Fifteen minutes later, the medical examiner arrived along with his team. His eyes lit up when he saw Nate. “I should have known it was you! Dragging me through these woods on my day off.”
Nate grinned. “Doc, you know you can’t resist a body.” He turned to me, putting his hand on my shoulder somewhat protectively. “This here’s Jessica Chamberlain. Her dog found the victim. Jess, this is Dr. Henry Shipman. Doc.”
Doc looked at me, narrowing his eyes. I felt like he was taking both my pulse and my blood pressure with his gaze. “Hello, young lady. Why are you hanging out with this mope?” He bobbed his head toward Nate. When I didn’t respond immediately, he moved on. “Well, where is she?”
“Over here.” Nate turned to me. “Put Luke on a down-stay and come with us.” He called the sheriff’s deputy to join us.
I followed them over to the body, my feet heavy, crunching through the dry leaves. I focused on the men to distract myself. Doc stood just an inch or two taller than Nate, but he must have outweighed him by thirty pounds or more. He was built thick, like a wrestler. Completely bald, the ME was clean-shaven except for a long, gray, handlebar mustache. Very dramatic. He talked the entire time we were walking. The sheriff’s deputy was an older man, clean-cut and gray-haired, trim and fit.
The ME turned to me. “How’d you find her?” His eyes were like an eagle’s.
I fought through the web of emotion that suddenly engulfed me and recounted the story. Exactly. Every detail. Like I was a witness in a courtroom.
I knew what I was doing.
“No chance the dog disturbed the body?” the ME asked.
I hesitated. “He’d been here a while before I caught up to him, but honestly, I think he just laid down, right here, and waited for me.”
“HRD dog then,” the deputy said.
I glanced at Nate. “Both live and cadaver.” I should have been proud to say that. I wasn’t. In fact, it made my head spin.
Doc ducked under the crime-scene tape. I had watched a medical examiner do a preliminary review before. Tension tightened my back.
After bending over the victim, probing here and there with a tongue depressor held in his gloved hands, Doc stood upright, tossed the tongue depressor in a trash bag held by one of his assistants, and walked back to us.
“Female, early twenties,” Doc said. “My early call is strangulation about two weeks ago. Neck is broken. Body’s pretty degraded overall. I’ll know more when I get her back to the morgue.” He removed his gloves with two snaps. “She’s small, maybe five feet one or two, and light. Easy to kill.”
“Not killed here, right?” the deputy asked.
Doc nodded. “I think she was dumped.” He scanned the area. “Somebody went to a lot of effort to dispose of her body. Wonder why he didn’t just bury her? Or dump her near the road?” He turned, looking at the trees. “My guess is he knows the woods.” He narrowed his eyes at Nate. “You walking me out?”
Before Nate could reply, there was an explosion of loud barking. My heart jumped. I whipped around toward my dog. A tall, dark-haired man dressed incongruously in a business suit strode toward us.
The FBI had arrived.
5
I quickly moved to contain Luke, thankful he had limited his reaction to barking.
Frankly, I was happy for the excuse to move away from the body—away from the smell, away from the empty eyes, away from the ugliness of death.
I stayed with Luke while the men huddled. Mr. FBI provided such a contrast to Nate. Four inches taller. Clean-shaven. Navy-blue suit stretched tightly across his broad back. Black leather oxfords. No topcoat. Totally out of place.
He introduced himself as Special Agent Scott Cooper. He barely glanced in my direction as Nate explained how we’d found the body. His tone when he spoke was take-charge—“Listen to me. I’m the big gun.”
Men like that set my teeth on edge.
Cooper asked the sheriff’s deputy to assign someone to take a statement from me and Nate. Then he told Doc, “I’m calling in the Evidence Response Team.”
The ME frowned. It would hang his crew up for hours. But there was no arguing with Mr. FBI.
Soon, Nate and I were free to go. We walked back through the woods without speaking, threading our way through the brambles and fallen trees, the dry leaves and undergrowth, with Nate in the lead. With every yard, I tried to scrub the images that gripped me—the body, the haloed hair, the eyes.
