by Dianna Love
“I heard my name.” Doc Meade appeared with two of his assistants. Jennifer had known Doc Meade through her dad since she was a child. The good old country boy demeanor hid a brilliant coroner who had helped solve too many cases to count. “Jesus Christ, that’s Catherine Thomas. Isn’t it?”
Jennifer nodded and shuddered as a chill ran up her spine. She crossed her arms to warm herself. She was freezing. The dampness of her clothes felt like it was seeping into her very soul.
“I was still hoping we’d find her alive,” Doc Meade said. “Damn it. I watched that girl grow up. She and her parents never missed a Sunday at church. Once she was old enough, Catherine sang in the choir. And that girl could sing.”
He left them to do a precursory exam of Catherine’s body, asking his two assistants to carefully move her body onto the body bag, so the two crime scene techs could examine the ground underneath.
“Wait a minute! Turn her over,” shouted Doc Meade. It was obvious that the coroner had noticed something. They gently turned the body over. There were severe bruises, abrasions and lacerations on Catherine’s buttocks, back and thighs. “The sick bastard beat her with something. Christ, he tortured her. This poor girl suffered before she died.”
Jennifer watched as the two assistants moved Catherine into a body bag. They placed the body on the stretcher they’d carry to the parking lot, where the coroner van was parked.
Following them, Doc Meade looked back and asked, “Are both of you going to attend the autopsy? I’ll start at ten o’clock tomorrow morning.”
***
Blake looked at Jennifer and said, “It took a lot of rage to beat a woman like that.”
“Which makes me wonder if this was personal? Did the killer know Catherine?” Jennifer asked.
“Another angle is that he has hostility toward all women, and took that out on her.”
“He posed the body, Blake,” Jennifer said. “He made her look as if she were praying. Are we dealing with a religious fanatic? Or is the killer trying to communicate something to us?”
“Maybe he’s telling us that at the end she prayed for her death?”
Jennifer shrugged her shoulders. “Why pose her naked body out in the open?”
“Because he knew she’d be found. The bastard thinks he’s smarter than we are, and he’s pretty sure he’s not going to be caught. I think he wanted us to find her.”
“Do you think he’s done this before?”
“I don’t know, but I can promise you that we’re going to find out.” Blake paused, knelt down and sniffed where the body had laid. “Now I know what that smell is.”
“What?”
“Bleach. I think he bleached down her body. That tells us the sick freak know something about trace evidence.”
“You think he’s in law enforcement?”
“Maybe. Or it could be he’s a big fan of forensic TV shows.”
“Do you think Karen was right when she said Catherine was killed somewhere else?”
“The damn rain makes it difficult to say. But my guess is that Karen’s right and she was killed somewhere else and dumped here.”
“Thanks to the dumbass in the conservation officer suit, the scene’s been compromised.”
“Yeah, but I still say she was dumped. No sign of a struggle. The rain wouldn’t have washed away everything.”
Jennifer stared at Blake. What kind of monster were they up against?
***
There was no let up with the drenching rain as they hiked trail number ten back to the entrance and then the parking lot.
When they reached Blake’s SUV, he looked down at Jennifer, and rubbed his thumb across a streak of mud on her cheekbone. “How about if I take you home so you can wash up and change clothes?”
Jennifer didn’t answer right away. She was thinking about how good it felt to be in his arms. She wondered how it would feel if he kissed her. Was she insane? The last thing she needed right now was to get involved with another investigator. This might be the biggest case of her career. Did she want to jeopardize it by getting emotionally tangled with Blake?
“I see my partner waiting for me.” She walked away, heading toward the vehicle where Dick sat inside.
***
At first Blake thought he imagined it, but no, it was fear that crossed Jennifer’s face when he’d asked to take her home. What the hell? He’d worked with her every day since she’d joined the department. Then it hit him. She had feelings for him and it scared the crap out of her. Feelings that made things a lot more complicated — for both of them.
***
Jennifer got into the passenger side of vehicle, and Dick handed her a towel. She wiped at her face and hair as he drove through the parking lot and onto Route 40 toward town.
What was wrong with her? Why didn’t she let Blake take her home? Stupid question. The man radiated testosterone and she’d been going through some serious withdrawal. Try five years of withdrawal. A man hadn’t affected her like this since she’d first fallen for Paul. Every time Blake came near her, her senses went on alert and her body reacted — whether she wanted it to or not. Besides jeopardizing the case, she reminded herself she was the sheriff’s daughter and Blake was on her team. Several good reasons she should distance herself from the sexy detective.
***
Something was wrong with Dick. The two of them had driven ten minutes without Dick saying a word. In other cases they’d worked, he couldn’t wait to compare notes with Jennifer and debate theories about the crime. His jaw clenched, he stiffly sat behind the steering wheel.
“Did you know that jerk conservation officer? Is he new? I’ve never seen him before.” Jennifer asked.
“He’s my son.” Dick said the words so quietly, they were barely audible.
“What did you say?” Jennifer was incredulous.
“The conservation officer. He’s my son.”
