews to yank his chain, show him who was calling the shots.

  He walked toward the deputy, who was approaching on the shoulder. The driver of the SUV got out, too, but it was Barnes Zach concentrated on. He wasn’t a bad sort, for a cop. Maybe he could talk him into a change of plans. Zach was resigned to the fact that he wasn’t going to get out of this forced alliance with the sheriff’s office. But Andrews wouldn’t necessarily have to know whether he was the one playing nursemaid or if one of Zach’s employees fulfilled the duty.

  Although he wasn’t sure he had an employee he disliked enough to saddle with this job.

  “Barnes,” he said by way of greeting. The other man gave him a nod. Wasting no time, he continued, “Maybe you and I can reach an . . .”

  “Sharper, I want you to meet Caitlin Fleming, a consultant for the sheriff’s department. She’s with Raiker Forensics.”

  The inflection in the man’s voice imbued his last words with meaning. But it was his earlier words that had Zach halting in disbelief. Tipping his Julbo sunglasses down he looked—really looked—at the woman approaching.

  The mile-long legs could be r
ight. And she was tall enough; only a few inches shorter than his six-three height. The kiss-my-ass cheekbones were familiar. But it was the thick black hair that clinched it, though shorter now than it’d been all those years ago. He didn’t need her to remove her tinted glasses to know the eyes behind them were moss green and guaranteed to turn any breathing male into an instant walking hard-on.

  His voice terse, he turned his attention to the deputy and said, “Is this some kind of a joke?”

  Barnes blinked. “What?”

  “I mean are there going to be TV trucks and cameras following our every move?” Christ, what a clusterfuck. He could already imagine it. TV channels were filled with so-called entertainment featuring desperate cultural celebrities and he could anticipate what was going on here. “I’m not about to get involved in a reality TV show or whatever the hell she’s part of. You can tell the sheriff the deal is off.” Andrews had threatened to jam him up with the constant renewal of permits needed to take his clients camping or kayaking. But maybe he could bribe someone at the permit department to circumvent her meddling. He was willing to take his chances.

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “He’s talking about me.” The voice was smoke, pure sex. He’d never heard her speak before, but he’d imagined it often enough years ago in his adolescent fantasies. “Probably recognizes me from some of my modeling work, isn’t that right, Sharper? A long time ago. If you want me to believe you’ve changed from a sweaty hormone-ridden teenage boy who undoubtedly used one of my posters to fuel your juvenile wet dreams, then you’ll have to credit that I too grew up and moved on. I want a first-hand look at that cave. You’re going to take me there.”

  Somehow when he’d imagined her talking decades ago it had been without that tone of withering disdain. His disbelief dissipated, the skepticism remained. He slanted a glance at the deputy. “Seriously, Barnes. This is the department’s consultant?”