Flowers on Her Grave

by Jennifer Chase

  Katie gasped and took a step backward. McGaven with her. It appeared to be a woman’s left hand, shriveled and waxy, remnants of pink fingernail polish on the tip of the blackened nails. There was a simple gold wedding band on the ring finger.

  “Do you think?…” McGaven said softly.

  “Don’t know until it’s examined,” she said. “But… it’s most likely hers.”

  Katie knocked loudly. She opened the flimsy screen door and knocked again on the front door. She tried the doorknob and it was locked. “Go around the house and I’ll go around the other way. I’ll meet you in the back.” She gestured.

  McGaven nodded as Katie retraced her steps to peer inside the windows. She couldn’t see anything through the thick layer of dirt and grime, so continued back to the driveway, moving with stealth and alertness, taking in everything around her.

  She met McGaven at the back door. He shook his head. On the ground near the back door, there were pieces of heavy electrical tape, rope, and a kitchen towel covered with large dark marks.

  “Can you see in that window?” she asked McGaven because it was too high for her to see inside and McGaven was taller. Up on his toes, he peered inside for a moment then slowly moved backward. His face told an entire story.

  “What?” she asked.

  “It’s the bedroom,” he said. “There’s a body on the bed.”

  Taking two steps backward, she lurched and stomp-kicked the back door, shattering it on the hinges. It cracked, but didn’t fully release. She kicked it again and the door opened. Katie rushed over the threshold and was immediately hit with the stench of death. She tried to ignore it. She heard McGaven cough behind her.

  There were remnants of severely spoiled food on the kitchen counter and small dining table with some basic white dishes stacked as if waiting to be set for dinner. Katie led the way toward the bedroom as the stench intensified. She covered her mouth and nose with one hand and kept her breathing shallow. She almost tripped over a dead cat on the floor in the hallway, stretched out and bloated like a macabre balloon animal, but she pushed on, knowing a worse sight awaited her in the bedroom.

  Lying on the bed were the decomposing remains of a woman wearing a sundress. Both her hands were missing and the side of her skull was caved in. Her body was black and putrefied, the gases and purge fluid all leaked out over time causing the body to collapse. All that was left of her was the pretty dress over fermenting flesh and bone.

  “Is it her?” McGaven said. His voice was hoarse but he tried to keep himself professional and focused.

  “I can’t say for sure, even with the photo on her driver’s license. Don’t touch anything, but let’s walk back through the house.”

  “The big question,” said McGaven, when they were back outside, gulping in fresh air, “is where is Sam Stiles?”

  Katie walked farther out into the backyard. She didn’t answer right away, gazing out at the large acreage, deep in thought. Slowly she turned and walked back to McGaven. “He’s here,” she finally said.

  “Here? Where?”

  “Removing that woman’s hands is a sign. It’s a warning. The woman in there hasn’t been dead for five years. I’m no medical examiner, but I would guess she’s been dead months, not years.”

  “What about Stiles?”

  “I think he was killed the day he left.”

  “So you’re saying, let me get this straight, that Stiles and Natalie got married the same day he supposedly disappeared. He was murdered, we don’t know why or where his body is, but his new bride was murdered years later.”

  “Well, yeah, but we don’t have all the evidence yet.”

  McGaven thought about it and looked around the property. “Why kill Natalie? Why leave a calling card by severing her hands?”

  “The garbage bag was obviously left by mistake. Why, I cannot figure out.”

  “So what you’re saying, you think someone came here specifically wanting to kill the couple.”

  “I may be off by a little, but this is what I think happened: Natalie and Stiles got married, low-key, probably at the court house and, for whatever reason—it’s easy to check—he didn’t show up at the house. Maybe she went on an errand? Maybe Stiles went out to get something for her? I think Stiles met with a violent end—just theorizing he owed the mob money from gambling. Or something like that. But Natalie never knew what happened to him, but stayed here, but again, for some reason, the killers came back and murdered her—it’s got the hallmarks of a mob-style hit. I know it sounds a little rattled when I explain it.” Katie thought for a moment. “I can’t imagine how devastating it must have been for Natalie not knowing—she probably searched for him.”

  “We really don’t know exactly what happened but…” he said.

  “But…?” Katie gazed out at the acreage.

  “You getting that gut thing again?” he said.

  “That brings me back to… I think Sam Stiles is here. It makes sense. No one would ever find him. The couple obviously got married without telling anyone. He’s here. The more I think about it—it’s the perfect way to get rid of his body. He didn’t run off. He’s here,” she said adamantly.

  “Where? Here?” McGaven said.

  “No… here,” she said and gestured to the large seventeen-acre parcel.

  “You know once we call in the police and forensics that they aren’t going to search that area,” he said.

  “Yeah, I know, but they would if we found something that would provoke a search,” she said.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “Bring Cisco to sweep the area, and if there’s nothing then no big deal,” she said.

  Nodding, he said, “I like it. Just to make sure, because when they arrive, we’re off the case.”

  “Exactly, and Sam Stiles will never be found.”

  “It’s a gamble.”

