by Vella Day
Kerry wrapped her arms around her stomach, the sour sickness in her gut rising in her throat. She covered her mouth, slowly inhaling and exhaling until the feeling faded. What had she gotten herself into?
The oven timer dinged. Dinner. No way could she eat now, but for Melissa’s sake, she’d have to put up a cheerful front.
Melissa came running into the kitchen and plopped down at the table. “I’m ready. Grandpa Hardy made me wash my hands again after I petted the dog.” She held up her clean hands as proof.
Mustering as much composure as she could, Kerry served dinner while Hunter remained out of sight. His tense voice filtered in, but she couldn’t make out the words.
He returned just as she piled food on Melissa’s plate.
If Hunter’s daughter hadn’t asked a million questions, the dinner conversation would have been nil. Thank goodness, Grandpa ran with the ball and satisfied Melissa’s curiosity about life. Kerry wished she could have given Melissa her full attention, because the little girl deserved so much more.
Once everyone finished, Kerry dumped her uneaten meal into the disposal. “Let’s clean up, Melissa, so we can take you home.” She hated how her voice wavered. She could only keep up the upbeat mood for so long.
After she and Melissa finished, Kerry slipped into her bedroom to pack for a longer stay. She hadn’t brought much to Hunter’s on the first go around—wishful thinking on her part that Hunter would catch the guy within the week.
On autopilot, she stuffed her clothes into two suitcases. She refused to think how long she needed to be away from her grandfather.
She dragged herself out to the living room, lugging both her large cases.
Grandpa and Hunter were shaking hands. “Take good care of her, Hunter.”
“I will.”
Kerry kissed her grandfather’s cheek. “I’ll call you.”
Hunter brushed his fingers on her arm. “If you do call, it’ll have to be from work. We don’t want anyone tracing your calls to our new location.”
After they stopped back at Hunter’s house for his and Melissa’s clothes, they headed to Jen’s. Kerry watched Hunter check the rear view mirror time and time again, his thumb and fingers playing some silent tune on the steering wheel.
Damn. Her confidence melted with each of his glances. On red alert, Kerry too, eyed every driver who passed by. It didn’t matter no one paid attention to them. Her anxiety refused to go away.
They’d driven about fifteen minutes in silence when he reached across the seat and touched her hand. “You going to be okay?”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?” She didn’t need to let him know how scared she was. He’d probably insist she stay away from work, which she’d refused to do.
More than ever, Kerry was determined to identify these women—even if it was the last thing she did.
“It’s okay to be afraid, you know. Actually, it’s a good thing. It keeps you on your toes. Keeps you smart.”
The man was a mind reader. Talk about scary. She turned her head toward the side window so he wouldn’t see the tear trickle down her cheek.
Five minutes later, Hunter pulled into his sister’s drive, and cut the engine. “Come on.”
“I can stay out here. Are you going to be long?”
“No, but there’s no telling who’s out there.”
Kerry swiped her cheek dry. She twisted around and checked the back seat. The precious child was sound asleep.
“Do you think Melissa is safe at your sister’s?”
“Jen’s husband is with the Special Forces. He’s on leave for the next month and promised he wouldn’t let her out of his sight.”
He opened the back door of the cruiser and picked up his sleeping daughter as Kerry grabbed Melissa’s small suitcase. His daughter snuggled in Hunter’s arms. Kerry was going to miss the energetic little girl.
Before Hunter’s finger reached the bell, Jen pulled open the door. Worry lined her face. Her gaze shot to Kerry and smiled.
The resemblance between Hunter and his sister was remarkable. Both were tall with a golden skin tone. Each had an athletic build, though Hunter was all muscle and Jen’s weight was more evenly distributed.
“You must be Kerry. Come in.”
For the first time in days, Kerry relaxed.
Kerry decided Cade’s cabin and the surrounding acreage was probably beautiful, but in the dark, the moss hanging from the trees looked like evil fingers reaching out to grab her. The area gave her the creeps, but she didn’t want to make Hunter’s life more miserable by complaining.
