by L A Dobbs
John pointed to the log. “This tree fell on top. It’s a spruce, so it would decompose faster than most, but it’s only partially rotted. I’d say that dates the graves to five years, give or take. ’Course the log could have rolled here.” He squatted down and started brushing away dirt.
Wyatt started taking photos.
Bev squatted beside John.
Sam glanced around the woods. If there were two graves, could there be more? This had to be the grave with the missing femur, but still it didn’t lessen the horror he felt. Some sicko had murdered people and buried them out here.
His gaze came to rest on Jo. She stood across from him, her eyes riveted on John’s work. She was acting kind of odd. What was wrong with her? Had something happened with Kevin’s brother that she didn’t want to relate in front of everyone? Maybe he was just imagining it. He was a bit rattled after all. He hoped nothing else was going on. Two graves in one day was plenty.
“Looks like this might be another young female adult judging by the size of the pelvis. Possibly a teen.” John gestured to a blank stretch of dirt between the thigh bone and the few small foot bones that were left. “Looks like someone grabbed the femur. This one is the body you were looking for.”
“This grave is different,” Bev said. “The bones are on top, not inside the tarp.”
Sam squatted and brushed away some dirt to reveal the blue beneath. “But there is a tarp here. Maybe John was right about it being used to move the bodies and not so much to cover them. Either way, looks like we have our work cut out for us.”
“We need to cordon off this area and search it thoroughly.” Bev waved her left hand at the area between the two graves and pressed her phone to her ear with her right. “I’m calling Bill McGovern at the Staties. We need backup. I don’t think we have enough people to processes this in a timely manner. We don’t know how many graves are out here.”
Sam nodded. He didn’t relish the idea of a crowd with its hands in his investigation. More people meant more opportunities for screw-ups. But Bev was right. He, Jo, and Wyatt couldn’t work this case on their own. It was too big. And it was too important to find out who these people were and notify their family members. And they’d need all the manpower they could muster to catch the killer.
His thoughts flitted briefly to his twin daughters. He couldn’t imagine the anguish he’d feel if one of them disappeared. God forbid something like this happened to one of them. He wouldn’t rest until he’d gotten justice. He was determined to do that for the family of the victims in these graves.
John had uncovered a skull. It lay apart from the rest of the bones. The earth dipped down into a depression, so it must have rolled away. It had come to rest in a pocket of reddish-brown clay-like dirt.
“Good. There’s a jaw bone here.” John bent further to inspect the bone, which was half buried in the clay. “No obvious dental work on this part.” He brushed away more dirt to reveal the rest of the jaw. As Sam watched, a familiar pattern caught his eye.
“Hold on,” Sam said.
John paused and glanced up at him. Sam leaned in. “That pattern of holes in the clay—it’s the same pattern I noticed on the tarp in the other grave. Maybe it’s preserved in the clay. I wonder if we can get this clump out in one piece. What do you think, Jo?”
Sam glanced up at his partner. Usually he and Jo operated on the same wavelength, but today she seemed distracted. She stared at the skull as if it would give her answers. “Jo?”
She jerked into motion. “Oh sure.” Jo pulled latex gloves from her back pocket and got to work gently coaxing the lump of earth from the depression.
“That ties the two grave sites together,” Bev had gone back to the first site to look at the holes. “If there was any doubt that two shallow graves in close proximity were tied together, the pattern of holes shows that the same person did this.”
“What do you think it is?” Wyatt snapped a photo of the clay before Jo put it in a bag. “What made these holes?”
Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. Some kind of aeration machine? You know, the kind that punches holes in lawns so the water can get deep into the roots.”
“An aerator. But why would the killer use an aerator?” Jo glanced back at the bones. Had he been doing something creepy with the bodies?
“Maybe to irrigate the earth? To get it damper so the bodies would decompose faster,” Wyatt suggested.
John glanced up at Bev. “Have the Staties bring some body bags. I’m going back to the first gravesite and finish that first. It’s better preserved and we might have a better chance of finding evidence. This one’s been ripped through by animals.”
