“Lieutenant,” I returned. “Call me Peyton,” I insisted.
“You got here fast,” he observed.
“I was on my way back from Miami when I got the call,” I explained. “You asked for me?”
“Yeah,” he said on a breath.
I noticed the other members of his team had gone silent and were watching our exchange. Not unusual. Cops in general are very protective of their turf and the Stuart police department was no different. They eyed me with equal parts of caution and curiosity. Statistically speaking, Stuart was one of the safest small towns in all of Florida.
“Catch me up?” I asked as I pulled a pair of vinyl gloves from my front pocket.
“Last week we had a woman’s torso wash up on Bathtub Beach.”
“Not good for tourism,” I said.
“On Saturday a group of fishermen snagged a bag off Bridge Road Beach. Legs.”
I swallowed and blew out a breath. “Someone is sending you your victim in pieces?”
“The legs were male, mid to late fifties.”
“Two victims?”
He shook his head. “As of this morning, three.”
I motioned toward the tarp. “Are you sure?”
A woman was out running on the beach with her dog this morning when he brought her this.”
He led me around to the opening. My stomach fluttered. I looked down at the bloated, grayish head lying on its side in the sand. The hair was dyed bright red with purplish streaks in the front. Her nose was pierced, as were her lips and one eyebrow. The distortion from time spent in sea water made it nearly impossible to tell her age, but based on the visible clues, I put her somewhere between eighteen and thirty. The ME could be more precise and hopefully dental records would give us a name.
I looked at the gash on her neck. It was clean, almost surgical. No blood was present but given that she’d been in the ocean then used as a pull toy by a golden retriever, it was a pretty safe bet that this wasn’t the primary crime scene.
I had to tilt my head back to look up at Max. He was well over six feet with black hair and dark eyes. He had broad shoulders and a tapered waist. It was clear that he worked out regularly. And he didn’t wear a wedding ring.
I gave myself a little mental bitch slap. Here I was at a gruesome crime scene and I’m checking out the lead detective’s marital status. Maybe I’ve been at this job too long.
Speaking of my job, “What do you need from me?”
“I have nothing, Peyton. Nothing but pieces of dead people I can’t even identify.” He glanced over my shoulder. “Oh shit!” he muttered.
I turned to see the news van parking just behind my car. “This is the kind of case that attracts attention,” I reminded him. “Just give them a no comment at this time.”
He took his cell out of his pocket and called for an information officer on scene. Then he turned his attention back to me. “Why parts?” he asked.
“Trophies. Rituals. Sexual gratification. The torso . . . was she sexually assaulted?”
He shook his head. “ME says no.”
“Do you have a timeline?”
He shrugged. “The ME gave me a give or take twenty-four hours on the torso. The legs had more decomp, so the thinking is the male vic went first, then the woman, and we’ll have to wait on the ME on the head.”
“But all this happened within the last ten days?”
“Yes.”
“I assume you’ve already checked missing persons?”
“Negative. So I sent the information to the gulf states but I haven’t heard back.”
“This is pretty violent stuff here. Usually an unsub works up to this kind of mutilation.”
“It gets worse,” Max said. “According to the ME, the earlier victims were dissected while they were still alive.”
No Returns Page 8