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

by Vella Day

  “Harm’s way? You just said this guy was the angel of mercy. He had no connection to them other than to have treated them. Isn’t that what you implied?”

  Big mouth. Maybe he was being overly cautious. “After I see him, I promise to tell you everything he said.”

  Her jaw tightened as she ran her gaze over him. “You’d better.”

  Melissa called Kerry’s name and her whole demeanor softened. “I have to go.”

  After Hunter dropped Kerry off at work and his daughter at his sister’s house, Hunter headed to Dr. Dalton’s office. His secretary showed Hunter to an office in the back of a three-story, all glass office building. Nice digs. The floor looked like polished granite and the artwork was worthy of being in a museum. No wonder the guy could afford to do charity work.

  When Hunter entered the plush office, Dr. Dalton stood to greet him. The doctor was tanned, about thirty-five to forty, small of stature and dressed in what looked like a tailor made suit. Handsome, almost to the point of being pretty.

  “Please, Detective, have a seat.” The dark blue, leather, high-backed chair went well with the gray carpet and light gray walls. Hunter eased down. Man, he’d never experienced a more comfortable seat in his life.

  Dalton sat behind his desk instead of in the seat next to Hunter. The doctor was obviously into proving his superior position. The many diplomas on the wall were enough to convince Hunter the doctor was as good as he’d heard.

  “I’m here to discuss two of your former patients, Tameka Dorsey and Janet Kopetski.” Hunter concentrated on Dalton’s eyes. They never lied.

  “Lovely ladies.” Dalton’s smile was engaging, and his teeth were so white and straight, they looked veneered. “But surely you know I can’t give out information about my patients. Doctor-patient privilege and all that.” Dalton chuckled and appeared relaxed, but his eyes twitched. What was he hiding?

  Hunter was prepared for the runaround. “They’re no longer your patients. Both are dead.”

  Dalton clasped a hand to his chest. His mouth gaped open. “My God. When, how?”

  Hunter didn’t want to give too many details. “Their bodies were found in shallow graves not far from here. Perhaps you saw me and the forensic anthropologist who created the clay model on TV.”

  “No, I didn’t, I’m sorry. I can’t tell you how upset I am to learn about their deaths. Tameka was engaged and so full of life. I believe Janet had had some trouble with her ex-husband but was trying to start her life over again.”

  “Would you mind if your secretary showed me the dates of their last visit?”

  He waved a hand. “By all means. I’ll let her know to give you the information on your way out.”

  “Thank you.” Hunter didn’t move as Dalton stood.

  “Anything else, Detective?” Dalton’s jaw clenched ever so slightly.

  “Yes.” Hunter handed the doctor the X-rays Kerry had prepared for him. “We also found two other females at the gravesite. Both had had plastic surgery of some kind. One was a thirty-five to forty-five Caucasian with a broken ulna that had pins and plates. She also had had a broken nose that required surgery. The second female, of white European descent, had been dead approximately six months when we found her. She was a bit younger. Her right eye socket had been damaged, and then repaired. Do any of these women sound familiar?”

  Dalton slapped the X-ray onto the light board. He stared at the images, cupping his chin with his hand. “This doesn’t look like my work. I’m sorry.” Dalton glanced at his gold watch. “I’m afraid I have several patients to attend to. So if there’s nothing else...” Dalton’s gaze bounced around the room as he dragged a hand down the front of his neatly pressed suit.

  “Just in case something comes to you, I’ll leave these X- rays. We have duplicates at the M.E.’s office.”

  “That’s fine.”

  Hunter stood and shook Dalton’s hand. Hunter never understood why a man would polish his nails.

  Kerry’s lab door squeaked open. “Here ya go, Dr. H.” Steven rolled a body bag on a gurney into the room.

  “Who is it?”

  “Jane Doe #4. Dr. A said to tell you he’d finished the autopsy and she’s all yours.”

  “Tell him thanks.”

  Kerry wasn’t excited about having to remove what was left of the decaying soft tissue from #4’s body to make an identification, but the process required it.