Sam followed John back to the first grave.
Wyatt joined them, zooming in on the pattern of holes that had been punctured through the blue tarp. “I didn’t make anything of these at first, but you can see there’s a pattern. Rows of holes and then there is a missing one every so often, as if the machine had something wrong with it.”
“That’s good. I guess that might be a way to identify it.” Sam watched as John picked up little pieces of fabric and twigs with tweezers and deposited them in bags.
“We’ll need more bags,” John said.
“I’m on it.” Bev still had her phone to her ear.
John tweezed a dried-out round leaf with serrated edges and held it up in the air. “That’s odd.”
“Is that a bog birch leaf?” Even in its desiccated state, Sam recognized the shape of the leaf. The rare shrub grew in only a few places in New Hampshire, and as far as he knew, this wasn’t one of those places. The bog birch needed swampy ground to grow, and the forest they were in didn’t fit the bill.
“I do believe it is.” John glanced around. “I don’t see any bog birches around here, though.”
“Me either.”
“What are you thinking?” Bev had come to stand at his elbow.
“The bodies were moved here.” Sam said simply. “John was right. The tarps were used for dragging.”
There was a commotion on the hill behind them, and Sam turned to see three green-uniformed state police officers cresting the hill along with someone he’d hoped he’d never see again: Holden Joyce from the FBI.
“Dammit.” Bev muttered under her breath.
“My thoughts exactly,” Sam said.
“What is he doing here?” Jo asked.
“Word must have gotten to them,” Bev said. “More than one body. Shallow graves. That’s serial killer territory. The FBI loves that shit.”
The three of them stood and watched as Joyce approached. He was in his mid-fifties but tall and fit. He wore a tailored blue suit and a smirk on his face. They’d worked with Joyce before, and it had been less than pleasant. For some reason Holden Joyce had it out for Sam. He’d even accused him of being the killer in the last case he’d inserted himself into.
At least Holden couldn’t accuse Sam this time. Unfortunately, Sam would have to play nice. He wouldn’t do anything to impede the case, but he would do his damnedest to avoid any possibility of having to work directly with Holden.
He was thinking of an excuse to go back to the office early when his thoughts were interrupted by Lucy’s sharp bark.
He pivoted to see her standing about fifty feet away. Her ears were straight up, her tail motionless. She peered at the ground with great intent, the same way she’d stood when she found the first two graves.
Chapter Seven
By the time they uncovered the third grave an hour later, the woods had become crowded with law enforcement. Deputies, state police, FBI. Jo counted twenty people combing the woods for more graves.
Jo searched with Lucy, helped John and the assistant medical examiners who had arrived on the scene with the remains in grave three, and avoided Holden Joyce.
She was dirty, hot, and slathered in noxious-smelling bug spray.
After they placed the final bone from grave three into the black plastic body bag, she stood and wiped her hands on her j
eans. Scanning the area, she caught Holden Joyce staring at her.
The last case they’d worked had been a high-profile murder in which Holden Joyce had insinuated himself. She still wasn’t exactly sure what the FBI interest in that case had been other than the fact that the victim had been a government official. Unlike Bev Hatch, Holden Joyce had been less than helpful. In fact, he tried to blame the murder on Sam. And he’d apparently had it out for Jo, as well. Joyce was not high on her list of allies even though he seemed to be processing this scene with care and compassion.
She’d caught Holden looking at her a few times during the morning, but instead of the accusatory glances he’d given her before these looks conveyed something different. Curiosity? Hope? It was almost as if he were sizing her up for some reason. Whatever it was, she could do without it.
Jo couldn’t wait to get back to the station. She’d been relegated to the background now that the state police, sheriff’s department, and FBI were here, and she was itching to do something productive. Even Lucy seemed bored. She’d stopped her meticulous sniffing half an hour ago and now just stood idly watching the team.
Jo made her way toward Sam, intending to ask if she could leave, but he spoke before she could reach him.