Thank goodness he’d parked in front of the house and not by the large barn that sat off to the side. A bare bulb glared from the top of the large wooden structure, casting spooky shadows on the building.
“What’s in there?” she asked, pointing to the barn. Kerry climbed out of the front seat not letting her gaze wander from the mystery building. She had no idea why she needed to know, but the old place reminded her of Halloween—not the candy part, but the bad part.
“Cade is an old car buff. He restores classics.”
“Oh.”
Not evil at all. The dark must be making her mind imagine all sorts of things. Rather strange for a person who digs up bones for a living. She should be used to creepy things. Kerry inhaled deeply to help her relax. The air was sweet with jasmine, along with a hint of pine.
Her eyes adjusted to the darkness as she studied the large lake that bordered the property. The half moon glinted off the water and a few well-lit homes winked in the darkness far across the lake.
Hunter said nothing more as he carried his suitcase and one of hers into the house. She followed, lugging the other case.
Once inside, cool air met her. The relief of being out of sight helped calm her.
Hunter pointed to the small galley style kitchen they passed as they entered the cozy living room. “Cade told me he stocked the kitchen already. He made an extra trip up this evening and bought more food. Remind me to buy him a good bottle of scotch.”
“That was very generous of him, especially since you only called him a few hours ago.”
“That’s Cade for you. He’s the most proactive person I know.”
Kerry put her suitcase on the scuffed wooden living room floor and looked around. The furniture was old but functional. One plaid couch, two leather chairs, a coffee table and two bookcases, filled to the brim with books, took up the entire living room. A small television was perched on top of a metal stand.
“You can stay in Cade’s sister’s room. I’ll take Cade’s room.”
“I don’t care if I have to sleep on the floor. Right now, I’m having a hard time standing.”
“Come on. I’ll show you where you can put your things. You can freshen up first if you want. There’s only one bathroom.”
One bathroom? Yikes. That might put a bit of a strain on their relationship.
Phil leaned back in his office chair and glanced over at Gina talking to Janet Hill, a vice squad detective. He had to hand it to her. During the first three weeks of her internship, Gina hadn’t once mentioned she wanted to quit. He admired her spunk. However, she had yet to be exposed to the nasty side of death.
Harold Reismann, a gawky new recruit, dropped a folder on Phil’s desk. “Lab results from the tool mark found at the gravesite just arrived.”
“Oh yeah? What does it say?”
“I dunno. Boss just asked me to deliver it.”
“You didn’t peek?” Harold already had proven himself to be the department snoop. “You know the case has earned quite a lot press. It isn’t every day we have a possible serial killer on the loose.”
“I know.” Red rushed up his face. “Okay, I did look, but only a little. The report mentioned something about a shovel, but that didn’t seem very earth shattering.”
Gina was convinced the long, smooth mark on the side of #1’s grave belonged to a shovel owned by Willie Wyble. Not that she�
��d seen Wyble anywhere near a shovel, but her gut told her he’d dug the grave. She wasn’t willing to go so far as to claim he’d killed anybody. She liked him for some reason. It was the whole cheer for the underdog thing, she’d said.
Phil grabbed the envelope from his desk, undid the clasp and read the report. Apparently, the shovel used to dig the grave had a bent corner. Other than that, it had no distinguishing marks. No brands were listed. It sounded like a dead end to him.
“Does it help?” Harold asked, as he shifted his weight from side to side and shoved his hands in his pockets.
“Doubt it.” Phil skipped to the next page. “Oh, here we go. They processed a belt loop I found near #3’s grave.”
“Do you think it belonged to the killer?” The guy’s voice rose half an octave.
“No telling. It came from a pair of Wrangler Jeans though.”
“Oh. So nothing real good.”
“Nope.”
Pimply-faced Harold dragged back to the hole he’d come from just as Gina walked over. Phil had been angry about the babysitting job at first, but she was proving herself rather astute. Not to mention hot.
