by Vella Day
Poor kid. He’d told Melissa he’d take her to Busch Gardens last weekend and then had to cancel when another case came up.
Hunter turned his back to the burial pit and dug out his phone to call his sister. A pack of love bugs flew in his face, and he swatted them away. He punched in the memorized number.
“Hi, Hunter.” Gotta love caller I.D.
“Jen, I wondered if—”
“Let me guess. You want me to keep Melissa for dinner. You got tied up.”
Even to him, his refrain was becoming tiresome. “Yeah. Something like that. You know I hate to trouble you—”
“Hunter. Don’t worry about it. You know I love having Melissa around, and so do Emily and Jake. She’s like a younger sister to them.”
Melissa had probably spent more time with her cousins than she had at home. “Make me feel guiltier.” He kicked a stick and watched it skitter along the ground.
Jen didn’t answer for a second. “I’m sorry. I know you can’t help it. It’s your job to catch the bad guys and make us feel safe.”
“Thanks for trying to boost my spirits.” Hunter wasn’t used to spewing sentimental stuff. He cleared his throat. “Tell Melissa I’ll be by after I finish here. Okay?”
“Sure. I love you.”
“Love you too,” he mumbled, forcing the emotion from his voice. The sheriff’s department had dubbed him Mr. Spock because of his inability to express his softer side. They’d mock him for sure if they’d heard him say those three little words.
He stashed his phone. He didn’t deserve such a wonderful sister. Without Jen, he never would have survived his wife’s death. It was his Melissa who had been his inspiration to keep going when he’d had serious thoughts about eating his gun.
Hunter turned back to the gravesite and caught Kerry looking at him with an odd expression. Before he could react, she looked away.
He rolled up his sleeves. Sunburn be damned.
Kerry placed a femur on the cold, stainless steel lab table, and smothered a yawn. She took another gulp of her coffee, hoping the drink would give her a jolt of energy.
It had taken all day to separate Jane Doe #1 bones from those of #3’s. The other two bodies, found closer to the river, still had some soft tissue on them, and John Ahern was attempting to autopsy them in the hope of determining their cause of death.
All through the night and into the early morning hours, Kerry couldn’t rid her mind from the four bodies they’d found in the field. Four women. Four lost souls. Each discovery had taken another small piece from her heart.
She wasn’t the only one affected. Kerry was sure the pinched lines around Detective Markum’s handsome mouth during the exhaustive search had mirrored her own.
When she’d drifted off to sleep last night, all she could see were the cadaver dogs sniffing the ground, finding the bodies. Kerry had worked with them before on other cases, but she’d never seen them race about so frenetically. She’d spent all night fighting the disturbing images that invaded her imagination, and now she was paying for it.
One of the detectives had found a belt loop several feet from the first gravesite. Even if the loop belonged to the killer, she doubted the police could trace such a small piece of evidence to anyone, especially months after the deaths.
She shook her head to clear her vision and a sharp, stabbing pain crossed her forehead, but she refused to allow a migraine to delay her. Grabbing her purse from across the room, she located her much-needed prescription bottle and swallowed two without water. Yuk.
Ignoring the rush of goose bumps that rippled up her arm from the air conditioner’s cold blast, Kerry returned to the table and studied #3’s skull. Her heart tore. She ran her hand tenderly over the dry, bony surface. “I hope you didn’t suffer.”
Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to imagine the dead woman. She must have had a family who loved her. Had anyone reported her missing? Had some special man loved her? Was he grieving her loss? Or had he been the one who’d killed her?
Kerry opened her eyes and fought to push away her tangled emotions. Science would solve this crime, not her heart.
Her fingers touched the rather apparent sutures in the skull. What a shame. The woman was probably about thirty, not much younger than Kerry. She swallowed the biting ache that always came when she handled a victim’s remains.
The only good news was all four females had intact dental work. Maybe when Detective Markum provided a list of possible victims, she might find a match.
A knock sounded on the lab door, and John Ahern sauntered in with a frown. “You okay? You’ve been closeted in here all day.”
A large African American, John had kind eyes and a wide, gentle mouth.
“I’m fine. I’ve had a lot to keep me busy.” Her smile faltered as fingers of fatigue crawled up her spine.
“I hear you.”
“Don’t tell me you’re done with your autopsies already?” Kerry wanted to get her hands on the other skeletons, needing to find a connection that would provide names to the victims, and provide their families with closure.
“Hardly. I’m taking a break between autopsying Jane Doe #2 and #4. It’s slow going.” He pointed to the display of bones on the table. “So what’ve you found?”
“The jaw on Jane Doe #3 had been broken at one time. From the size of the fissure, I’m speculating she’d been beaten about a year or so prior to her death.”
“Anything else?”
“The back of the woman’s cranium showed blunt force trauma strong enough to break her skull.”
“Good.”
“And #1?”
“Not much. I catalogued and photographed each bone and took dental molds of my two bodies, but I won’t know much more until after X-raying them.”
“Were you able to get any DNA?”
“I have a small sample from an extracted tooth from #1 and a little more from her femur. I asked Darla to take the DNA to the FDLE lab for analysis.”