Despite my efforts, my brain betrayed me, refusing to let the mystery go. Did the victim see the attack coming? Did she fight? Did fear grip her? Did she reach a point when she knew she would die? Did she despair then, or keep fighting? Did she call out for a loved one when death drew near?
Lost in my imaginings, I inhaled sharply and stumbled. Nate turned at the sound and caught me. Our eyes met.
“Thanks,” I mumbled. He hesitated and for a second I was afraid a question would follow. “Tree root.”
Nate nodded and glanced down. There was no root. My face grew hot. He didn’t say anything.
Three minutes later we emerged from the woods. Five minutes later, I had Luke in his crate and my pack stowed. Nate talked to Emily near his car. I know they assumed I’d come and say goodbye.
They were wrong. I got in my car and pulled out, waving as I went, ignoring the surprise on their faces.
I drove a mile away from Nate and Emily until I was well out of sight. Then I pulled off the road, jumped out of the Jeep, and threw up over and over in the grass. I could hear Luke moving restlessly in his crate. My tears fell on my boots. I turned my face to the sky.
I just wanted to help people and now this?
Why did I have to find a body?
Death was stalking me.
6
On my way home, I stopped at the dog wash and scrubbed Luke down, thankful that Emily had suggested I keep shampoo, towels, and a brush for him in the car. She had learned that trick after Flash had an unfortunate encounter with a skunk on a search.
When I got home, I threw all my clothes in the wash and took a shower, scrubbing my skin until it was pink. Drying off, my basement apartment felt chilly. I could not get warm.
So, after putting on my usual nighttime clothes, I wrapped up in a quilt, collapsed on the couch, and vegged out, streaming reruns of Parks and Rec on Netflix while I drank hot tea. When dinnertime came around, I didn’t feel like eating. Luke chowed down as usual. Like all dogs, he lived in the moment. Lucky guy.
Tired but not sleepy, I turned to work, pretending that finding the secret bank accounts of someone’s soon-to-be ex-husband was enough to push death out of my mind. It wasn’t. I woke up three times that night, restless and scared.
Maybe SAR wasn’t for me after all.
The next day, Emily called. Then Nate. I ignored them both. When Emily texted me the location of this weekend’s SAR group meet-up, I texted back I couldn’t attend. I was going to see my mother. Which wasn’t true, but I soon made it so.
I worked until four on Friday, then threw an overnight bag in the Jeep, put Luke in his crate, and drove ninety minutes to Burke, where my mother and stepfather live. When I’d called my mom, I’d found out my stepfather was out of town. It was a good time to visit.
I tried to time it so I’d arrive just after my mother, who maintained fairly regular hours in her government job. But when I pulled up to the two-story colonial, my mother’s car was still gone, the house locked up tight.
No problem. I looked under the doormat and found the key. Would they ever learn?
Mom arrived half an hour later. “Jess?” I heard her call.
Luke erupted in barking and headed for the front door. Thankfully, I caught his collar. “Enough!”
My mom stared at him, her face tight. “Well, I certainly didn’t expect that.”
“Sorry, Mom. He doesn’t bite.”
“If you say so.” She put her black-leather business tote on the hall tree just inside the door and hung her coat on one of the hooks
, moving stiffly as if braced for another outburst from Luke.
Why had I thought coming here was a good idea? I needed to fix this. “Luke, down.” The dog dropped to the floor. “Stay.”
I hugged my mom. “I’m sorry. He is loud.”
“Loud and scary. I need some tea.” She moved toward the kitchen. “Earl Grey?” she called over her shoulder.
I followed her meekly. “Here, you sit, I’ll make it.” I filled the kettle, pulled two mugs out of the cabinet, and found the teabags. “Hope you don’t mind that I broke in.”
“No. But I’d forgotten about the dog.”
I decided to skip lightly over that comment. “You guys really should find a better place to hide your key.”
Mom dismissed that thought with a wave. “Your sister is always forgetting hers. Or losing it. We had to do something easy.”
