by BJ Bourg
“Why were you running?” Susan asked again.
“I was worried that something bad had happened to you and Gracie.” After taking a few more deep breaths, I moved to a seated position. I was just in time to see Achilles and Coco reappear from around the corner of the parking area. Panting heavily, they dropped to the ground beside me. I sighed as I looked up at Susan. “I was just worried about you and Gracie. After what happened to—”
Susan lifted a hand to stop me. She was frowning, and I knew she understood. She reached down and helped me to my feet. “What’d you find back there?” she asked. “Was that a body in the hammock? I grabbed Gracie and ran out of there quick, so I didn’t get a good look at things.”
“A man—looked to be in his mid-forties—was sleeping in the hammock when he was shot to shit,” I said, nodding. “Whoever did this really lit the place up. They must’ve fired fifty rounds. I found a bunch of 5.56 shell casings at the edge of the trail, so they were probably using an AR-15 or M-16.”
“Fifty rounds?” Susan’s brow furrowed. “Damn, that’s overkill. Anger, perhaps?”
“Could be.” I shrugged. “Or maybe they wanted to make sure the man was dead.”
“What about the tent?”
“It was shot up, too, but it was empty.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, and that worried me even more.” I wiped a new wave of sweat from my face. “I started to wonder if the person in the tent had shot the man in the hammock. If so, they could still be lurking around here and I began to worry that they might target you and Grace.”
“Or you,” Susan corrected.
I grinned. “I wasn’t worried about myself.”
“Of course you weren’t.” Susan slugged my shoulder playfully and then headed for the truck. “I’ll call it in and get Amy out here to help you process the scene. I’ll put in a call to Melvin, too. You might need him for backup.”
Melvin Saltzman was Susan’s longest-servicing police officer and he was the best we had. Not only was he a great officer, but he was a loyal friend—as loyal as they came. Many of the friendships I’d had in the past were one-way streets. I was loyal to a fault and would do anything for my friends, but I often found that they were fair-weather friends—there when times were good, but they’d haul ass when things got rough. Not Melvin. He treated his friendships like marriages—in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health.
“I don’t have cell service,” I called after Susan just as she was reaching my truck. “You might have to drive up the road a bit.”
“I brought the SAT phone.”
I smiled. Leave it to Susan to think of everything. It wasn’t the only reason I loved her, but her preparedness was definitely a plus. I waved for Achilles and Coco to follow me to the truck. When we reached it, I opened the back door and told them to get inside. They did so, but reluctantly. While I wished I could have them stay with me, I didn’t want them trampling up the area, just in case the killers had come out this far. I also didn’t want them getting shot. While they could take out a man, they were no match for bullets.
Susan had utilized the keypad on the door to unlock my truck earlier, and I now handed her my keys so she could start it. She was on the phone with our dispatcher, so she took them without saying a word to me. When she ended the call, she fixed me with her dark brown eyes. “Are you sure you’ll be okay out here?”
“Yes, mother, I’ll be fine.”
“I’m being serious, Clint,” she scolded. “Someone was murdered, and the killer is possibly armed with an automatic rifle. This ain’t a joke.”
“Yeah, no kidding.”
She removed the sling from her neck and arm and lifted the AR-10 from where it had been cradled in her lap. “I guess you’ll want your rifle.”
The rifle was a SAINT Victor AR-10 chambered in .308 caliber, and it was a beauty. I took it gratefully, but then hesitated, glancing toward the opening to the parking area. “What if you encounter trouble on the road out of here?”
She slapped the roof of my truck. “Then I’ll run them over with this big monster.”
I grinned and gave her a short kiss. Her lips were salty and soft. “Get our baby girl out of here.”
She pulled the door shut once I’d backed away. “Amy and Melvin should be here in a few minutes. Please wait for them before going back to the campsite.”
I promised I would and then sat on a wooden bench that was nearby. Now alone, I was able to begin wondering about the case. A thousand questions swirled in my mind as I sat there waiting for my backup. Who was the man? Had he been alone? If not, where was his companion or companions? Had they been murdered or kidnapped? Or had his companions killed him? If so, where were they now and why had they killed him?
I stood and glanced around the parking area. How did he get here? Now that my truck was gone, there were no vehicles in the lot. Keeping my right hand on the pistol grip of my rifle, I strolled about the parking lot, searching the ground for tire tracks. It was futile. The ground was packed so hard that I couldn’t even see a whisper of an impression where my own truck had been a few moments before, much less a vehicle that might’ve been here last night.
I was certain the man had come here by car. While it was necessary for campers to carry their gear to the campsites—thanks to the gate that blocked vehicular traffic from accessing the trail—there was no way our victim had lugged all of his gear from town. So, then, where in the world was his car?
The AR-10 felt heavy across my neck as I walked around the parking area, studying the ground first and then the woods around me and then the trees above my head. I was restless now. There were way too many unanswered questions in my mind, and I felt like I was wasting time. I wanted to be back at the crime scene, and I wanted to be back now. With every minute that passed during a murder investigation, the chances of solving the case diminished just a little.