“Good.”
A squeaky gurney rolled down the hallway, past her door. Another death. Kerry blew out a breath.
“Did that detective call with any names of missing persons?” she asked.
She crossed her fingers on both hands, hoping for the best. Stupid superstition, but her mom had been afraid of black cats, cracks in the sidewalk, and full moons, and had passed on that superstition.
If Hunter had a possible name for any of the victims, he might also find a photo of the victim. Then, she could superimpose the photograph over the skull’s X-ray to see if the two matched.
“Not yet.”
Too bad. It was agonizing to have a loved one missing and never know what happened to them—like her brother. Long ago she lost hope of ever finding him, and a band constricted around her heart. Don’t go down that dark tunnel again or this time I might not emerge.
Pushing back her nightmare, Kerry took a long sip of her now cooled coffee and stared at the next set of bones.
John picked up a femur from #3’s body, twirled it around in his fingers, and nodded to #1. “Looks like the time of death is roughly the same for these two. You agree?”
She retrieved the femur John was manhandling and replaced it on the stainless tabletop with care. “I need to do a few more tests, but from my preliminary observation, I believe they died within a few months of each other.”
“When I complete work on my two victims, I’ll send the results over,” John said. “Hopefully, I can figure out their cause of death.”
Kerry ran a hand along the smooth cold metal. “I did notice one thing. Jane Doe #1’s facial bones had only begun to heal from reconstructive surgery. Could her cause of death be an infection resulting from that operation?”
His brows rose. “If so, why not bury her in a coffin?”
“Good point. I’m so frustrated, I’m not thinking straight. I guess I’m desperate for some clues.”
Dr. Ahern chuckled softly and shook his head. “Not all deaths we investigate are t
he result of foul play.”
“They are when all four bodies are near each other in shallow graves.”
“True.” He tapped the end of the table with his finger. “I won’t keep you any longer.” He’d walked halfway to the door before he spun around. “Good job at the site yesterday. You handled yourself very professionally.”
He left before she could even say thank you, or before she could ask why he sounded so surprised. The depressing sadness of her find blocked out the expected rush of pride from his compliment.
By five, she couldn’t concentrate anymore. It was time to head home. She cleaned up, tossed her paper gown in the disposal unit, and headed out the front door. Pedestrians scurried down the street as cars whipped by in front of the building.
Gas fumes mixed with the sweltering heat sucked her breath away. Maybe taking a job in Florida in the summer wasn’t such a good idea after all.
Just as she crossed the street to the parking lot, her cell rang. It must be Grandpa wondering why his dinner wasn’t on the table yet.
Her gaze shot to the phone display. It wasn’t her grandfather, nor did she recognize the number. Her thumb hovered over the button to turn off the ringer, certain it had to be a wrong number since she hadn’t been in town long enough to know anyone.
Oh, what the hell. “Hello?”
“Dr. Herlihy?”
The voice on the phone sounded familiar. “Yes?” Kerry tried to put a name to the deep, rich tone.
“This is Detective Markum. Do you have a moment?”
She was surprised she hadn’t recognized his smooth timbre. “Sure.”
“I know it’s the end of the day, but is it possible for you to stop by the station? I have a theory I want to pass by you.
3
As Kerry entered the sheriff’s station, a somber young man sitting behind a worn desk glanced up. “May I help you?”
“I’m here to see Detective Markum.”
As the officer typed something into his computer, Kerry studied the place. Officers sat at desks, phones pressed against their head while computers clicked away. Busy place, even at six p.m. The office didn’t look anything like the snazzy FBI offices on television. Those were classy. This place needed a coat of new paint and some air freshener. The old building had some serious mold issues.
“Dr. Herlihy.”
Kerry spun around. Red veins were visible in Markum’s intense blue eyes, but an inner strength radiated around him. “Hello.”
Her pulse sped up. Don’t do this. No doubt he’s married. Her gaze shot to his ring finger. While it was bare, she detected a faint line where a ring had been. Was he divorced, or had he forgotten to slip the band on today. It made no sense to wear it to a crime scene. “Thank you for coming.”
He came across as proper and professional. Good. If he’d flirted, she wouldn’t have known how to respond.
Fortunately, she didn’t have to worry about that since his gaze didn’t even linger. He turned and strode down the hallway.
Was she just supposed to follow like a puppy? His footsteps echoed further down the hall. Guess so. Even at five foot eleven, she had to take long strides to keep up with him. He stopped in front of a door, held it open, and swept an arm for her to go in. At least he had manners.
The stark white room smelled of fresh paint. Hmm. It contained a rectangular table covered in a brown laminate, four straight back chairs, a television with a VCR, and a much-used dry erase board. On the table were photos of the human skeletons she’d helped unearth.
“Please have a seat.”
As Kerry sat, she couldn’t take her eyes off the pictures lined up in a neat row on the table. While she’d dug up the women, she’d been on automatic pilot and hadn’t considered the rather obvious pattern.
She waited for him to say something. When he pressed his lips together, she shifted her focus to the photos and studied them. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice how spread apart their legs were.”