I heard Luke whine. “I’m going to let him up,” I said. “He’ll sniff you, but he’s fine, really.” The kettle was still heating. I released Luke from his down-stay. He came into the kitchen, sniffed Mom, then laid down with a thump.
“There, see? He’s pretty chill.” I poured the water into the mugs and placed them on the kitchen table. “So, how’s Frank?” My stepfather’s Department of Defense job frequently took him out of town.
“Busy.” Mom tried a sip of tea, but I could tell by the way she grimaced it was still too hot.
“Tell me about Brooke.” My half sister was always good for a diversion. Always.
My question started a ten-minute trip down Half Sister Lane. Brooke, a sophomore at a small college about two hours away, “absolutely loves college,” Mom reported, although “the girls in the dorm are so immature.” Still, “Even with all the drama, Brooke’s thriving. Although she’s changed her major again.”
“To what this time?” In my mind I calculated the increased tuition costs for lost credits.
Another dismissive wave. “Communications? I don’t know if that’s the current one or the last one.”
I tried to connect. Honest. But I’d been gone from home for over ten years. Now it seemed even longer.
My mom’s eyes fell on the scar on my right wrist. I braced myself. She set her tea down. “And how are you doing? I’ve been so worried about you. You look so thin.”
“I’m fine, Mom.” I withdrew my hand. “That guy,” I nodded toward Luke, “keeps me running.”
“Are you happy?”
“Of course! I like what I’m doing, and Luke is a lot of fun.”
“I never really understood what happened with Mitch.”
I laughed. Even I thought it sounded forced. “Dogs are so much easier than men. Speaking of which…” I stood, leaned over, and kissed Mom’s cheek. “Thank you for driving me to all those agility trials. What a pain! I was telling somebody about it the other day.” I didn’t tell her that somebody was Nate and we were sitting over a dead body.
“I never understood your obsession with that dog. But I wanted to support you.”
“And I appreciate it.”
Mom rose. “I thought we’d go out to dinner.” She checked her watch. “What would you like? Thai? American? Italian?”
“I’m happy with anything. But do you mind if I grab something from my room?”
“Of course not.”
“I’ll be back in a sec.”
Luke followed me as I climbed the stairs to the second-floor bedroom I’d occupied as a teenager. Walking into the room made me catch my breath. Nothing had changed. My pictures still hung on the wall. Shelves held the agility trophies I’d won with Finn, as well as soccer and swimming awards and academic honors. The gray, black, and white quilt—colors from Finn’s coat, and a touch of pink for me—that my aunt had made for me when I graduated from high school still covered my old bed.
I picked up a picture of Finn and traced the outline of his body. Finn saved me at a time when I really needed saving.
I replaced the picture and rummaged through drawers until I found what had drawn me—an old wooden box. I pulled it out, set it on the desk, and opened it. I hadn’t looked at it in many years. I pulled out each object—an NYPD badge wrapped with a black elastic band, a grainy photograph, a folded program from a 9/11 memorial service, and an old pipe.
I ran my finger down the smooth briarwood of the pipe and sniffed its bowl, smelling the remnants of decades-old tobacco. I wondered if Nate had ever blown smoke rings for a little girl, or if a child had ever watched, fascinated, while he added fresh tobacco and tamped it down. I wondered if anyone had ever grown used to the smell of his pipe—and missed it now.
As I pondered these thoughts, a sound from the first floor made Luke jump to his feet. Before I could stop him, he went racing downstairs barking. I grabbed the box and followed him, shouting.
“Jess!” her mother cried out, panic sharpening her voice.
Then I heard someone else. “Oh my gosh, a dog!”
Brooke? I got downstairs just in time to see my half sister drop to her knees and throw her arms around Luke’s neck. “And who are you?”
Thankfully, Luke was wagging his tail and accepting the attention.
“Brooke!” I yelled. “You shouldn’t approach a dog like that.”
“Aww, he is so cute!” She scratched Luke under the chin.
“What are you doing home? What a surprise!” my mom said.
