Dead, Without a Stone to Tell It

by Jen J. Danna

  His hands slipped from her shoulders to run down her ribs, his fingers only inches away from the sides of her breasts. Reaching out with one thumb, he stroked it over soft flesh, smiling against her lips at her soft intake of breath.

  He rose up on his forearms to look down at her, his gaze suddenly fixing on her jaw. He reached out with gentle fingers to trace the length of an angry red scratch that followed her jaw line before bending to feather his lips over it. “Is that from chasing—”

  “No more talking.” Leigh’s hand curled over his shoulder as she pulled him down for more, arching up off the bed to meet him, mouth to mouth and breast to chest.

  They sank into each other again, falling back onto the softness of the duvet. She brought one knee up to flank his hip as he settled against her, his weight pressing her further into the bed. His warm palm cupped the back of her knee, drawing her leg even higher before sliding down her bare thigh to skim his fingertips teasingly under the edge of the shorts.

  With a quiet murmur, she ran her palms over his back to find the waistband of his jeans, gliding her hands under the hem of his T-shirt to find warm, smooth skin below. She traced her fingertips over the strength of his back, over muscles made strong by rowing, sliding her left hand over his side toward his chest—

  Her eyes flew open in surprise as her fingers contacted hard, twisted tissue. Her hand froze in shock and then her fingers spread wide. More scar tissue. More than her hand could cover.

  His eyes jerked open, his body stiffening as her body stilled and her fingers froze over his ruined skin. He abruptly pulled back, rolling off her to sit at the side of the bed. He yanked his T-shirt down to cover the waistband of his jeans, hiding himself from view as he stared at the floor, his body hunched tight.

  Still lying on her back on the bed, her breath heaving, Leigh stared at him in shock. She had thought that the scar on his temple was bad enough but it was nothing compared to the mass of scar tissue hidden under his shirt. She pushed herself up on one elbow and reached over with her other hand to touch his back. “Matt?”

  He sprang to his feet as if burned by her touch. He looked down at her, but Leigh noticed he wouldn’t meet her eyes. “We’d better get downstairs. My father must be concerned and I’d like to put his mind at ease.”

  She held out a hand for him to help her up off the bed. When he averted his eyes and half-turned away, she rolled off the bed to stand beside him.

  He glanced over just as she was shaking her hair out over her shoulders. For one brief moment, temptation warmed his expression as his gaze flicked from her toward the bed and back again. But then his face went blank and his eyes turned cold as he turned toward the door.

  She stepped closer, reaching out to purposely lay her hand against his scarred side. “Matt, I—”

  But he pulled away so her fingertips only brushed fleetingly across him as he turned away from her to open the door and disappear into the hallway without a backwards glance.

  Following him, Leigh paused at the threshold of the bedroom, watching him stride down the hallway away from her. Clearly, there was a lot more than met the eye when it came to Matt, including his discomfort with the damage done to his body. She’d been surprised at the extent of the scarring, but surprise was all it had been. He had clearly read something else into her hesitation and she needed to make it right with him.

  But, for now, she put it aside.

  They had a case to solve and if Matt’s head was now back in the game, they had work to do.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: EROSION

  Erosion: the wearing away of the Earth’s surface by the action of water or weathering; the salt marsh efficiently protects coastal areas from erosion.

  Sunday, 1:08 P.M.

  Hershey residence

  Middleton, Massachusetts

  Hands planted on her hips, Leigh surveyed the damage to John Hershey’s kitchen. The body was long gone, but vestiges of the attack remained.

  Blood stained the dirty peel-and-stick vinyl flooring in an obscenely wide puddle. It spread over the floor and oozed into the cracks between the tiles in grotesque tendrils. Dark arcs of blood splashed over the walls and nearby cupboards, and the acrid odors of blood and urine still hung heavily in the air.