  “It’s not a gamble when you’re conducting due diligence.”

  * * *

  Katie had quickly changed her clothes into casual jeans and T-shirt before she picked up Cisco at the sheriff’s department K9 kennels. Her energy heightened Cisco’s concentration as he whined and spun in circles on the back seat.

  “Easy there, buddy,” said McGaven as they returned to the house on Garden Way for the second time that day.

  Katie jumped out of the vehicle and hooked up Cisco’s long search leash with a padded harness. McGaven watched quietly, keeping a good distance behind them so as not to intermingle his scent with the one she wanted the dog to find.

  Cisco was amped, taking in everything around him.

  When they walked around the house to the back door Cisco hesitated and backed away slightly, obviously catching the scent of death. But Katie urged him on, directing him to the bloody towel, careful not to touch it, while she encouraged Cisco to catch the scent. Her plan was to allow Cisco to search the large property to find anything connecting the scent on the towels.

  Katie decided that they would search the closest areas first. It would be more likely that if someone killed Stiles, they would bury his remains somewhere near to the entrance, to save time.

  Katie stepped into the first search area and did a slow three-hundred-sixty-degree turn. There were no houses or barns overlooked from the neighbors. It was a textbook place to bury a body without being seen. Several clusters of trees surrounded the area. It appeared that it would be a perfect spot to grow a garden: flat, lush soil, and lots of sun. She gave Cisco the command to get to work, though she knew from his body language that he was already on to something. Cisco’s body tensed, head down, tail down with a slight upward curl at the end. His ears pushed forward and his nose was close to the ground, moving back and forth. German shepherds have a distinct way of searching that is organized and methodical.

  Katie kept the dog on a lead about ten feet in front of her, noticing that the soil was soft and sandy, making it difficult to navigate easily. Giving Cisco a bit more lead, Katie wanted to keep him on the same track. They c
overed the first area and then hurried to the second. She quietly hoped that the dog wasn’t tracking a squirrel or fox instead of the scent from the bloody towel.

  Katie glanced back and saw McGaven waiting patiently at the entrance of the house, upwind from Cisco’s tracks, but watching Katie’s back in case there was trouble.

  After about fifteen minutes, Katie was about to give Cisco a break and some water when he stopped abruptly and began digging at the soil. She stopped him, commanding “platz,” to make him get down and stay in his position. She moved closer to the loose dirt as Cisco let out a slight whine to indicate he’d found something of importance. Kneeling down, Katie ran her fingertips through the soil but found nothing. Digging deeper, she paused as something caught the light. She scooped up a handful of dirt, sifting it through her fingers until a shell casing appeared in the palm of her hand. Gold and copper colored with a dark end; it was clearly a .38 shell casing from a gun. Katie kept digging and found two more. She didn’t touch them with her hands—not wanting to disturb any evidence.

  It was difficult to estimate how long they had been there, but it would be much too close to the road and house for a shooting range or a hunting area. Katie stood up. “Good boy, Cisco,” she said and gave him a quick pat. “Found something,” she hollered to McGaven.

  Jogging over, he said, “What?”

  “Looks like .38 shell casings—three of them. I touched one, but left the others for CSI.”

  “Do you think that Stiles’s body is out here—or buried here?”

  “Don’t know, but I think there’s enough evidence now to warrant digging for it,” she said. “Let’s put in the call—it’s time for the three-ring circus. I guess our cold case is hot again and we’re going to have to sit this one out.”

  “You don’t know that for sure,” he said.

  “Oh yeah. The first thing they’ll do is tell me to go home.”

  They walked back to their car and McGaven put in the call for a homicide detective and forensics. All Katie could do was stand there and wait for the sheriff’s department to show up—and then helplessly watch as they investigated her crime scene.

  Twenty

  Tuesday 2145 hours

  Just as Katie predicted, Detective Hamilton was officially assigned to the homicide case and Katie’s and McGaven’s assistance was no longer needed—they were ordered by Undersheriff Martinez to turn over everything they had on the case before the end of the day.

  Katie went home not long after Hamilton and John arrived and got to work. John had suggested that he could use a GPR machine—a ground penetrating radar that could be run on the surface of the ground to see any anomalies underneath—to search for Sam Stiles. He would look out for any disturbance of soil resembling the approximate size of a human body.

  Now home curled up on the couch with a quilt, Katie napped and woke several times. She was mentally and physically exhausted, but her mind still kept running all types of scenarios about Samuel Stiles. She tried to read for a while, but nothing held her interest.

  “Oh, Cisco, how can you sleep?” She stroked the jet-black shepherd as he snoozed peacefully next to her. “Such a good boy,” she whispered.

  Her cell phone dinged to alert her to a text message from John:

  Found a body—no ID, but fits the basic description of Sam Stiles. Looks like three gunshot wounds—one to the head and two to the chest. Your instincts were spot on.

  Katie set the cell phone down. She was pleased but it wasn’t her case anymore. The hard work that both she and McGaven had done now belonged on the desk of Detective Hamilton beside her aunt’s case. How much time was he allotting to each? she wondered.