“It looks like the scene here is pretty much covered. I want to get back and start laying out some of this evidence and get going on a search for missing persons to see who these remains might belong to.” Sam looked at her. “Will you stay until the search is completed?”
Damn! Sam had stolen her chance to escape. But her police training was such that she wouldn’t argue or shirk her duties. Sam could count on her. So, she simply nodded and said, “Of course.”
Sam rewarded her with one of his broad smiles. “Great. Thanks.”
Holden glanced over from an area that he was searching with his team. “We can handle it, Mason. Bobby here is a trained K9 officer.”
“I’m sure you can, but I’d like my sergeant to stay until we’re done with the dog.”
Holden shrugged and turned back to his search.
Bev had come to stand beside Jo, and they both watched Sam leave.
“How do you like that?” Bev asked, taking her Smokey Bear hat off and brushing the pollen off the brim. “Looks like Sam can’t stand being around Holden Joyce either.”
Jo crossed her arms over her chest. “Yeah, can’t say I blame him.”
“Me either,” Bev turned to scowl in the direction of Holden. “I say this search is almost over anyway. Least I hope so. Hate to think of finding any more bodies.”
“Me either.” Jo turned to look at Lucy, who sat near the last grave. “I don’t think we will. If there were more Lucy would still be sniffing.”
“Yep. That’s one smart canine. But of course Holden will want to see that for himself. He wouldn’t want to admit that he’s not as smart as a dog.”
“What is that guy’s deal, anyway?” Jo asked. Bev and Holden were around the same age, and she knew there had been bad blood between them before. She didn’t want to pry, but any insight into Holden’s odd behavior would be beneficial, especially if they had to work together on this case.
“He’s got a hair up his ass,” Bev said. “Case went bad on him early on and he’s never gotten over it. It’s a shame, too, because he’d actually be a good investigator if he didn’t have such a chip on his shoulder. His ego won’t let him get over that case.”
“Too bad he keeps ending up on our cases.”
“He likes these serial killer cases. I think it was this kind of case that broke him.”
Jo remained silent. Something about the fact that Holden Joyce had messed up on a serial killer case pinged her radar. She stared at the large white FBI letters on the back of Holden’s navy windbreaker.
Bev plopped her hat back on her head. “Well, better get to work. The sooner we finish combing the cordoned area, the better.”
Jo wandered over to Lucy. She was certain there were no more graves. But she knew the rest of the team members would want to search to their own satisfaction. She snapped her fingers.
“Come on, girl. Let’s get over to that last quadrant and see if we can dig anything up.” They trotted behind the searchers who had spread out equidistantly in a line, their heads swiveling back and forth as their eyes combed the ground for signs of shallow graves.
Lucy stayed beside her, her head up in the air, sniffing the breeze and not at all concerned with the ground as she had been before the third grave was discovered. This behavior was further proof to Jo that there were no more graves to find.
Jo’s mind wandered back to her sister Tammy. Had she been buried in a shallow grave like these? Her mind conjured images of tiny dirt-encrusted bones lying on a tattered blue tarp.
Thinking about Tammy spawned worries about her remaining sister, Bridget. Tammy’s disappearance had ripped her family apart. Her mother had become consumed in grief, barely able to function. She died five years later. Her father had become a stranger. Jo hadn’t seen him in a decade.
Bridget had only been twelve when it happened, but by the time she was sixteen she was experimenting with drugs. Now she was forty-two, and those years of drugs and living on the street had taken their toll. Jo had tried to help her get clean more times than she could count, but it never stuck. It was frustrating to keep trying, but she kept trying anyway.
She hadn’t heard from Bridget in six months, which wasn’t unusual. Bridget had no way to communicate other than the prepaid cell phones that Jo sent her, which were quickly “stolen” or “lost.” But seeing these graves panicked Jo. If the victims were young as John had said, they wouldn’t be her Tammy, but Bridget was just as vulnerable as these victims. She’d have to make a better attempt at contacting her.