I checked my cell phone. Still no service. I regretted not asking Susan for the SAT phone, and I also regretted promising her I’d wait for Amy and Melvin to arrive before heading back to the crime scene. I needed to start searching for evidence and I needed to find out if my victim had been alone when he was murdered, but the most urgent order of business was finding out his name. Unidentified victim cases presented some of the greatest challenges for homicide detectives, as did random murders. However, the majority of murder victims were killed by someone they knew, so the mere uncovering of their name would open the door to a host of suspects.
I was still going over a checklist of things in my mind when I noticed something on the ground in the parking spot next to where my truck had been. I stepped closer and squatted to see it better.
“Hmm, what have we here?” I asked aloud, leaning even closer. There, at the center of a dry leaf, was a tiny pool of oil—and it was fresh. The car that had been parked here had an oil leak, but was it the killer’s car or the victim’s? Or maybe it belonged to someone who had come out here for a day hike, someone not involved in any way. Of course, that seemed unlikely, considering this place hardly had visitors anymore. Had we not hiked all the way to the primitive camping area, there was a good chance the scene would not have been discovered for a long time.
I was recovering the leaf when I heard vehicles approaching. There were at least two of them, and I knew the cavalry had finally arrived. We could now get to work piecing this case together.
CHAPTER 8
Melvin was the first to pull into the parking area in his F-250 pickup truck. It bore the Mechant Loup Police Department decals and was equipped with grill lights and a siren. He drove right up to the gate and stepped out. After shoving a baseball cap on his shaved head, he walked to the bed of his truck. While he was my height, he was built like an oak tree and he outweighed me by about fifty pounds. He was the strongest man I knew, as well as the best man tracker, and his weight was all muscle.
When he rounded the back of the truck, he carried a giant bolt cutter. I smiled, grateful that
we wouldn’t have to carry our crime scene gear the entire distance to the crime scene. We would not be able to drive the vehicles over the covered bridge, but the drive to that point would save us a considerable amount of walking time.
Melvin’s bolt cutter snapped the heavy chain like a match stick. “I’ll secure the chain with one of our padlocks when we’re done,” he explained as he pushed the gate open. “That way we can get back here in the future if we need to.”
I nodded and slipped into the passenger’s seat. Melvin had just driven through the opening when I caught movement in his side mirror. It was Amy in her unmarked Dodge Charger and she was followed closely by a marked cruiser. I couldn’t make out who was behind her, but I heard Regan Steed’s voice over the police radio saying she had arrived at the scene. Regan was Susan’s newest recruit, but she was no rookie. She was a ten-year veteran of the Tellico Plains, Tennessee Police Department, and in the short time she had been in town, she’d already proven her worth.
I glanced at the time on Melvin’s dash as we proceeded to the covered bridge. It was a quarter after two. I’d found the body a little over an hour ago, and that had been another hour lost in the investigation. I felt a sense of urgency to get to work and I found myself drumming my fingers on the center console.
“You okay?” Melvin asked, glancing sideways at me.
I nodded. “Did you get to see the weather this morning?”
“They give showers for this afternoon.”
I grunted, hoping we could finish the crime scene investigation before the rain came.
I was out of the truck almost before Melvin could put it in gear. I held my rifle steady in the sling as I quickly approached Amy’s car.
“We need your crime scene boxes, a camera, a body bag—the works,” I said, waving for her to pop the trunk.
“Good morning to you, too,” she said, stepping out of her car in front of me.
“It’s the afternoon,” I corrected.
“Who’s counting?” Her blonde ponytail bounced as she walked to the back of her car. As she dug out her crime scene boxes, I explained what I had found and how the victim had been killed.
“That’s one way to wake someone up,” she muttered. “Any idea who the dead guy is?”
“Not yet.” I grabbed one of the boxes and held out my hand for the other.
“I can help.” Regan had walked up. She held out a hand.
“Good,” I said. “If we all carry one thing, we’ll be able to keep our gun hands free. All we know so far is that we’re dealing with a trigger-happy fool. This killer apparently didn’t get the memo about ammo shortage in the country, because he’s spraying targets like he’s at war.”
Regan took the other crime scene kit, but I noticed she wasn’t looking at me or Amy. Her large hazel eyes were wide and she was looking up, her lips slightly parted.
I glanced up, curious. “What is it?”
“It’s so green out here,” she said in awe.
Confused, I nodded. “Yeah, we’re in the woods.”
“No, I mean, it’s November and everything’s still green.” She tore her gaze from the trees and looked up at me. “Where I’m from, the leaves are falling and they turn orange, red, and yellow this time of the year. But over here, everything’s still so green and thick.”
I laughed. “Yeah, we only get two seasons here in Mechant Loup—hot summer and not as hot summer.”
“It’s definitely different.” Regan stepped aside so Melvin could take the body bag from Amy. “It’ll take some getting used to.”
Once we were ready, we crossed the bridge one at a time and then spread out across the trail to begin our hike to the crime scene.
The trek was uneventful. Other than two alligators, an otter, and several birds, we were the only living creatures on the trail. As I carefully searched our surroundings, I noticed Regan, Amy, and Melvin doing the same.