  She dragged the large stainless steel pot from the maceration station, filled it with water from the sink, and then added a tablespoon of Adolph’s Meat Tenderizer to speed the cleaning process. She then dropped it back on the burner under the hood and set the temperature to one hundred eighty degrees.

  Her back screamed from the exertion, and a layer of sweat covered her brow. She’d have to cut away the large pieces of flesh first before soaking them in soapy water.

  Fully suited up in hairnet, facemask, and gown, Kerry zipped open the bag. The fetid smell of decomposed flesh hit her hard. She should be used to the odor, but each body smelled a little different. And #4 was particularly foul, although she should be happy the maggots weren’t grabbing a bite.

  Once she extracted the female from the bag, she carefully cut away the flesh with a scalpel. The tedious job would take hours.

  Less than fifteen minutes into the chore, the door banged open. “Dr. H. You gotta come.” Steven was out of breath.

  “What’s wrong?” Her heart jetted into overdrive.

  “The cops just fished a body out of Tampa Bay. She’s pretty badly decomposed. Dr. A called and said he needs you.”

  She held up her gloved hands. Bits of flesh dangled from her fingers. “I’m kinda in the middle of working on this woman.”

  “Sorry. She’ll have to wait.”

  15

  Once Kerry and Steven hit SR 60, they headed east, parallel to I-4. The crime scene area wasn’t hard to find. Police cars with flashing lights lined the road leading to the Bay.

  A guard stopped them at the entrance. Once Steven showed his ID from the Medical Examiners’ office, the guard waved them through. Because the place was swarming with cops, she scanned the area looking for Hunter. Disappointment grabbed her when she realized he wasn’t there.

  Kerry pointed to John’s van and Steven pulled in next to him. “Thanks for the ride. I’ll have Dr. A take me back.”

  “Sure. Have fun and stay safe.”

  Have fun? She doubted it. Staying safe was easy among a mob of police. She waved goodbye to Steven and headed to the scene with her equipment in tow.

  John was on his knees looming over the victim’s body. She walked up behind him and looked over his shoulder. Apparently, he was so engrossed in taking notes, he didn’t notice her shadow hanging over him.

  Kerry studied the female. Her face was flat, her skin decaying. The woman looked like she’d been in the water a good month. Small holes and tears appeared at random intervals in her mostly intact clothes. Those might have been the result of fish feasting on her. The sea creatures had already had a celebration with her eyeballs.

  Kerry stepped to the side and her shadow moved. The medical examiner jerked around. “Hey. Thanks for coming. I thought you’d like to see what a dead body with her soft tissue looks like.” He smiled.

  “Thanks, but I think I’d rather stick to skeletal remains. They’re cleaner and easier to handle.”

  “Your loss.” He chuckled. “Hey, at least she only smells like salt water.”

  “Agreed. Any identification on her?”

  He shook his head. John adjusted the female’s light brownish-red hair, which had begun to slip off her scalp. Kerry placed her case on the ground and knelt beside him.

  “How can I help?” she asked.

  “Tell me what you see?”

  John was the expert. She only did bones, but there was a small thrill in being asked to give her opinion. “I’m afraid Steven filled me in on her age. He told me the vic was between thirty and thirty-five, but I’m betting th
e bloating would help reduce the facial wrinkling somewhat, which would give her a more youthful, if not dead, appearance. I’d say she’s closer to forty than thirty-five.”

  He gave her a small smile. “Quite good. What else?”

  Kerry took her time studying the body. “From the shape of her face, I’m guessing Hispanic.”

  “I agree. And her height and weight?” John seemed to enjoy her impromptu evaluation.

  “Taking the bloating into consideration, I’d say five foot three and weight about one seventy.” Kerry gloved her hand and tilted the head to one side, and then the other. A fresh, red scar went from the victim’s right ear to half way under her chin. “From the neat stitch job, I’d say she had some kind of plastic surgery quite recently.”

  Her gut reacted in a bad way. Maybe the heat was getting to her.

