by Tim Downs
Nick also knew something about grief: He knew that the worst way to have to face it was to just sit there and feel it until it finally cooled down like a dying fire and you succumbed to exhaustion and sleep. Alena needed something to do—she needed a distraction—and this was probably as good as any.
He caught a glimpse of motion to his right and looked; he saw the quick flash of a tail as a bass snatched an insect from just above the water and dove for safety. Good spot for fishing, Nick thought. Let’s hope it’s as good for us. There was a steady breeze blowing across the lake from northeast to southwest. They had divided the lake into quadrants and were covering one section at a time, keeping the boat pointed into the wind to allow the dog to pick up the scent as the breeze carried it forward. Nick knew the body could be almost anywhere, depending on how big a hurry the killer was in when he dumped it. He was hoping for a find in the shallow water near the shore. He knew the scent would be stronger there; the body would be easier for the dog to find and easier for the divers to recover. But they had already covered most of the shoreline without success; now they were in deeper water, and Nick didn’t know what Trygg’s detection threshold was. How deep was too deep? He had no idea; he just hoped that the dog’s psychic powers were operating at full strength that day.
“She needs a break,” Alena said suddenly, then rolled onto her back on the cut-pile carpet of the foredeck. Trygg immediately turned and jumped on top of her and the two of them began to play.
“You don’t have to do this,” she said to Nick without looking up.
“Do what?”
“Keep me out here while they’re digging up my father’s bones. That’s what you’re doing, isn’t it?”
Nick paused. “I suppose I could tell you, ‘It’s a long way back to shore—we might as well stay out here until we’re finished,’ but there’s no sense trying to lie to a witch. Yes, that’s exactly what I’m doing. You shouldn’t have to see that.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’ve been preparing for this since I was ten years old.”
“You know, down in Endor they say there’s a woman in the mountains who wanders the woods at night with a three-legged dog, searching for the soul of her father.”
Alena stopped and looked at him. “Did you ever wonder why I have a cadaver dog? Not many people do.”
“People keep some strange pets,” Nick said. “Me, I have giant hissing cockroaches from Madagascar.”
“My father disappeared when I was ten. There was a storm one night; he heard a noise in the woods and went to check on it. He never came back, and I never knew what happened to him—until last night. I found Trygg in an animal shelter in Nineveh—they were about to put her down. I walked up to her and said, ‘I need someone who can help me find my father.’ She looked at me and said, ‘I can learn to do that—that’s my gift.’ And she was right—she’s the best cadaver dog in the world.”
“It’s a good thing she wasn’t overly modest,” Nick said.
“Why should she be? If you’ve got a gift you should say so—you should put it to use. We’ve been over every square inch of our land together, and there’s a thousand acres of it. We did it at night when no one would see us. I always thought that one night—that I would be the one to—”
She stopped.
“She eats dogs too,” Nick said.
“What?”
“That’s another story I heard down in Endor. The woman in the mountains—she goes to animal shelters and feels all the puppies. She takes the fattest ones back to her lair and eats them—with their blood.”
“Who told you that?”
“Sorry—I have to protect my sources.”
“That’s disgusting. I check the puppies for congenital joint defects, that’s all. They told you I eat them?”
“That’s right.”
“With their blood?”
“I threw that part in. I thought the story needed something.”
“Thanks,” she said. “Those idiots don’t need your help.”
Nick watched while Alena and Trygg played together. Alena rolled back and forth and roughed up the fur on the back of the dog’s neck; she took off one of her bandannas and gave the dog the knotted end so they could play tug-of-war.
“Why do you do that?” Nick asked.
“What?”
“Wrestle around like that—you do it every time the dog finds a body. Why?”
“It’s her reward. It’s what she lives for.”
“Wrestling?”
“Play. Touch. Love—that’s what motivates her. She doesn’t care about finding bodies—she wants to please me and she wants to play. At the CETC they use a little white towel rolled up and taped at both ends. They have a room there with a whole wall full of holes. A trainer stands behind the wall with the towel; inside one of the holes is a sample of cocaine or heroin. When the dog detects the scent, he walks up to the hole and the man sticks the towel out—that’s the reward. The dog could care less about finding drugs; all he wants is the towel. That’s all the dog ever does—he spends his whole life searching for that little white towel. Funny, isn’t it?” She looked up at Nick. “What’s your little white towel?”
“I’ll have to give that one some thought,” he said. “What’s yours?”
“Finding my father’s body,” she said. “Now what?”
“Dogs are too easily pleased,” Nick said. “If I were a dog, I’d renegotiate my contract. I’d tell my trainer, ‘Hey, you sniff out the drugs and I’ll hand you a towel—see how you like that.’”
She laughed a little.
“You’ll be okay, Alena. You just need a new towel, that’s all.”