Brooke grinned. Even I had to admit she had a million-dollar smile. All that orthodontic work. “You said my big sis was coming home, and I wanted to see her!”
I had inherited my father’s coloring, his sandy hair and green eyes, and his athletic build. Brooke was the spitting image of our mother, short and slight, blonde and blue-eyed. She wore her hair long and straight, parted down the middle, and faded, ripped jeans along with a long, flowery tunic top. Put flowers in her hair and the ‘60s hippie look would be complete.
Brooke rose, “I’ll be right back!” She giggled. “I gotta go, bad!”
Luke started to follow her. I called him back.
“Might as well let him go. Clearly, she doesn’t have a problem with him.” My mother shrugged.
So I released him and watched Luke disappear upstairs. “Why didn’t you ever get her a dog?”
Mom rolled her eyes. “She wanted one, believe me. But we didn’t think she’d have the discipline to care for it.” She hesitated. “Besides, we aren’t really dog people.”
The gulf widened.
“I can’t believe she drove home,” Mom said.
“Impulsive as ever.” I instantly regretted my judgmental attitude.
Mom’s look withered me. “She misses you. It’s been over a year, Jess. Fifteen months at least. You didn’t even spend Christmas with us last year.”
I bit my lip. “I’ve been busy, that’s all. Moving, starting this business. So much to do.” Truth was I’d spent Christmas alone in my basement apartment, watching old movies and sipping hot chocolate. But she didn’t need to know that.
Overhead, the sound of scrambling feet in the second-floor hallway threatened to drown out our conversation. “Brooke’s throwing a ball down the hall for the dog. Is that okay with you?”
“I guess so.” Mom stared at the box I held in my hand.
“Just some things from my room I wanted to keep at my place.”
She nodded. “Well, I’m hungry. We need to get going. Where will you put the dog when we go to dinner?” The implication was obvious—not in the house.
“He can stay in my Jeep.” I whistled for Luke, who came scrambling down the stairs. I leashed him and took him out in the backyard so he could empty his bladder. Then I opened up the back of the Jeep and told him to kennel up. Luke jumped in. As I closed the crate door, my eyes fell on my overnight bag.
Maybe not.
Brooke seemed so young. But then, she was just eighteen. Twelve years separated us. I should cut her some slack, I reminded myself.
I’d been surprised when Mom remarried so soon after my father died and sh
ocked when a baby came along almost right away. But it wasn’t until much later when I’d accidentally stumbled on some papers of my mother’s that I realized Brooke was either the first eight-pound preemie ever, or there’d been some fooling around. I hoped it was after my father died.
At Brooke’s suggestion, which bordered on insistence, we went to a Japanese restaurant. I stared at the menu, trying to decide what my stomach could handle. Brooke pushed us to try “something different.”
Everything was different. Everything in my life, anyway.
I settled on grilled miso salmon, a selection Brooke thought was ridiculous. She coached Mom on what to order, then selected dumpling soup and a variety of sushi, including sea urchin and eel, for herself. She tried to make me sample them.
Raw seafood? No way.
Mom, sensing everyone’s discomfort, asked Brooke about college.
What followed could have populated a laundry list of Things Not to Do. Parties. Late nights. Casual dates.
Brooke cleaned it up for Mom, but I knew how to translate her words into reality—alcohol, hookups, and all-night parties. And as I looked into the face of my young, blonde half sister, all I could see was another young blonde, lying on the ground, a yellow leaf drifting onto her chest.
“What classes are you taking?” I asked, hoping to shift the conversation.
Brooke rattled off some of the standards, but she was more interested in the dog, and switched the subject again. “Mom said you’re doing search and rescue? That’s cool!”
“Yes, well, we’re trying it. Luke is already partially trained.”
“So, like, what do you search for? Kids? Puppies?”
“Humans.”
“Dead or alive?” Brooke laughed. “Oh, man, that’s lit!”
A few minutes later, when Mom left to use the restroom, I confronted my sister. “Brooke, what do you think you’re doing?”
“What?”
All That I Dread Page 3