  Hunter’s comment about plastic surgeons raced back to her. Surely there wasn’t a connection between this woman who’d been dumped in the Bay and those she’d found buried in the construction site. Killers didn’t usually change their MOs, or so Hunter had claimed.

  “Good catch.” John lifted the vic’s shoulder and leaned the body away from Kerry. The woman’s cause of death was evident. “One shot to the back of the head probably killed her. If she wasn’t dead when she hit the water, she was shortly thereafter.”

  Kerry sat back on her haunches. The effect of the salt air mixed with the heat made her stomach queasy. Next time, she’d bring a large brimmed hat to help keep the sun off her face. The cap she wore to prevent leaving any trace at the crime scene was enough to raise her core temp by a couple of degrees.

  Once the crime scene techs finished measuring and photographing the area, John zipped up the victim. “Let’s bring her back to the morgue for an autopsy,” he said to one of the techs. His gaze remained on the men until they’d finished loading the body into a van. He swiveled back to her. “Anything else you noticed?”

  “It’s hard to be sure, but I’d say the woman spent little on her wardrobe. The wear pattern on the soles of the sneakers implied she’d owned them for quite some time.”

  “I noticed the clothes didn’t match either. From the workmanship, I’d say she was wearing hand-me-downs.” John closed his med kit and ratcheted his body to a stand.

  “Your arthritis getting to you?”

  “A little.”

  Kerry gathered her instruments. “Are you thinking she might have been a regular visitor to Goodwill or maybe even a women’s shelter?”

  “Shelter?” He shielded his eyes with one hand.

  “I guess I’m having difficulty separating my four buried bodies from this one.” Kerry gave him the rundown of possible theories.

  He walked toward his van, his job over for now. “I’ll keep your idea in mind when I autopsy her. I guess she’s Jane Doe #5.”

  Kerry was quite happy to be back at the morgue. At least in the cool room, she wouldn’t suffer from heat exhaustion. While John began the autopsy on the new victim, Kerry pulled #4 from the body bag and turned the burner to low.

  As she cut and scraped the dead tissue from the bones, she dropped the finished bones in the warm, soapy water. The chore required concentration since she had to cut close enough to remove the skin, but not so close to mar the bone.

  Before she knew it, over an hour had passed. Not wanting to keep Hunter from Melissa any longer than necessary, she called it a day. Kerry phoned Hunter to tell him she was ready for him to pick her up.

  She turned off the burner and decided to let the bones soak overnight. The stench of the cooked flesh gagged her, forcing her to adjust her mask and closed the hood.

  Next she rewrapped what was left of the body and placed #4 in the morgue cooler. Tomorrow, she’d finish the bone cleaning. Only then would she have time to work on the plaster mold of the skull. No way would she chance losing the original head again to the thief.

  The clean up took close to a half hour. As she wiped the last of the counters, someone knocked on her autopsy door and the pushed it open.

  Hunter. Though he looked tired, his broad shoulders and chiseled jaw sent her hormones soaring. Her face heated.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  Good Lord. Could he tell she’d had a momentary fantasy? “Wrong? Nothing. I was outside in the heat for a long time. Do I look pink or something?” She was proud of her good catch.

  “No, you look...”

  Her mom always told her she never could hide her deepest emotions. “Sad perhaps?” she asked.

  “I am. The police found a body floating in McKay Bay today. The female victim had been shot once in the back of the head and dumped in the water with a cement block around her waist to cover the crime.” Kerry pushed back the despair. “Her death seemed so senseless.”

  “Welcome to Tampa. You ready to go?”

  Apparently, he wasn’t the type to become personally involved with every victim. She needed to learn that skill.

  “Hunter, there was something about this woman that made me think she might be related to my Jane Does.”

  “Why don’t you tell me on the way home?”

  Kerry grabbed her purse, shut off the light, and locked the door. She trailed after him.

  “The victim was dressed poorly.” He turned around, and when he opened his mouth, she rushed on. “John and I believe she might have been a recent visitor to a shelter. And get this. There were fresh scars behind her ear, which implied she’d had surgery. Plastic surgery perhaps.”

