Buried Alive: A dark Romantic Suspense (The Buried Series Book 1)

by Vella Day

  “I can assure you I didn’t leave any evidence if that’s what you’re implying.”

  He strode around the lab and checked the two bodies Kerry had stored in the cooler. Would the bones talk to her? “What do you want me to do?”

  “Watch the anthropologist. If she gets too close, kill her.”

  4

  Kerry kneaded her lower back after she eased out of her car. She stood on the street, hands on her hips and studied the three extra cars blocking her grandfather’s driveway.

  Duh. How could she have forgotten? Thursday night was poker night. Oh, joy. That meant she wouldn’t get any more sleep tonight than she had last week. Grandpa’s old cop friends didn’t know when to stop.

  She searched through the hidden treasures in her purse until she located her house key. If she entered through the back door, she might be able to sneak in unnoticed. That wasn’t very nice of her, but she wasn’t in the mood to socialize with Grandpa’s friends after trying to piece together the bones of dead females all day. Tonight’s newscast had reported the discovery of the bodies, but thankfully, the details had been sparse. If these nosy men learned what she’d been working on, they’d ask a gazillion questions, conveniently forgetting an ongoing investigation meant her lips needed to remain sealed.

  She rotated the kinks out of her aching shoulders before heading around back. The sweet smell of night blooming jasmine rode on the humid air. After all the formaldehyde and dead flesh she’d sniffed, it was good to realize she could smell something this aromatic.

  She prayed John could come up with a clue to help identify the four women lying on the morgue tables. If the stars lined up, Detective Markum would have a list of missing people for her by tomorrow and someone would have closure.

  Kerry peeked though the kitchen window. No Grandpa. Good. She slipped inside. As she pulled the door closed, the dog’s nails scratched against the wood floor. He was coming her way. Crap. Buster barked.

  “Shh.” As if telling her grandfather’s Jack Russell Terrier to keep quiet would do any good. Buster was a born yapper. Kerry dropped to her haunches and scratched the rambunctious dog behind his ears, and he quieted. “That’s a good boy.” She could only hope her grandfather had been so engrossed in his card game he hadn’t heard the frenetic alert.

  “Hi, Kerry,” her grandfather said.

  Guess not.

  “Hi, Grandpa.” She stood and the stiffness in her back warned her she needed to find a Pilates studio soon. Nothing better than strong abs to help a weak back.

  “You’re late. I was worried about you.”

  “You of all people should understand how hard it is to work on a case and keep regular hours.”

  God only knows he’d put Nana through intense misery every time he didn’t show up for dinner on time. It was no wonder she died of a heart condition. Nana had made her promise not to marry a cop, unless she wanted to be a young widow. Life was tough enough, she preached, without the agony of wondering when she’d hear the bad news her husband was dead.

  “I do, I do.” Grandpa stepped back and ran his gaze up and down the length of her. “You don’t look so good,” he said before sniffing the air in exaggeration. “You don’t smell so good either. Tough day at the lab?”

  “I’m fine, Grandpa.”

  He snapped his fingers. “I almost forgot. Your sister called for you tonight.” Grandpa averted eye contact. “Twice.”

  The muscles in her neck locked. “What did she want?”

  “You know what. You can’t avoid Susan forever, you know.”

  Wanna bet?

  Hunter grimaced as the new intern, Gina Andries, joined him and Phil at the conference table. Too bad her uncle, aka, Hunter’s boss, hadn’t briefed her on the dress code. The woman looked like she was interviewing for Vice rather than Homicide.

  Her straight black leather skirt came to mid thigh, and her too tight top showed more skin than was good for her in an office made up of eighty-five percent men. Fortunately, she had the body to carry off the sexy, slutty look. Her straightened black hair and large hoop earnings reminded him of Lara Croft on a mission to meet, or maybe kill, a man. On the upside, Hunter welcomed more African American women to the force.