“I didn’t either until I viewed them side by side.” Pain rippled through his voice. “Is there any way, forensically, you can tell if these woman were raped?”
Raped?
Dear God. What had these women endured before their deaths? No one deserved to die this way.
“Not for the first two women. Hipbones won’t show signs of sexual trauma and the semen would be long gone. While #2 had some soft tissue on the lower part of her body, there wasn’t enough to determine any molestation. Our only hope is this one.” She pointed to the last body found. “I’ll pass your concern to Dr. Ahern. Perhaps the autopsy will reveal something.”
Detective Markum nodded, and then opened another folder containing snapshots of women alive at the time. “I pulled all of the Missing Person’s files from the last eighteen months that meet the description of the victims. Didn’t you say you could superimpose an X-ray of the skull on top of the photo to see if there’s a match?”
“Yes, but this assumes the angle of the two faces is the same. I can scan the photo and resize it to match the X-ray, but if the head is angled differently, the comparison will be difficult. I should be able to tell you which of the women couldn’t be one of our victims.”
He dragged a hand down over his jaw. “Where does that leave us?”
“With not much. I can do a dental comparison if you can obtain dental records, but that assumes you know their identity. If they do match, and you want absolute proof, then perhaps a relative has an old hairbrush belonging to the victim we can match against the person’s DNA.”
He drummed his fingers on the table. His gaze shot down to the left, as if he were planning his next move. “What about the metal plates you found in the bodies?” He flipped open his notebook.
She couldn’t recall what she’d told him. “I thought I mentioned they can’t be traced to a specific person?”
“Then they’re no help at all.”
“That’s not entirely true.” She leaned forward, happy to be discussing academics, rather than the women themselves. “Suppose we believe the body is say, a Linda Richards, from Newport, Florida. We find proof she underwent facial surgery in Newport Hospital. If that hospital never bought any plates from our distributor, we’d know we have the wrong woman.”
He leaned back in his chair. Deep lines etched his forehead. “Then we need to find the right woman.”
“Eventually we will.”
He huffed. “How can you be so sure? We have almost nothing to go on but a bunch of old bones.”
“Hey. Those old bones can tell a powerful story.”
He held her gaze, studying her. “Tell me, how did you ended up in this line of business?”
His change of subject took her by surprise, but he truly sounded interested in the answer. “It’s not a business to me. I want to help people, help the families who lost someone they loved.”
He waved a hand. “Bad word choice. Why forensic anthropology?” The detective leaned forward, his eyes wide.
His attention made her uncomfortable, but if they were to work together, she wanted him to understand how much her job meant to her.
“I had an older brother who ran with the wrong crowd. He did drugs, gambled, raced fast cars, you name it, he did it. When he was twenty-three, he disappeared.”
Hunter Markum’s brow furrowed. “He never surfaced?” His eyes turned a darker blue, as if he’d lost someone he loved.
“No.”
“I’m sorry. How old were you when he disappeared?”
Normally, personal questions unnerved her, but his question didn’t seem invasive. “Eight.”
“That must have been tough. Did the police have any leads?”
“No. Nothing.”
His jaw clenched. “How did your parents take his disappearance?”
Kerry looked deep into his eyes. Many men had asked her questions but only as a vehicle for her to accept an invitation for a date. Hunter could be like the others, but her intuition told her otherwise.
; She hesitated. Kerry had never spoken about Keith to anyone outside the family.
“Mom never accepted Keith’s death. Every holiday, she keeps a place at the table for him in the hopes he’ll return. She blamed Keith’s bad behavior on my father’s divorcing her two years earlier.”
“How did your dad handle Keith’s disappearance?”
“We never discussed it. To this day, my sister and I haven’t talked about what might have happened. It’s as if Keith never existed.”
“That’s a shame. One should never forget a family member.” He swallowed hard.
Before she had a chance to question him back, Hunter pulled the photos of the woman toward him and placed them in a folder. “Did you decide to help other victims locate their relatives so they wouldn’t have to suffer like you did?”
Kerry nearly lost her breath as her stomach did a little somersault. “Yes.”
Hunter reached out and squeezed her hand. Even though heat rushed up her arm, she shuttered her emotions. “Then we will find out the names of these women. You have my word.”
Answer the damn phone. He paced outside Kerry’s lab, debating if he should do something with the bones—like steal them.
“Yeah?” Loud mall-like voices sounded in the background.
Leaning against the cold, cement wall, he checked to make sure no one was within close range. “They found the bodies,” he whispered.
“What bodies?”
“What do you mean what bodies?” With Kerry gone for the day, he punched in the code to enter.
“Tell me exactly what happened.” A young child screamed in the background.
“Apparently, the dirt washed away one of the bodies and the cops got wind of it. Our office was called in, along with some new forensic anthropologist who unearthed all four bodies.”
“Shit. Did he learn anything?”
“It’s a she. After seven months I’m not sure what she’ll find. Two of the women are in autopsy. Kerry, the anthropologist, sent DNA from one of the women to FDLE today. It’s only a matter of time before they come up with something.” His grip tightened on the phone. “You said you were careful.”