He dug out his camera and started snapping pictures for documentation, keeping his eyes open for anything out of the ordinary. He glanced at Becca, and found her staring at a stack of credit cards, her mouth turned down in a frown. She didn’t seem to be making progress on her work, nor was she willing to discuss the evidence. It was odd behavior from a woman who lived for her work. So what was her damage?
It had to be him. “Did I do something?”
Her head popped up. “What? Why would you ask that?”
“All I’ve been getting since I stopped you from taking off are one-and two-word answers.”
“Sorry. You were right. We can’t leave a crime scene unsecured. I’m just trying to focus so we can get done faster.”
“Yeah, right.” He squatted down to get her attention. “You look freaked out about something. If you’re not mad at me for stopping you, then the only other thing it could be is what’s going on between us.”
“No it’s—”
“We’re going to be working together on this case,” he interrupted before she could deny there was a problem. “Not to mention running in to each other all the time like we do at Sam and Kait’s functions. I’m tired of walking on eggshells around you. Don’t you think it’s about time we clear the air and move on?”
She studied him for a few moments and seemed to come to some conclusion. “So we what? Just say a few magic words and this stupid attraction goes away?”
“Stupid?” he asked, surprised at how much the word hurt.
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah. It’s unwanted, that’s for sure.” He forced out a smile. “I think just getting it out in the open will put an end to it. You know? Admit that if things were different, we might give it a go, but right now, it won’t work for either of us.”
A shadow crossed her face, her eyes darkening for a moment. “Maybe you’re right. Putting it out there will take the mystery out of it and it’ll burn out faster.”
“That’s what you want, right?” he asked, just to be sure. Or maybe to give her a chance to say no.
“It’s what I want.”
He grinned, hoping to lighten things up now that they’d made things official. “Then let’s hope you don’t fall prey to my charms and change your mind.”
“I won’t change my mind and it will burn out.” She set her jaw, her expression daring him to argue.
He held up his hands. “Don’t worry, Becca. You’re coming through loud and clear. We can now get back to work and not have this hanging over us.”
She gave a firm nod and went straight to her task. She seemed more focused, but he was more confused.
They’d cleared the air. Exactly what he wanted, right? Then why was his gut twisted in a big old knot?
BECCA OWED CONNOR her job. If he hadn’t stopped her from bailing on the crime scene, she would have run out on the investigation she’d fought Sulyard so hard to continue. Then he would likely have disciplined her for making such a stupid move. Maybe even fired her. Sure, she had a good reason, but she couldn’t tell him that.
Now that she was over the initial shock, she’d prioritize her tasks and work smart so she could get her job done, then go with Connor to the crime scene.
Prioritizing. Her specialty. Starting with setting goals for Taylor.
After discovering that Danny’s fingerprints didn’t produce a match in the system, she’d returned. That allowed Becca to take advantage of Taylor’s skills in evidence collection. She could supervise the computer techs and Evidence Response Team, freeing Becca up to go to Van Gogh’s crime scene without losing any time on the credit card fraud investigation.
Taylor should have all of this wrapped up by the time Becca got back to the office, and Becca could review the report and assign duties before moving on to Van Gogh. She’d have to work late and wouldn’t get much sleep, but with Van Gogh on the hunt again, she wasn’t likely to get much sleep anyway.
Taylor stepped away from their ERT tech, Henry Greco, and joined Becca. “Henry seems very capable.”
“He’s one of the best techs I’ve encountered.”
“That’s because you never worked with me.” Taylor smiled, her gaze lighthearted and eager.
What Becca wouldn’t give to feel that way. Just once. For a minute. An hour maybe. But Van Gogh had stolen that from her. Or had she simply lost it when she’d left Molly behind?
“Any idea how long you’ll be?” Taylor asked.
Becca shook her head. “I should be back in the office by the time the techs finish imaging the computers. If not, start reviewing the electronic files right away.”