  At least Kerry Herlihy had dressed appropriately at the crime scene. Now there was a class act.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Hunter watched his partner’s jaw slacken and his eyes widen at Gina’s slim body. Christ, Phil didn’t need to lose focus this early in the case. Hunter could only hope his partner wasn’t thinking of doing something stupid, like getting involved with the boss’s niece.

  She leaned over the table and stuck out her hand. “My bad. Where are my manners? I’m Gina Andries, Jack Andries’ niece. But I’m sure you already know that.”

  Hunter and Phil exchanged greetings with her. Yes, they knew. Her uncle had given them a rundown. Gina was a big health nut, a stickler for details and hard headed.

  They’d also been given strict orders to make sure Gina understand how tough it was to be a cop. Their mission? Convince her to return to teaching high school history. In Jack Andries’ opinion, his brother’s little girl didn’t have what it took to be a cop.

  Jack went so far as to suggest one way to dissuade her was to make her understand how rough things could get—with one caveat. She was only allowed to go on ride alongs where she couldn’t be hurt.

  As if he and Phil could control every situation. Thugs pulled guns on them all the time. If nothing bad happened, how would that dissuade her from joining the force?

  God this was a bad idea. If something went wrong and Gina got injured, or God forbid killed, the legal ramifications boggled Hunter’s mind. Hunter had failed to convince his boss this whole interning stuff was not only not department sanctioned, but it was way too dangerous. Too bad Jack wouldn’t budge. He wanted to teach her a lesson, and that was all there was to it.

  Gina leaned forward. “I want to thank both of you for helping me get my start in the department.”

  The woman had no idea how much help she’d get—only it wouldn’t be in the direction she’d planned.

  What he wanted to know was what the hell had Phil and he done to deserve this babysitting job? She might be enrolled at Hillsborough Community College and had taken some classes in law enforcement, but she was still a civilian; and civilians shouldn’t investigate homicides. But an order was an order.

  Gina had a file folder, a pad, a pencil and a bottle of Evian water. Hunter appreciated her enthusiasm, but he’d bet his finest bottle of scotch she’d be guzzling coffee before she left her six-week internship. To top it off, her health food regime would be kissed goodbye, and that alone might make her quit.

  Phil stuffed a gooey, chocolate donut in his mouth and pointed to Gina’s folder. “What you got there?”

  As she watched Phil eat the sugary mess, her face scrunched up. “I was thinking about what kind of person would bury naked bodies in a remote site.”

  “A sicko?” his smart-ass partner tossed back.

  “Well yeah, but that’s not what I meant.”

  “Do you think if they’d been clothed they’d be any less dead?”

  Hunter nudged Phil under the table. If his partner made it obvious they were trying to be jerks, Gina would catch on and run to Uncle Jack. And that would be bad. Hunter didn’t want to fail at this assignment.

  “Are you mocking me, mister policeman?” she said with a glint in her eye.

  Phil placed a hand over his heart. “No. I wouldn’t think of it.” Then he smiled.

  Gina batted her eyes. “I was thinking.”

  Hunter cleared his throat.

  “What about?” Phil said, his tone back to being bad cop hard.

  “I imagine as homicide detectives, you think these deaths were murder.”

  Phil chugged the rest of his Coke.

  Hunter’s partner swiped a napkin over his mouth “Yeah, well, you can’t blame us. All four were abused, or so said Doc Herli
hy. Kind of makes us think along sinister lines.”

  “I see where you’re coming from,” she said, “but hear me out.” Her eyes widened. “I’m sorry. If I’m overstepping my boundary here, let me know, okay?” She straightened the pile of papers on the table. “Uncle Jack said I should pretend like I’m one of the team members.” Gina’s southern drawl turned even more pronounced.

  “By all means continue,” Hunter said, impressed she’d worry about police protocol.

  Gina rifled through her folder. “Okay. I did a little research. I found out about a case a few months ago near Fort Myers where an undertaker didn’t want to spend the money to bury some of the people who didn’t have the funds to pay for a funeral. So...he dug this big old hole and dumped in the bodies. Can you believe that?”