Her mind back on the case, Jo thought about the photos she’d found inside the box that had belonged to fallen officer Tyler Richardson. Those photos had shown stripped beech tree branches. She’d once gotten a tip that the person who took her sister marked the graves by stripping the bark from the branches of the beech trees under which they were buried.
Those photos in Tyler’s box had been taken here in White Rock. But there were no beech trees in the area they were searching. And these graves were too new to belong to the same person who had taken Tammy. Or were they? Tammy had been taken thirty years ago, but Jo supposed her abductor could still be alive.
“Looks like you got yourself a pretty smart canine.” Jo jumped at the voice. Holden Joyce had snuck up behind her while her thoughts had been on her sisters.
“We’re lucky to have her.” Jo wished Holden would go away, but he kept up with her.
“Serial killer cases can be nasty to work,” he said.
“No doubt. Especially when it involves young women.”
“Or children,” Holden said softly.
Jo jerked her head to look at him. Something in his tone set her nerves on edge. “But these weren’t children.”
“No. Young adults. My guess is teen runaways. They’re vulnerable and easy prey for sickos. There’re no unsolved kidnappings reported in this area from the time that would coincide with these deaths.” Again the tone, but Jo didn’t look at him this time.
Jo shrugged. ”Runaways or kidnap victims, either way the families will be devastated.”
Holden was silent for a moment, then said in a low voice almost as if to himself, “True. But don’t you worry, we’re gonna get the killer this time.”
Holden’s pace slowed, and he fell back a bit.
The tension in Jo’s shoulders eased. There was an undertone to the conversation that she didn’t understand. She wouldn’t put it past Holden to have a hidden agenda, and she wanted no part of it.
“I think we’re pretty much done with the search now. I don’t think we’ll find any graves further out from here. Lucy has good instincts. I’m calling it a day. You’re free to go back to the station with her.”
Jo snapped her fingers for Lucy and turned in the direct
ion of the car, her eyes on Holden Joyce’s retreating back. What was with all that serial killer talk? Was it just because of the current case, or did he know something?
Jo pulled out her cell phone and activated the GPS app to follow the trail back to where she’d parked. She needed to get back to the station and tell Sam everything about her sister’s case as soon as possible.
Chapter Eight
Sam rummaged in the top filing cabinet drawer for push pins when he felt something staring at him. He looked up into a pair of golden eyes made even more brilliant by the jet black fur surrounding them. It was disturbing the way the cat stared at him, as if it knew something he didn’t. It also disturbed him that the cat had crept closer to him while he’d been rummaging. He slowly extracted his hand with the box of pins and backed away.
“Don’t worry, Major won’t hurt you. He’s just curious.” Reese stood beside him, an array of papers clutched in her hand. “I’ve already done some research on missing persons over the last twenty years. John wasn’t sure how long the bones had been there, so I figured I’d go wide. I’ve come up with a bunch of young adult females. Mostly runaways.”
Sam took the papers and closed the filing cabinet gently. The cat still stared at him. It was unnerving. “I didn’t realize the cat had a name.”
Reese nodded. “We can’t keep just calling him ‘the cat,’ so I figured I’d name him something police-like. Major Payne. It’s a police rank and kind of fits his personality. He’s had all his shots and everything. I mean, I assume we’re keeping him, right?”
Sam glanced from her hopeful baby blues back to the cat. Major narrowed his eyes as if telling Sam they’d better keep him… or else.
“Yeah I guess we’re keeping him.” Sam knew the cat’s previous owner was dead. He’d shot him. Sam felt responsible for the cat’s homelessness, and he didn’t have the heart to send him to the animal shelter.
Sam glanced down at the papers. So many runaways. They’d found three bodies, and he hadn’t gotten a call about additional graves being discovered. Because of the way Lucy had acted he didn’t think any more would be discovered. He wouldn’t have left the scene if he did. He knew it would take the Staties and the FBI a while to figure that out on their own. Why subject himself to Holden Joyce’s scrutiny any longer than he had to?