  Signs of the forensics investigation were also clearly evident. Every light-colored surface was coated with fine black fingerprint powder and hundreds of prints were visible. Small, bright yellow numbered evidence markers littered the floor. But one thing was clear from the search of the house—the only victim to die here had been John Hershey, who had lost his life, slowly and in agonizing pain, on his own kitchen floor.

  The room was still horrific, but to Leigh it wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been the day before, when she stood in that same spot with a murdered man at her feet, and Matt kneeling shattered and blood-drenched beside him.

  She needed to call him today to see how he was doing. He should be at the lab by now, continuing his work on the remains.

  Work was good. Work was something to concentrate on when other aspects of your life fell apart in pieces around your feet.

  Yesterday’s experience had rattled him. She had no doubt about that. However, as she came to know Matt better and better, she sensed a strength in him that wouldn’t yield. It had knocked him back a pace or two, but he’d been willing to open up about some of his experiences with her the night before. He may have closed down for a while, but it had only been temporary.

  He wasn’t the kind of man to give in to weakness. He was the kind of man to fight the challenges life threw at him and to come out of the experience stronger. But a call to check on him might not be amiss. She just hoped he wouldn’t mention their shared moment in his bedroom. She didn’t think either of them was ready to examine that yet.

  Leigh checked her watch. She had at least twenty minutes before anyone would be here.

  She pulled out her phone, and speed dialed Matt’s cell.

  As soon as he answered, she could hear uneasiness in his voice and an awkwardness that wasn’t there earlier yesterday. So she concentrated on the case. “How are the remains coming?”

  “Good. You beat me to calling you.” Relief filled his tone at keeping things on a strictly professional level.

  “You’ve got something for me?”

  “The examination is going well. I have some basic information for you now that will help with your Missing Persons search—age, sex, and race approximations. We’re still working on time since death. But we’re getting close.”

  Leigh wedged the phone between her shoulder and her ear as she reached into her pocket and pulled out her notepad and pen. “Great. Give me the details.”

  “I think it would be easier if we walked you through it here. Can you drop by later today?”

  “You can’t give me anything now?”

  She heard the smile in his voice at her wheedling tone. “I could, but it will make more sense if you see the remains. Trust me.”

  “I do.” The words were out before she even stopped to consider the significance of them. “Okay, if I can, I’ll stop by later. But I’m at the Hershey house now and I’m waiting for someone from the computer forensics team.”

  “The computer forensics team? Why?”

  She briefly considered how much she should share with him, quickly deciding that after his experience yesterday he deserved to know something about the life he had tried so hard to save. “Are you sure you want to talk about this?”

  There was a pause, and then his voice was muffled. “Guys, I’ll be back in a minute.” She heard footfalls and then the sound of a door closing before his voice came back clearly. “Sorry, I wanted to go somewhere private. Look, Leigh, about yesterday …”

  She broke in before he could say any more. “Matt, no explanation is required. It’s water under the bridge as far as I’m concerned.” Well, part of it is … “Are you okay to hear about our suspect?”

  “Yes.” His voice was hard and sure.

&nb
sp; It was good to hear the confidence in his voice again. “I spent the morning running background checks on John Hershey,” Leigh reported. “It turns out he’s got a record.”

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  “I wasn’t either. He started with small stuff, petty theft, that kind of thing. Then he graduated to breaking and entering when he was seventeen. As part of his sentencing for the B&E, he was required to attend behavioral modification treatment at a Beverly health clinic.”

  “Behavior modification? For theft?” Matt sounded confused. “Was that simply because of his age?”

  “No. It was apparent to the judge that Hershey was a disturbed young man with a history of abuse and mental health issues. I tracked down Hershey’s therapist this morning. She was quite accommodating once she saw I had a warrant for his records.”

  “She remembers him?”

  “Yes. And that says something considering it was over a year ago and she sees hundreds of teens a year in her position at the clinic. She described him as a very troubled young man, one who was raised in an abusive household and who she identified as having anger management issues. He lived in a group home for some time while undergoing therapy, but returned to his family home after his father was jailed for the murder of his mother.”