  Hunter scribbled some notes on his yellow pad. “I heard about that case, but I don’t think it applies to these people—gut instinct only. Different MO. For starters, the undertaker hadn’t stripped the subjects.”

  Gina tilted one shoulder forward. “Or they were all prostitutes and no one wanted to claim them. They’d likely be abused, given their profession, and the death rate for such women is rather high, you know.”

  “Point taken.”

  “Do you have any persons of interest?” Phil asked.

  “As a matter of fact I do.” She held up a police report and tapped the cover with a fancy red nail. “Samson DeMarco used to be a funeral director in Seminole. Emphasis on used to. He apparently made a deal with the county to bury any dead prisoners. He was paid by the state.”

  Hunter’s patience was wearing thin. “I’m guessing Mr. DeMarco forgot to mention the burial fee didn’t come with a wooden casket?” He guzzled down another cup of black coffee. Sugar gave him a headache, but oh how he loved sweet coffee.

  “At least for one of them he didn’t.”

  Phil grabbed another donut. “So how was he caught?” The man took acting indifferent to an art form.

  “The report says some kids were playing near some preserve. Fishing, I think. Anyway, when they saw a finger sticking up from the ground, they told their folks, who then reported the discovery to the police.”

  “Don’t tell me the body was in the North Tampa site,” Hunter said, suddenly interested.

  “No. West of here, near some wetlands. Closer to Westchase. The undertaker was caught about two months ago. I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it.”

  Was the rookie actually challenging him? “Can’t know everything.” Hunter kept his gaze lasered on her face. He thought she blushed, though he was hard pressed to tell given her dark complexion.

  “I like the idea,” Phil said. “We could subpoena his records and see if any of the former morgue inhabitants match our bodies.” Phil ping-ponged his gaze between Hunter and Gina.

  Hunter decided to play along. “I bet he’s not the only undertaker who’s thought about dumping bodies if the families don’t pay. I know the M.E.’s office spends a shit load of money burying or cremating their unclaimed bodies.”

  Gina leaned forward and her boobs practically spilled out of her top. Hunter didn’t think her theory would pan out, but hey, he’d heard of crazier ideas. “I say, subpoena away if you can get a judge to go for it.” He was rewarded with a smile from both of them.

  “Great,” Phil said.

  His partner looked like a love-sick puppy. Stupid guy. But hell, who was he to criticize? Gina was single, close to Phil’s age, and intelligent. “Why don’t you two follow up on that lead? I want to compare the missing persons’ list against Dr. Herlihy’s stats.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Phil stood. “Don’t have too much fun.” He turned to Gina. “Ready for your first ride along?”

  “Absolutely.” The excitement in her eyes spelled trouble.

  5

  Kerry wiped her forearm across her face to clear the cobwebs from her mind. She’d been lucky when she found an identifying mark on Jane Doe #2. The female had a tattoo of a sailboat.

  During the autopsy John had called her in and showed her a faint discoloration on the ankle. Kerry had dabbed a bit of diluted household bleach on the skin, a trick she’d learned in New Orleans, and the image of a boat appeared. John seemed impressed—always a good thing for a person on contract.

  Underneath the boat was the name Bra_y_ne. The skin had broken apart in the middle of the word, making identification difficult but not impossible. One good thing about the woman’s choice of shapes was its uniqueness might help identify her.

  Once John finished the autopsy, he handed the body over to Kerry. She photographed the details of the tattoo, and then began the painstaking job of cleaning the bones. She understood all too well the results from the autopsy would not be back for days.

  It was evident from the fracture on the boat lady’s body that her arm had been broken about three years ago. The spiral nature of the injury implied abuse. The broken jaw looked more recent.

  Kerry had been working on the body for less than an hour when her lab door squeaked open and John popped his head in.

  “Hey, Doc. I just received another call.”

  Her heart sank to her stomach. Another call. Another death.

  “What do we have?” The usual heart thumping and belly souring blasted her.