Taylor nodded, her expression more serious. “Hey, thanks for trusting me with all of this.”
Becca felt a smidgen of guilt. If Van Gogh hadn’t resurfaced, she wouldn’t be trusting Taylor with anything. But Van Gogh was out there, and that meant compromise.
“Call if you need me for anything,” Becca said, then went to join Connor.
The apartment door shot open, and her friend Kait stepped in, her gaze immediately going to Becca. She rushed across the room, her regal posture making her look like she was gliding. Even her basic suit didn’t detract from the image of royalty, Becca thought, smiling in spite of herself. Kait seemed a little off-putting at times, but Becca couldn’t find a more caring friend.
“What are you doing here?” Becca’s question came out laced with suspicion.
“Kait,” Connor greeted warmly. “I thought Taylor was taking over for Becca.”
“She is.” Kait met Becca’s gaze. “Sam told me Becca was going to the Van Gogh scene with you, and I’m here to stop her.”
Becca wasn’t surprised at the pronouncement. Kait was just looking out for Becca, but it irked her all the same. “They need my help, and I’m going.”
“Help is one thing, but this? Sam says the scene is gruesome. Besides, after all these years without a sign of Van Gogh, what are the odds that it’s actually him and not a copycat? You’ll have been exposed to that atrocious scene for nothing.”
“I’m not sure I agree with you, Kait,” Connor said. “Van Gogh could have been killing all this time, just doing so under the police radar.”
Kait fired an irritated look at Connor. “Did Becca tell you about her friend Molly? We think Van Gogh took her sixteen years ago.”
“Becca mentioned her.”
Kait’s eyes widened. “And you’re still good with involving her in this investigation and bringing back all of that pain?”
“Good with it?” He shook his head hard. “No. Willing to accept her help to bring in a depraved killer? Yes.”
“Enough.” Becca crossed her arms. “You two can argue about me all you want, but I’m the one who will decide. I think I can help stop Van Gogh, so I’m going to the scene. End of discussion.”
“Okay.” Kait frowned. “But I’m coming with you.”
“Now wait a minute,” Connor said. “Sam isn’t going to allow that.”
“I might be married to Sam, but he doesn’t control my professional decisions.”
“Fine. Make him mad. That’s your choice. But I don’t have to let you onto the crime scene. Having Becca there is one thing. It’s going to be hard enough to explain her to our lieutenant, but you? You have no reason for being there.”
Kait linked her arm with Becca’s. “We’re a package deal. You want Becca, you get me, too.”
Becca stepped back. “I can’t ask you to do that, Kait.”
“You’re not asking. I’m volunteering.” Kait drilled Becca with a resolute look. Obviously, no matter how much Becca argued, her loyal friend would be right by her side. In fact, now that Becca thought about it, Nina would likely be standing right here too if she wasn’t off work preparing for her wedding to Quinn Stone.
As much as Becca was irritated by Kait’s determination to join her, she was thankful for her friends. Becca smiled at Kait. “Thanks for your support.”
“Good. That’s settled then.” Kait turned her attention to Connor. “Becca doesn’t need to hang out with you and Sam all day, so I’ll drive her.”
Connor arched a brow. “Not sure I agreed to this.”
“Come on, Connor. You know you’re no match for the two of us. You’ll eventually give in. Why not just do it now so we can get out of here?”
He nodded reluctantly, his attention quickly going to the phone ringing in his pocket. He looked at it and frowned.
“Sam,” Connor answered then listened intently. His frown deepened, and Becca assumed Sam was passing on bad news. She was afraid to ask, and yet, afraid not to hear it.
“I’m leaving now.” Connor looked at his watch. “It’ll take me about a half hour to get there.” He hung up and looked at Kait. “You have directions?”
“That was Sam?” Becca asked.
Connor nodded but kept his gaze on Kait. “Directions? You have them?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Then we should get going.” Connor grabbed his bag and headed for the door without another word. She and Kait followed, but he picked up his pace, jogging down the steps as if Van Gogh himself were waiting for him at the crime scene.