“Like what?”
“Like finding the man who killed your father.”
“I’d like that,” she said. “I’d like that a lot.” She released the dog and snapped her fingers, and the dog immediately resumed her position in the bow.
Nick looked out across the lake; they had been working most of the day and they had a lot of water still to cover. He tried to think like the killer: Where would he dump the body? There didn’t seem to be a logical place. He tried to imagine the body underwater: the bacteria running amok in the gut, producing methane and carbon dioxide that bubbled toward the surface in tiny specks of gas along with putrescine and cadaverine and the other malodorous by-products of death.
It seemed incredible to Nick that a dog could detect the chemicals in such tiny concentrations—but so can insects, he thought. Blowflies and flesh flies constantly hover in the sky, testing the air for tiny clusters of scent molecules, then follow the scent to the source. On a warm, clear day a blowfly can find a body within minutes of death—sometimes within seconds. If a fly can find a body, why not a dog?
A fly can find a body.
Nick looked to his right again and waited; a few seconds later he saw another splash of water in the same place as before. “Over there,” he said, working the pedals and bringing the boat around.
“Where?”
“There—see the ripples? Blowflies are picking up the same scent molecules that your dog is trying to find. The flies are coming in low, searching for the source, and the fish are picking them off.”
“Blowflies? How could a fly find the body before Trygg does?”
“Because there are thousands of them all over the lake and there’s only one of her. I’m lining up downwind from that spot—get Trygg to confirm the location for us.”
Nick approached the spot slowly; when he did, Trygg sniffed at the water and lay down.
“Bingo,” Alena said.
“I couldn’t have said it better.”
Nick dropped a weighted hand line into the water to take a sounding; when he felt the weight touch bottom he tied a red buoy to the other end and let it go. “C’mon,” he said. “Let’s get back to the others and tell them to send in those divers.” He tipped the trolling motor out of the water and started the outboard—fumes didn’t matter anymore.
32
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br /> “We found it,” Nick called out as he cut the engine and let the bow ride up onto the shore.
Danny pointed to the red speck bobbing in the distance. “Is that the spot?”
“That’s where the scent exits the water,” Nick replied. “The body should be nearby, but tell your divers they might have to do a little looking.”
“Why?”
“They have to do a little math: They have to consider the wind speed and the depth of the water, and then they can do a rough estimate of the location of the body—it’s in about thirty feet of water, by the way. But the current can move the scent around, and the deeper the water, the greater the margin for error. There’s no way around it, the divers will still have to search—but we’ve narrowed it down to a very specific area. It shouldn’t take them long.”
While the two men were talking, Alena stepped off the boat and headed directly for the excavation site. Kegan was seated at a small folding table covered with evidence bags and fragments of bone. She looked up at Alena as she approached and recognized her; she immediately stood up and covered the table with a plastic tarp.
“Ms. Savard, my name is Kegan Alexander. Thanks for your assistance today.”
“Are you the anthropologist? Are you the one who dug up my father’s bones?”
“I am,” Kegan said. “I’m so sorry.”
“What can you tell me? I want to know.”
“We’ll have to do a thorough examination of the remains before—”
“Don’t put me off. What can you tell me now?”
“I really don’t like to speculate.”
“Look—this is my father, and I’ve been searching for him since I was ten years old. I want to know what happened to him, and I don’t want to wait another second—okay? Now can you tell me how he died or not?”
Kegan paused. “Yes, I can.”
“Well?”
“He died from a blunt trauma wound—specifically, a blow to the back of the head.”
Alena pointed to the table. “Show me.”
“Ms. Savard, please—I really don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I think I should decide that, don’t you?”
“I’m not sure you’re in the right frame of mind to—”
“Show her,” Nick said, approaching from behind.
Kegan looked at him. “Are you sure?”
Nick put his arm around Alena’s shoulders and looked at her. “Are you?”
She nodded.
“Then show her,” he said. “She has a right to know.”
Kegan lifted the tarp from the table and revealed the collection of bones and plastic evidence bags containing remnants of clothing and samples of soil and a couple of unrecognizable objects encrusted with dirt and rust. Alena’s eyes went directly to the skull. She shuddered.
Nick pulled her in closer. “You okay?”
She mouthed the word okay, but nothing came out.
“Did your father have a dentist?” Kegan asked.
Alena nodded. “In Front Royal.”
“Good—then we might be able to get dental records. Do you have anything personal of your father’s? An old toothbrush? A hairbrush?”
“I have everything he owned—everything he used. I keep it all in sealed plastic bags to preserve the scent. I used it to train my dog to find him. Why?”
“We might be able to do a DNA match—to make a definite ID.”
“Please don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Hold out hope—I’m past that. This is my father—I think we both know that.” She put her index finger on her top right incisor; the same tooth on the skull had a gold cap. “He called it his ‘gold mine.’ He said I would inherit it if he ever . . .”