  “It’s...bad. They think they found the bones of an infant. They’re hoping you’ll tell them the remains are animal.” He scratched his beard and looked out the window.

  “What aren’t you telling me?” John was an easy read.

  “A piece of a child’s jacket was beside one of the bones.”

  Damn. “Let me gather my gear.”

  Forcing her emotions aside, Kerry grabbed her kit. She’d left the shovel and some of her digging tools in the M.E.’s van, ready to go at a moment’s notice.

  They drove in silence for a good ten miles, east past Brahman University, then headed north another five miles. The area was close to where they’d found yesterday’s bodies.

  For a brief moment she wondered if Detective Markum had been assigned to this case, but she refused to address the strange and unwanted flick of excitement that shot through her.

  Crap. How could she forget? The man might be married. The last man Kerry had slept with had kept his wife hidden. Too bad he’d never told her until she joyfully informed him about their unborn child.

  John pulled to a stop on the road behind a long line of sheriff cruisers parked along the rim of a wooden area. Some officers were leaning against the hood of their cars while other vehicles sat empty.

  No doubt they were waiting for her and John.

  As they traveled to where the crime scene unit was planting flags, Whit Jackson, the lead detective on the case, met them. From the ease with which they talked, John knew him quite well.

  Kerry surveyed the area. Too many small flags stabbed the ground, each signifying a bone or a piece of evidence, and her gut churned.

  God, she hated this job some days. Child deaths hit her the hardest. Kids shouldn’t die, and parents shouldn’t have to experience such loss. She never could erase her mother’s wails when her older brother had vanished.

  She gloved her hands, squatted, and picked up one of the bones. A wave of hurt assaulted her. “Human all right.” Damn it.

  From the chew marks, it looked as if the child had been dug up by an enthusiastic animal who’d deposited the remains everywhere.

  A shadow loomed over her. Kerry looked up and squinted into the hot sun. Whit Jackson looked down at her.

  His shoulders slumped. “Tell me what you need us to do.”

  “Find the head.” The holy grail of body parts.

  Without saying a word, he spun around and began directing his men and women in a militant manner to spread out—to search more.

  Fifteen minutes later, a shout came from the far end of the field. “Over here. We found it!”

  Kerry trudged to where several officers had gathered beneath a shaded tree. The front part of the craniu
m was intact but little else. Usually animals leave the skull alone because their teeth can’t grasp the unwieldy bone, but a child’s head was a different matter.

  Kerry studied the skull. Once the CSU team triangulated its position, she bagged the head for further study.

  “Can you tell the child’s sex?” Whit asked.

  “Not yet. I need more bones, but with a child this young, it’ll be very difficult. The hipbones haven’t developed yet.” She noted the lack of teeth. “This is an infant.” Kerry had a hard time swallowing. “I’d say between six months and a year old.”

  Her heart nearly broke when she thought about the pain the child’s mother must have experienced not knowing if her baby was alive or dead.

  “Thank you. That will help.”

  “Have any idea on the PMI?” John asked, sneaking up behind her.

  The postmortem interval told her the time of death. “From the color of the bones, a year or more would be my guess. I’ll have to do tests back at the lab to get a more precise estimate.”

  Kerry went from site to site, bagging the evidence as the CSU team drew careful diagrams and took photographs of the area.

  “Hey, Doc,” Whit called. He trudged up the path, wiping his brow with a handkerchief. From his red face, and overweight condition, she hoped he wouldn’t suffer from heat exhaustion. It had to be close to ninety-five degrees with one hundred percent humidity. Even her limbs were growing weak with each passing hour.

  When Whit reached her, his sagging cheeks told her they’d found something. “We located the grave, or least what’s left of it. Um...part of the lower body is still there. It’s a girl.”

  Oh God. Her insides turned to liquid. When Kerry had miscarried, she’d been carrying a girl. An intense pain squeezed her heart, almost causing her to miss a step.

  Whit pointed up the path, and she followed him to the burial pit.