By the time Becca and Kait reached the car, Connor’s vehicle was long gone. Kait quickly merged into traffic, and Becca curled as close as she could into a fetal position without drawing Kait’s attention. Connor’s final comment to Sam kept echoing through her mind.
“It’ll take me about a half hour to get there,” he’d said, the phrase innocent enough.
One half hour, Becca thought. Thirty minutes. Eighteen hundred seconds until she had to summon up the courage to get out of this car and face her greatest nightmare.
Chapter Five
ONCE SAM TOLD Connor about a second body, he hightailed it over to Forest Park, not caring if Kait kept up. He stopped to talk to the officer of record posted as a sentry at the path leading up to the crime scene.
“Add Agents Rebecca Lange and Kaitlyn Murdock to your list of approved visitors,” Connor told him. “They should be here soon.”
Connor waited for the officer to jot down the names, then he started up the path lined with big leaf maples and alders. Enormous ferns peeked through rusty leaves beaten down to the ground in the heavy rain.
Connor reached a bend and paused to shift his bag and catch his breath. This was one of the most difficult paths to traverse in a park that covered more than seven miles of the eastern slope of the Tualatin Mountains. The trail’s difficulty meant it was used less often than easier trails—a perfect place for Van Gogh to dump a body without being seen. It also meant Van Gogh had to be in reasonably good shape to haul the girls up the steep path. Connor was struggling enough with his bag—he couldn’t imagine carrying a hundred-plus-pound girl over his shoulder. With that kind of load, he would have to stop to rest, and he worked out daily.
He started off again, keeping his focus on the sides of the trail, looking for any hint of evidence that Criminalist Dane Harwell or Sam might have missed on the way up. Sam had briefly described the setting, mentioning that a lack of blood near the body indicated the girl hadn’t been killed at the burial location. Connor stopped at a spot that had been recently trampled, and saw Dane’s evidence marker number, A1, sitting next to a cigarette butt. If Van Gogh had climbed this path with a girl, he wasn’t likely a smoker. Still, Connor snapped a quick picture for his records and continued on up.
Near the apex of the trail, a small clearing covered in ankle-high green grass opened to the left. Hills surrounded the area with tall pines and maples fighting for sunlight under gray skies. Rain had carved the thick grass into a deep gully running from the top of the hill to the bottom. Connor couldn’t see the girl from his location, but the spot was cordoned off with crime-scene tape. Sam and Dane stood fifty yards to the east. Sam wore his usual jeans, boots, button-down shirt, and a PPB windbreaker. Dane’s clothes were covered in a white Tyvek suit, and his head was bent over as he slowly moved around the edge of the clearing.
Connor started toward the body, his feet sinking into the waterlogged earth. The pungent, rotting decay of human flesh drifted on the breeze, and Connor swallowed hard. No matter how many murder scenes he’d witnessed in his career, it was never easy. He stepped under the fluttering yellow tape, and Sam greeted him from a distance with a grim shake of his head.
Connor took his first look at the girl. His lunch came rushing up, and he swallowed hard. He’d seen dead bodies in his five years as a homicide detective. Some murdered. Some dead from natural causes and car accidents. But today? The sight of the recently murdered young girl peeking from the shallow grave, clumps of clay soil hugging her body, brought him as close to hurling on scene as he’d ever come.
He’d make her as mid-teens, fitting Van Gogh’s preference. She was dressed in a white gown that looked like satin with lace trim. A demure gown, like a young girl might wear to bed. Her arms were folded across her chest, her legs crossed, her mouth open in a scream, her ears missing. Sawed off.
Connor gagged again and went to join Sam and Dane who was still staring at the ground. A former patrol officer, Dane carried himself like a cop with confidence and an assessing eye. He was near six feet tall, with broad shoulders, and had a muscular build from his recent commitment to working out. Criminalists were sworn staff members at PPB, which meant Dane carried a gun just like any other officer, but it was hidden under his protective suit. He’d served seven years on the street, and that time had taught him to think like a criminal, a valuable skill for a criminalist.