  “That kind of home life has to produce a pretty screwed-up kid.” Matt paused. “Not that I’m making excuses for him.”

  “I know,” Leigh said. “But it starts to paint a picture of his personality. His therapist also said he was extremely resistant to any sort of therapy.”

  “So he did his time and got out as soon as he could. Which likely means he didn’t get much out of therapy.”

  “That’s exactly what I thought. But I did get one other very interesting piece of information from the therapist.”

  “What’s that?”

  “He was obsessed with video games, both the console and online kinds. This was a real concern for her since he tended to prefer the ultra-violent variety. First-person shooter, gang violence games, that kind of thing.”

  “The online game that Paul suggested.” There was excitement in Matt’s voice. “The symbol found on Tracy Kingston.”

  “That’s right,” Leigh agreed. “We needed a connection and now we have it. That’s why I’m waiting for the computer forensics expert. You probably didn’t notice it yesterday, but Hershey has a shiny new computer system sitting in the middle of all the trash in his living room.”

  “Leigh, this could be our link between the two men.” The intensity in Matt’s tone was unmistakable. “If we can trace from one man to the other …”

  “We might be able to nail the son of a bitch who did this. Yes, I know.” She heard a voice call out from the front door. “Matt, he’s here now. I have to go. I’ll try to stop by the lab later this afternoon.”

  “Go,” Matt insisted. “If you can’t make it, make sure you let me know what you found out.”

  “I will.” Leigh ended the call and left the kitchen, moving through the dingy, shabby living room.

  A young man stood at the front door, holding a leather bag. He had shaggy red hair and was wearing black jeans, high top sneakers, and a red-collared navy sweatshirt emblazoned with “Patriots.” He also wore a disgruntled expression.

  Rob Tucker was the best and the brightest of the computer forensics boys. Leigh had asked for him specifically.

  “You made good time. I thought it might take you longer to get here.”

  Her smile of welcome was met with a level stare. “Sunday is a sacred day, Abbott. It’s a day for chicken wings, pork rinds, and football. But you had to haul my ass out here today because it couldn’t wait for tomorrow.”

  “Gee, Tucker, I don’t know how you manage to keep your girlish figure when you eat crap like that. And here I thought all you computer geeks did at home was watch Star Trek reruns.”

  “Not when the Pats are playing. Which they started to do—” He glanced at his watch. “—about five minutes ago.”

  “Welcome to working for the cops. Today is my day off too, you know. Nobody gets a day off during a case like this.”

  “But someone else was on call today. It’s not my day to—”

  “I wanted you.” Leigh’s flat statement broke through his protests. “I know Delancy’s on call, but I wanted you because you’re the best. We have suspicions of an online gaming connection in this case, so I need the best hacker I can get. At this point in the investigation, Harper will give me whatever I need as long as it goes toward solving this case, preferably before there’s public panic, or, worse, another death.”

  Tucker simply stared at her in silence, but she caught it—a barely perceptible softening of his expression.

  “So that’s why your Sunday afternoon got hijacked. I’m sure you set your DVR, and I promise not to tell you how it ends.” She pointed at the chair in front of the computer in the corner. “Now, sit. We’ve got a serial killer to catch.”

  Mollified, he raised a single eyebrow at her in a mock glare. “You’re a hard-ass, Abbott.” But his tone lacked its previous razor-sharp edge.

  She glared right back. “Don’t I know it. Now, get us into that system.”

  They picked their way across the refuse strewn over the living room floor.

  Tucker stopped half way across the room, nearly causing Leigh to walk right into him. “Whoa …” He whispered the word almost reverently.

  Leigh leaned sideways, trying to see what he was staring at so intently. “What? What’s wrong?”

  Tucker whistled before continuing across the room. “This is one sweet system.” He pulled out the chair in front of the monitor and sat. “This guy really wanted his computer to kick ass.”