  Her cell phone rang.

  “Scott,” she said when she saw it was McGaven.

  “Hey, I don’t know if you heard,” he said.

  “Stiles’s body was found—but not identified officially yet.”

  “Yeah,” he said slowly. “I turned everything we had over to Hamilton about an hour ago.”

  “Thanks for that.”

  “Not a problem. What are partners for?” he said trying to sound upbeat. “You okay? You aren’t alone, are you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why don’t I believe you?”

  “Cisco isn’t nobody.”

  “If you’re up for company, Denise and I can come over. We could watch a movie—I’d even agree to a romance.”

  Katie smiled. It was a nice invitation, but she wasn’t up for company. “Thank you, but I’m going to bed early to get some sleep.”

  “That’s probably the best idea. Then it’s back to the drawing board with a new case.”

  Katie didn’t say anything—she wanted to finish the case she had started, but it was reassuring that Mrs. Stiles might, at least, have some closure.

  “Katie?”

  “Yeah.”

  “All this will work out. You know it will…”

  Katie felt tears welling up but she pushed them back. “Thanks, McGaven, I appreciate that.”

  “You’ll see. If you need anything… anything… we’re there for you.”

  “Thanks, McGaven.” She ended the call.

  Katie was sick and tired of feeling miserable and filled with grief. She wanted to move forward to find out who killed her aunt, to free her uncle and make the right person pay. There hadn’t been any word from Nick, but that didn’t mean anything. It was going to take time, even more now she knew that Detective Hamilton was working the Stiles case, taking precious manpower away from her aunt’s homicide.

  The clock was ticking.

  Her phone rang again. Glancing at the display it wasn’t a number she recognized; she answered it.

  “Hello?”

  “Ms. Scott, this is Lawrence Ameretti.”

  “Yes, Mr. Ameretti. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m sorry for the late hour, but after hours of negotiation, the court has decided that your uncle can be released and put on house arrest until the trial.”

  Katie breathed a sigh of relief and closed her eyes. “He can come home?”

  “He can, but he’s adamant that he doesn’t want to go to his own home—at least not now—because of where the tragedy took place.”

  “He can stay with me. I have space and he’s comfortable here.”

  “That’s great. I’ll have the papers prepared and I need you to come and pick him up from the jail tonight. Someone will be coming to the house with you to fit the ankle device and to set the parameters.”

  “I’ll be there. Thank you, Mr. Ameretti,” she said.

  “No thank you necessary.”

  “Has a court date been set?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “That’s good news, isn’t it?”

  “I can’t really answer that. The investigation is still underway and things seem to be changing daily.”

  “I’ll see you shortly.”

  Twenty-One

  Wednesday 0745 hours

  Katie only had a couple hours of sleep, but she was full of energy. After her uncle had arrived home with her last night, she got him settled in the guest room, which had once been her parents’ bedroom. It deeply saddened her that her upbeat and take-charge uncle was now just a shell of what he used to be. He barely spoke to her and averted eye contact. It was clear that he was grieving, not only for the loss of his wife, but also the unknown outcome of what would happen to his life.

  When she arrived at the sheriff’s department it was barely 6.30 in the morning but her office had already been stripped of all signs of their investigation work; the maps were gone with all the folders from the original case and their reports. It was depressing at first glance, but she kept her mind focused on the fact that she had done her job.

  She spent all morning seemingly poring over computer searches for their next cold case, when in fact she was actually trawling cases that her uncle had worked that might have resulted in disgruntled defendants and family members that might want to do him
harm. It was exhausting, but it felt important to her to be doing something to help him. She was determined to find something that she could use to clear his name—anything.

  There were two cases from fourteen years ago involving a drug ring that resulted in numerous complaints and threats. Four suspects had been arrested and spent eight years of their sentenced fifteen. During the penalty phase, one of the defendants had yelled “Detective Wayne Scott, you won’t live to see your next birthday.” It caused quite the uproar in the courtroom—and the media had a blast reporting on the incident. The convicted man had sliced his finger across his throat as he spoke. Katie wrote down, Clarence Warner, 57A 2nd Street along with the case number #WAR27857. Warner had been out of prison for about five years and had had ample time to stalk, study, and plan his murder—his revenge. Katie knew that it was a long shot, but she needed a list of people who would want to see her uncle framed and in prison for life.

  She also couldn’t ignore the incident with Paul Patton at the anniversary party. Was it just a drunken disagreement, or something deeper? Helpful as he was, something had seemed off when she had visited Patton to interview him about the Sam Stiles case; but to murder a man’s wife over a few heated words seemed extreme. Even so, Katie added him to her list.

  Looking at the time, she knew that McGaven would be arriving shortly. She put her things away and continued to search for a case to work, preferably one that her uncle had investigated. It would be a perfect cover for her to keep looking for evidence that might prove useful in solving her aunt’s murder. Printing a list of the top cases he worked that had gone cold, Katie also grabbed the top two boxes of cold cases that he had originally prioritized for her. Balancing the boxes, Katie used her foot to open the door to find John on the other side, staring at her.