As Connor drew closer, he saw something poking out of the ground. It looked like a stick. Maybe it had been used in the crime somehow, but Connor didn’t immediately get the importance. Maybe it had to do with the second body Sam had mentioned on the phone.
“Not a pretty sight over there,” Sam said in greeting.
Connor nodded his agreement. “So what’s everyone looking at?”
“A foot, or more precisely, a toe.” Dane squatted and used a fine brush to remove dirt from the item Connor had thought was a stick until it became clear that Dane had indeed located a bone.
“Looks like a metatarsal,” Dane said. “Big toe. The phalanges either washed away or never surfaced.” Dane stood. “I’m no expert, but the bone is small so, I’m guessing it belongs to another girl.”
“I know this is kind of an obvious question, but did you check to see if the first girl has all of her toes?”
“You had to ask?” Sam mocked pulling a knife from his chest.
“Okay, fine. Just double-checking.” Connor focused on the bone and moved his gaze across the grass to where he would expect her head to be located. “Ground’s intact.”
“Which means she’s been here awhile.” Sam ran a hand over the back of his neck.
“You’re positive it’s a human bone?” Connor asked.
“Positive, no. The ME can weigh in, but I think we’ll need the OSP forensic anthropologist for a firm confirmation.”
Connor had already expected they’d need resources from the Oregon State Police on this investigation. He just didn’t expect that would include an anthropologist. They’d have to call their lieutenant to arrange it.
“I’ll get her out here ASAP,” Sam said, his eyes going to the trail.
A fiery redheaded woman wearing coveralls rolled up at her ankles crested the hill. It didn’t take Connor long to recognize her as Marcie Jensen, the best medical examiner on the team. She was accompanied by Tim, her often acerbic tech. He was a string bean of a guy, who usually made the business of collecting bodies more difficult than it had to be. Still, he was competent, or Marcie would have fire
d him long ago.
“I’ll go meet Marcie.” Sam looked at Connor. “Dane will secure this area. It’d be great if you’d start mapping the scene.”
Connor dug his sketchbook from his field bag as Sam stepped off in long strides. Connor traced each tree, each large boulder, the gully with the grave, and the path, while Marcie and Sam studied the body. Connor labeled everything in neat block letters, making sure it was legible. He then used his surveyor’s wheel to plot the precise location of each item of evidence Sam and Dane had marked A2 through A17. And as he did so, he looked for additional evidence. Dane was doing the same thing, but Connor believed in being thorough. They could compare notes when Dane completed his drawing to be sure they hadn’t missed anything.
Connor ended back at the second body, now identified by Dane’s crime-scene tape.
Connor wondered who this poor girl might be. What had her dreams been? Whatever her aspirations, they’d been cut short by the lunatic Van Gogh. A thought suddenly hit him, and his heart sank.
“Hey, Dane,” he called out. “Can you come here a minute?”
Dane strode over to him. “Whatcha need?”
“This bone. How long would it take to become skeletonized like this?”
“Depends. It could happen quickly if the body wasn’t buried the whole time. A few weeks, I’d guess. Or if she’d been buried, six months or longer. Or we could be looking at a girl who’s been here for years.”
“Like sixteen years?”
“Sure.”
Connor resisted letting his mouth fall open. This toe, this little bit of a human being, might be part of Molly’s body. And today could be the day Becca found out her foster sister hadn’t escaped Van Gogh’s clutches after all.
HE WAS BACK, AND Becca couldn’t breathe.
She forced herself to plant one foot in front of the other to make her way up the path. The air was thick with moisture, and large raindrops hit her in the face. She swiped a hand over her forehead to dislodge hair matted against her skin and paused to catch her breath.
“Tough climb.” Kait panted next to Becca.
Web of Secrets Page 4