“What’s up?” she asked, leaning a hip on his desk. Her skirt rode up on her thigh.
He’d reached his limit. She was a siren determined to get him in bed, but Phil was no dummy. Sleep with Gina—lose his job. He tugged on her skirt, but the fabric didn’t budge.
“Hey.” She swatted his hand away and leaned over. “You sure you want to go there?” One eyebrow lifted. “Taking my clothes off in public, Detective Tedesco, can be quite dangerous.”
“I was doing quite the opposite.”
Her sly smile almost made him forget about the shovel and the belt loop. “You are incorrigible.”
As he was about to toss back a comment, Phil glanced up at the sound of pounding feet. “Ah, Gina. I think there’s someone’s here to see you.”
Gina’s uncle slipped around some desks and barreled right up to her. Jack Andries tapped her shoulder. Gina turned around and lost the color in her face. She was on her feet in a flash.
“It’s not what you think,” she blurted out.
Jack’s lips curled downward. “We’ll talk later. Right now, I need to speak to Phil. Alone.”
17
Jack Andries faced Phil, his neck muscles straining. “We found Willie Wyble with a bullet in his head. I want you to be principal on this one.”
Oh shit. “Tell me what you have.”
“The cemetery owner, Jeff Lamont, found the body under some trees. I don’t have any other details”.
“Thanks, Captain.”
The moment his boss slipped out of sight, Gina rushed up to him. “So?”
“I have a DB I need to investigate.”
“I want to go.”
“No.”
She clung to his arm. If Jack Andries happened to come back, his boss would have a fit if he found his niece all over him.
“How am I supposed to learn anything if you keep me away from all the fun?”
Phil figured one look at a smelly dead body and she’d puke. It would be the end of her short career, and his boss would be happy. “Fine.”
The moment she climbed in the cruiser, Gina started in on him again. “What did Uncle Jack say when I left? He was pissed, wasn’t he?”
“Ya think? You’re lucky he didn’t chain you to the chair because of what you’re wearing.” Phil glanced over at her. She tugged on the neckline of her top and pulled down her skirt. Enough said. “You sure you want to see a dead guy? It could be gruesome.”
“I’m not some delicate flower.”
He refused to comment and would reserve judgment for after the viewing.
In light traffic, they made it to the cemetery in under twenty minutes. Three cop cars were sitting in front of the main building, lights swirling. Jeff Lamont, the proprietor of the cemetery, was talking to Quay Desmond, Phil’s former partner. Good guy, but a little over the top in interrogation tactics.
“It’s show time,” Phil sang as he crawled out of the driver’s seat.
The blistering heat caused instant sweat to pool under his arms. Gina smiled as she oozed out of the car. “So where is he?”
“Gotta ask first.” Phil approached Quay. Gina followed right behind. “Whatcha got?”
“Why don’t I let Mr. Lamont tell you?” Quay said. No rancor in his tone, but Phil wasn’t naïve enough to think their rift was over.
Phil directed his gaze at Lamont. “The report said you found the body.”
“Yes. I saw the front loader at the edge of the cemetery. That doesn’t look good for the digger to be in plain sight, especially when we were about to have a viewing, so I went over to investigate. I admit I kind of panicked when I saw a foot sticking out from under some low lying branches.”
Understandable. “Did you touch the body?”
“Kind of. There was a lot of blood, so I felt for a pulse.” He shook his head once. “I was hoping he’d cut himself and had just passed out, but I didn’t find any signs of life.
“Can you show us where you found him?”
“Sure. Let me get the golf cart. It’s quite a walk.” The cemetery proprietor whipped out a handkerchief and wiped his damp brow as he headed toward the large cement building. Being excessively overweight must be a bitch in late June.
“Mind if I tag along?” Quay asked.
“Sure. I can’t quite get a handle on Lamont’s agenda. You know Jack Andries’ golden rule—safety in numbers.”
“Oh, yeah, and you always did follow rules.”
Phil caught the sarcasm in his tone. “I do when it suits me.”