Amy wore jeans and a button-down blouse, and her pistol was tucked into a pancake holster at her side. Melvin wore jeans and a T-shirt, and his pistol was tucked into the small of his back like mine. His primary weapon for this operation was his AR-15, and he carried it at the ready. As for Regan, she was currently on duty and was dressed in full uniform. She and Melvin worked the same shift rotation, but Melvin worked nights and she worked days. I was sure someone would have to cover Melvin’s shift tonight, because we would probably be out here for several hours.
No one spoke until we reached the campsite. I heard Amy whistle when she saw the body in the hammock. “That’s just rude,” she said with a grunt. “I’d be pissed if someone shot me while I was in a hammock in such a beautiful location.”
Regan nodded her agreement. “There should definitely be a law against that sort of thing.”
We all laughed, but it didn’t last long. Melvin immediately took up a position east of the campsite to stand guard while Amy and I worked. I offered Regan my AR-10. She took it and set up on the western end of the campsite.
With our guards in place, I gave Amy a nod. “Are you ready for this?”
She nodded and rolled up her sleeves.
CHAPTER 9
As Amy photographed the scene, I drew a sketch and made notes of everything I saw. When we were done with the first steps, we then began measuring the scene. Once we were done with the main scene, we branched out and began processing the area where the spent shell casings were located. That took a little longer, thanks to the tall weeds that grew along the trail.
“How many shell casings did you count?” I asked, going over my notes and counting the dots on my sketch that represented each casing.
“Sixty-one.” Amy straightened and blew a tuft of hair from her face. “I bet the killer began with the rifle fully loaded—thirty in the mag and one in the pipe—and he emptied everything into the hammock. He then reloaded and emptied another thirty-round magazine into the tent.”
We hadn’t counted the bullet holes in the body yet, but her count was identical to mine, and I shared her opinion. I stepped back from the shooting position and compared the evidence flags we’d put out against the sketch I’d drawn and nodded my approval.
“It looks like he stood over there”—I pointed to a spot almost directly across from the hammock—“and fired the first barrage of shots at our victim, and then he moved about thirty feet to his left to engage the tent directly.”
“Do you think he approached the victim at all?” Amy asked, studying the hard-packed earth for the umpteenth time between the shooting position and the body.
“I can’t tell.” I glanced over at Melvin, who had come over earlier and searched the ground for us. He had found a single broken branch, but nothing more. “What do you think?”
“The branch could’ve been snapped by a deer or one of us when we first got out here.” He shrugged. “It’s too dry and there’s not enough sign to tell.”
I nodded my resignation and set out to recover the shell casings. Once all of them were packaged separately and locked in Amy’s crime scene box, we began the painstaking process of examining the body in the hammock.
Of the thirty-one shots that had apparently been fired at the poor man, twenty-seven had found their mark. We located two bullet holes in the tree at the head of the man, one had zipped harmlessly through the fabric, and another had splattered on the edge of the nearby metal picnic table.
“We can account for every shot that was fired at the hammock,” I said, straightening from where I’d been kneeling beside the body.
Amy nodded and shot a thumb toward the tent. “That won’t be as easy, thanks to the logs that were piled up around it. Why in the hell would someone do that?”
I shrugged. “Maybe it’s some kind of superstitious ritual?”
“Maybe.”
Changing our latex gloves, we then set about to remove the man from the hammock.
“Let’s cut it down,” I said, pulling a knife from my pocket. “It’ll be easier than trying to lift him out of the hammock.�
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Amy nodded in agreement and grabbed onto the rope at the head of the hammock, bending her knees for balance. I grabbed onto it, too, and then severed the rope about a foot above where we held it. The dead weight dropped straight down, but we were ready for it and guided the body gently to the ground. Next, I cut the rope at his feet and we then pulled the parachute nylon away from the man so we could get a better look at his wounds.
“Jeez,” Amy muttered, “they really shredded him.”
I backed away while she took more pictures. The body was in a state of full rigor, which told me he had been dead for at least twelve hours, probably longer. His body was riddled with bullet holes. It had been easy to spot the individual entry holes in the fabric of the hammock, but it would be a challenge to accurately document the path of each bullet through the body.
“We’ll have to wait until the autopsy to accurately document the entry and exit wounds,” I said, visually examining every inch of what I could see of his body. “There are just too many secondary entries and exits.”
“Does it even matter?” Amy snapped another picture. “It looks like one shooter firing one rifle, so what does it matter if the second bullet or the fifteenth bullet was the one that killed him?”
I only nodded. I hadn’t noticed anything remarkable about his shirt, but I froze in place when my eyes caught sight of his right pocket. I pointed. “Look, it’s turned inside out!”
Amy trained her camera on the pocket and zoomed in. “The killer must’ve dug through it.”
“Are you done photographing the pants?” I asked.
She told me she was, so I leaned forward and eased my hand into the pocket. I wriggled my fingers around. It was empty.
“Whatever was in here, it’s gone,” I said. “I’m betting the killer was after the car keys, considering there were no vehicles in the parking area.”
“That makes sense.” Amy slung the camera over her shoulder. “We need to identify this man so we can find out what vehicles are registered to him. That might lead us to the suspect.”