  His face showed no reaction. In fact, he didn’t seem to get the connection. Aw hell, maybe her imagination was getting the best of her.

  He lifted a hand and placed it on her shoulder. Warmth spread straight to her groin. “We’ll take her photo to the shelters to see if anyone can identify her.”

  “Really? So you think the same person might have killed all five women?”

  He opened the front door of the building. “Now that’s a stretch. If she was shot in the head, then dumped in the Bay, the MOs aren’t anything alike. But I won’t discount your gut feeling.”

  They exited the building. Even though it was close to six at night, the heat blasted her. “Thank you.”

  “I received the lab results back on the break-in at your house.” Hunter placed his hand on the small of her back to guide her across the street.

  Kerry looked up at him. “Did they find anything?”

  They reached the other side of the street and walked to the parking lot. “The thief used a bump key to get in your house. That’s why we couldn’t tell there was any forced entry.”

  “A what key?”

  “Get in the cruiser and I’ll tell you.” He closed the door and rushed over to his side. “A bump key. Most people buy only a few brands of locks, like the ones found at home stores. This makes it easy for the thief to make a key that unlocks the door.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Hunter started the car and immediately flipped the AC to high. “In a nutshell, the thief purchases an uncut key that fits the particular brand of lock and cuts all the ridges the same height. It takes a little practice, but when he inserts the key into the lock, and then pulls it out just a little, it makes a clicking sound. He’ll use a hammer or even the handle of a screwdriver to tap this new key just so. This allows the key to bump the tumblers into place.”

  “That’s horrible. Are you saying anyone can break into any house at will?” That must have been the scratching noise she’d heard coming from the kitchen. And here, she’d thought Buster had gotten loose.

  “Not if they have an alarm system or more distinctive locks.”

  “That gives me the chills thinking about it.”

  “Come on. I promise no one is going to break into my house. I have state of the art protection.”

  It didn’t hurt to have a gun-toting Hunter around either. She’d have to call Grandpa to see what kind of new locks he’d installed on the doors.

  “Did the lab find any fingerprints
or trace elements to connect them to a particular person?” she asked.

  “No. This person was careful, but not perfect. He dragged in little pieces of seashells on your kitchen floor.”

  Seashells? “Grandpa’s house is miles from the beach.”

  “Testing showed no trace of salt on the shells either. We’re now looking for someone who walked on a shell drive.” Hunter slipped onto Morgan Street.

  “That’s a long shot.”

  “True. But that wasn’t the only piece of evidence. While we didn’t find any discernable fingerprints inside the house, we found a footprint outside the back door.”

  “Did you check to see if the print belonged to my grandfather? He goes out that way to walk the dog twice a day.”

  “We checked his shoes, and they weren’t a match. The lab techs came out and made a mold of the imprint. Turns out it belongs to a Nike shoe, about size 10.”

  “So all we need is to find someone with that shoe size who has a shelled drive.”

  “You’ve got it.”

  Kerry finished wiping down the morgue counter for the tenth time this morning. She was ready. Ready to show the world her second facial reconstruction.

  This creation had taken more than a week to complete because of the work she’d had to do to prepare #4’s body for analysis. Kerry hadn’t been willing to work on the face at Hunter’s house. Melissa might have been upset to see a dead woman’s skull. After all, she’d only lost her mom two years ago. Knowing how a six-year old mind worked, Melissa would have asked a thousand questions, questions Kerry didn’t feel comfortable answering.

  She checked her watch again. She had a few minutes before she had to leave for her TV interview.

  Wanting to show off her creation to John, she carried her clay face across the hall, holding onto the base with both hands. She opened the door with her hip and stepped into his autopsy room. God, but the man kept this place colder than a freezer. He looked up over his mask, his eyes sparkling.

  “You finished!” he mumbled under the surgical mask. He slipped off the mouth covering cloth, set his scalpel on a metal tray, and walked over to her. He took the base from her hands and twirled the sculpture around. “It looks wonderful. We may have to use you in the future to do other clay reconstructions.”