Quay chuckled. “By the way, I talked to the gardener. He didn’t see or hear anything.”
“Maybe the shooter used a silencer.”
Quay shrugged. “The lab will be able to confirm or deny that theory.”
“Did you call the M.E.?”
“On his way.”
“Good.”
Quay seemed to have overcome his two-year snit. Had Phil known Courtney was dating Quay, he never would have asked her out. Friends didn’t snake dates from each other. He’d apologized, but Quay wouldn’t forgive him.
Lamont rolled up in a golf cart, and the three of them climbed in. The bumpy drive took only a few minutes to reach the crime scene. Yellow police tape ringed the backhoe and small wooded area.
Arms crossed, Officer Ricardo stood watch, his face sheet white. Phil nodded to his fellow officer. “Jose.”
Ricardo stepped into the shade. Gina stayed on the cart while Phil and Quay examined the backhoe. Blood spatter on the seat neatly outlined the shape of a head. The shattered front glass implied the shooter stood in front of the victim when he took aim.
“If he was shot here,” Gina said, “why move the body?”
Phil whipped around. He hadn’t heard her approach. “You’ll have to ask the killer, though it’s possible he wasn’t dead on impact.”
Gina slinked closer, looking cool and calm, despite the heat and the blood bath on the tractor and ground. “Unless the killer thought someone might come and investigate. If Willie Wyble was slumped over the wheel, it might draw more attention.”
“I think the blood spatter would be a dead giveaway something was wrong.”
She punched him in the arm. Guess she didn’t like sarcasm. Welcome to the force.
Wanting to examine the body, he stepped over to the prone corpse. No need to ask Gina to join him, she’d be right behind him.
They ducked under the low-lying magnolia tree branches that gave some relief from the heat. Wyble’s body was half under the tree, half out. From the body’s position, Wyble could have fallen off his seat, and then crawled ten feet to his death.
Phil squatted behind the body. “These look like claw marks, like he pulled himself under the tree.”
Quay joined him. “We’ll need forensics out here, but I have to agree with you on this one.” He shook his head. “
How Wyble could move after being shot in the head is a mystery to me.”
“The body can do some amazing things.”
Gina knelt next to the body. Willie’s right eye was dangling out of its socket where the bullet had entered. How could Lamont have thought Willie might have survived such an injury?
Dried blood covered the top part of Wyble’s face, and flies were swarming around the gapping holes, enough to gag a seasoned cop. Phil expected her to puke. Instead, she reached toward Willie’s fingers. On reflex, Phil yelled, “Don’t touch him. As a matter of fact, we need to stay away from him until the medical examiner and crime scene unit do their thing.”
She looked up at him. “I wasn’t going to touch him. I wanted to see what he’d written.”
“Written?” Phil and Quay inched closer.
Gina pointed to the ground. “Looks like a D and then an o.”
Phil had to agree. “Let’s let the CSU team photograph it. With the enhancement software, they might be able to make out the third letter. Good catch.”
Gina smiled and lust grabbed him hard. Not the right response in this situation, but God, she was getting to him.
Kerry walked down the hallway to Dr. Quentin Dobbins’ autopsy room. John had mentioned Dr. Dobbins had agreed to do the workup on the infant they’d found. Now that Tameka Dorsey and Janet Kopetski had been identified, and #4’s face was in front of the public, Kerry wanted to focus on the remains of the little girl. If John couldn’t confirm #4’s cause of death, she’d investigate the woman’s bones more thoroughly.
It sickened her to think she might never be able to identify #3. The killer had stolen her skull.
Nothing she could do about the theft now. The sheriff’s department was working on the case. Her job now was to identify the baby. No mother should wonder about the fate of her child.
Hunter had pulled all the missing person files of infants for the past year, but none came close to the description of Baby Doe. She couldn’t help but wonder if someone had smothered the girl in order to keep her from crying. Or had the baby died of some horrible disease? Had the parents wanted to cover up her death because they’d failed to act in time to save her?