Her voice trailed off.
Nick silently held up one finger and made a small circular motion; Kegan turned the skull around to reveal a caved-in section on the back.
“It’s the same wound we found on the skulls at the Patriot Center,” she said. “A single, powerful blow to the back of the head caused by a blunt instrument—a club, a bat, something like that. Considering the similar ages of the skeletons, I think we’re talking about the same killer— he may have even used the same weapon. But there is one difference.”
“What’s that?”
Kegan looked at Alena. “I’ve estimated your father’s height at around six-foot-two. Is that about right?”
“Yes.”
She pointed to the wound. “Look at the position of the fracture on the skull—see how low it is?”
“So?”
“The blow was made by an overhead stroke—that’s the only way to generate enough force to fracture the skull. Now, you and I are about the same height—so if I brought a club down on your head, the fracture would be up high—near the crown. But Nick is taller, so if I took the same swing at his head, the wound would be low—just like it is here. The other four victims were all shorter than your father, so their wounds were all higher than this.”
“Then the killer must be a short man,” Nick said.
“Very short, I would say—but very powerful. It takes a lot of strength to deliver a blow like this.”
Alena began to unconsciously extend her hand toward the skull.
Nick took her arm and turned her to face him. “This could be a breakthrough,” he said. “Short and powerfully built—that’s a big addition to the killer’s profile.”
Alena looked back at the table; Kegan had already covered it with the tarp again. “What happens to my—what happens now?”
“Your father’s remains will be sent to the FBI crime lab for further analysis. Can you tell us precisely when your father disappeared?”
“The day, the month, and the year—the hour if you need it.”
“That could prove useful in helping us date the other skeletons. They’ve all been in the same soil, subject to the same temperatures and weather conditions. Can you describe what your father was wearing when he disappeared?”
“I can tell you exactly.”
“That will help when they’re doing the fiber analysis. Thank you, Ms. Savard—I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you, and you’ve been very helpful. When we’re finished with the analysis, the remains will be released to you for final disposition. Is that all right with you?”
She nodded blankly and looked up at Nick. “Take me home.”
“Sure.”
Alena looked around for Trygg; she glanced down at her feet and found her lying under the table. She squatted down and stroked the dog’s back. “She found him at last—but I think she knows. I think she’s as disappointed as I am.”
“C’mon—let’s get you home.”
On the way to the truck Nick’s cell phone rang; he pulled it out and answered it. “Nick Polchak.”
“Nick—it’s Carlyn down at UVA.”
“How’s it going down there?”
“Good. How did the ‘lake shaped like a dog’s leg’ turn out? Did you find it?”
“I sure did—I found the graveyard too. That was nice work, Carlyn— I owe you for that one.”
“Nothing says ‘thank you’ like a check.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Have you got anything else for me?”
“Well, that depends.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’ve hit a dead end on historical research. I’ve looked everywhere— I mean everywhere—and I just can’t find any further reference to historical graveyards in your area.”
“You didn’t call just to tell me that.”
“No, I didn’t. Remember when we first met? I told you the best place to look for that kind of information would be at the local library—and you said you’d already looked.”
“Endor Regional Library—it was my first stop.”
“Did you look carefully?”
“I asked the head librarian. She’s been there for fifty years—she knows every book in the place.”
“M
aybe not. I ran across a study done by the Virginia Historical Society about five years ago—it was an inventory of historical records in Virginia public libraries. Those grave registries are there, Nick—at least they were five years ago. I’d go back and ask that librarian again—or better yet, I’d look myself.”
Nick paused. “I think that’s a very good idea.”
“About that check.”
“It’s in the mail.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
“Thanks, Carlyn—if you get any more brainstorms like that, let me know.”
He closed the phone and looked at Alena. “We need to make a stop in Endor.”
She shook her head. “Not me.”
“It won’t take long. It should be dark by the time we get there—no one will see you.”
“You’ve told me that before. Take me home first—then you can go to Endor.”
“I don’t like the idea of you being alone—not right now.”
“I told you—”
“I know—you can take care of yourself.”
“I’m not going to Endor, Nick. You won’t change my mind—I will not set foot in that town.”
Nick shook his head. “Okay, you win. But I want you to promise me that you’ll stay in the trailer until I get back—and keep those dogs of yours close.”
“I always do.”
They started for the truck again when Nick heard a voice calling behind him.
“Nick! Wait up!”
He turned and saw Danny jogging toward them. He looked at Alena. “Why don’t you wait for me in the truck? I’ll only be a minute.”
Alena and Trygg went on ahead while Nick waited for Danny to catch up.
“Where are you two going?” Danny asked.
“I’m taking Alena home—she’s had a long day. Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on her.”