  Leigh contemplated the strange looking computer. It was mostly black, but a neon stripe glowed ghostly red down one edge while oddly spaced rectangles sprouted from one side. “This may be the strangest computer I’ve ever seen,” she said. “Where’s the case?”

  “Where’s the case?” Tucker looked up at her, clearly dismayed by her ignorance. “That is the case. And it’s one of the most expensive ones out there. Only the most serious gamers shell out for something like this. I bet the components he used are just as extreme.” He swiveled in the chair to critically study the room. “Does the rest of the house look like this?”

  “You mean a run-down, disgusting mess?” Leigh’s lip curled as she took in dirty dishes, moldy food wrappers, and discarded clothing. “Yeah, pretty much.”

  “I’ve seen it before.” Tucker swiveled back to the system. “Some guy who lives in a pathetic hole in the wall, but his electronics are totally state of the art. This is a perfect example. Unless he made a lot of money at work, he likely skipped a few meals to pay for this baby. And was happy to do so.”

  “So we’re not just talking about someone who likes to game, then. We’re talking about someone with a serious addiction.”

  “Oh, yeah.” He unconsciously reached out to run a hand lovingly down the chassis. “You can kind of understand it though. She’s a thing of beauty.”

  “Stop being a fanboy, Tucker. Just get me in.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, in a tone slightly edged with sarcasm. He wiggled the mouse. “Oh look, it’s password protected,” he sneered.

  “Is that a problem for you?”

  Tucker’s expression bordered on arrogant. “Unless this guy was really smart, I bet I can crack his password in under sixty seconds.”

  “Sixty seconds?” Disbelief rang in Leigh’s tone. “It can’t be that easy.”

  “Lucky for us, it usually is. And if it isn’t, then I have a host of other tricks up my sleeve.” Bending, he rummaged through his bag, flipping through several DVDs until he found the one that he was looking for. Putting it in the drive, he restarted the system.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Running a password cracker I wrote. So, is there something in particular we’re looking for? You said something about an online gami
ng connection.”

  “There’s a potential connection between the victims and a multiplayer online game called ‘Death Orgy.’ ” At Tucker’s perplexed look, Leigh reached into her blazer pocket and pulled out the picture of the Chinese symbol, handing it to him. “It was suggested, and I’ve now had it confirmed, that this is the Chinese symbol for ‘Death.’ We found it carved above the breast of the most recent victim and we are investigating whether any of the skeletal remains have any trace of the same injury.”

  Eyes fixed on the picture, Tucker’s expression was solemn. “Nasty, for sure. But what’s the connection to this game?”

  “I’ve been working with a scientist, and one of his students identified it as the symbol for this game, so I want to explore the possibility that he was a player. Our now deceased suspect had a record with the local police—mostly small stuff like petty theft, but the last charge was a B&E so that shows a potential escalation. As part of his sentencing, Hershey had to attend behavior modification with a therapist. That therapist has confirmed that Hershey had a proclivity for violent video games. I need to know if he used this computer to participate in this particular game and, if so, who he gamed with. Because one of those people just might be his killer.” Her eyes locked on the window now open on the screen. “It’s done? Already?”

  Tucker tapped the lower right corner of the screen where a small box read “Time elapsed: 0hr, 0m, 37s.” “It only took thirty-seven seconds. And check out the password: ‘mankiller.’ ”

  Fury swept through Leigh at Hershey’s casual reference to his life of crime. “Bastard.”

  “Kind of flaunting his secret life, which is seriously not cool. But it didn’t take long to crack because it’s a weak password.” He rebooted the computer and then took in the filth that surrounded them as well as the flashy electronics. “My guess is he was no computer genius. He may have been addicted to gaming and was willing to throw serious money at that addiction, but he likely only knew the basics, just enough to do what he wanted and needed to do. This is likely the only security we’ll encounter.” He logged onto Hershey’s account. “Here we go.” A curvaceous blond woman sporting only the tiniest of G-strings splashed across the screen in a provocative pose. “Well, hello.”