“Son? You’ve been my partner for how many years, and you’re just now mentioning you have a son?!”
“It’s not something I’m proud of,” Dick began. “His name is Damon. He’s twenty-seven-years old. I hadn’t seen him since the day I left him and his mother, over twenty years ago. Then last week, he shows up out of nowhere and sits down at my table at the Sugar Creek Cafe.”
“What did he say?”
“He just said he wanted me to know who he was and that he’d moved here from Ohio. He has a lot of anger toward me, and I don’t blame him. I was a terrible excuse for a father.”
“I’m sorry, Dick.”
“I wish I could turn back the clock and do things differently. I was so young. Back then, all I knew was I couldn’t get away from his mother fast enough.”
“Where is your ex-wife now?”
“Damon said she still lives in Ohio in the same house. He says I should go visit her.” Dick paused for a second. “That will never happen. The woman is toxic. I was a bastard for leaving my kid to fend for himself.”
“What did he say about the crime scene?”
“Damon said the Scout leader called the ranger station with her cell phone right after they found the body. He was the conservation officer on duty so he took the call. Damon said he was so shocked to find the body the way it was, that he wasn’t thinking. He knew better than to leave the body uncovered like that in the rain, but he just wasn’t thinking.”
Jennifer frowned but said nothing. She didn’t believe Damon’s story and was surprised that Dick did. She knew for a fact that all area conservation officers got training on how to preserve a crime scene during their first week on the job. Jennifer knew because Karen Katz taught the class.
***
He sat in his Jeep and watched as the bitch detective with the big mouth and her sorry excuse for a partner drove out of the parking lot.
Detective Jennifer Brennan had a lot to say about the way he didn’t secure the crime scene. Her anger reminded him of his mama and the way she’d screamed at him when she thought he’d done something
wrong. Of course, with Mama, everything he did was wrong.
That bitch detective had better hope she was never in the wrong place at the wrong time, because he’d snatch her up in a second. She’d find out how stupid he was at the receiving end of his belt.
Jennifer Brennan thought she was so fucking smart. Little did she know she was no match for him. She didn’t have a chance in hell of ever catching him. He wished he could see her face when she discovered he’d left no evidence she could use to track him.
What was amusing was dear old Dick’s lecture to him about preserving a crime scene. Neither he nor his bitch partner had an inkling of how brilliant he was to wait for the rain before he killed Catherine and dumped her body. Bye, bye trace evidence.
Chapter Three
On Monday morning, Jennifer raced to Michael Brandt’s prosecutor office near the courthouse for a meeting he called to discuss Doc Meade’s autopsy findings. Even though she and Blake had attended the autopsy, Michael wanted them to attend the briefing to provide insights, and to answer questions about the case. Jennifer knew her dad would be attending, along with Lane Hansen.
She flew up the marble stairs to the second floor. Jennifer was one of those people who was always early, no matter what the occasion, but she’d stopped by her office, lost track of time, and was now running late.
***
Michael, Lane, Blake, Doc Meade and her dad were already seated around the table when she reached the conference room, so she slipped in and took a seat next to Blake as quietly as she could. Her dad glanced at her with a concerned expression. Her parents worried too much, and she felt guilty about it. The last thing she wanted was to cause her parents concern. Ever since her abduction five years before, they’d taken overprotectiveness to an all new level. But since Catherine’s abduction, she had more of an understanding of a parent’s fear of something bad happening to his or her child.
As if sensing how much she needed it, Blake picked up the pot near him and poured hot coffee into Jennifer’s mug and handed it to her. She whispered her thanks and took her first sip. He must have showered just before the meeting because his hair was still damp. She breathed in his masculine scent of fresh soap and the outdoors. A sudden visual of the two of them bathing each other in her shower shot to the forefront of her brain, and she felt her face heat, along with other parts of her body. Of all the inappropriate times for an erotic vision of Blake, this topped the list — especially since among those seated at the conference table was her dad. She shook her head as if to remove the image.
Jennifer looked around the long, cherry wood conference table and wondered why her partner Dick hadn’t arrived. She’d never known him to miss a meeting. Jennifer had tried to call him earlier, but he hadn’t answered, so she left a message on his voice mail.
***
Michael cleared his throat and aimed his first question at the coroner. “Doc, what were your findings with Catherine Thomas’s autopsy?”
Doc Meade drained his cup of any remaining coffee and began. “The cause of death was strangulation with a ligature, breaking the hyoid bone. Judging from the inch-and-a-half width of the groove in the victim’s neck, I think the ligature was a belt. In fact, there is bruising that suggests the shape of a metal belt buckle on the back of her neck, as you can see.” He pulled a photo out of a thick file folder and passed it around the room.
“If you’ll bear with me, I’d like to do a demonstration. Lane, your belt looks to be the right width. May I borrow it?”
Lane unbuckled and pulled off his belt and handed it to him.
“Jennifer, since our victim was female, would you please volunteer to help me.” After she nodded, he directed her to lie face down on the conference table as the rest of the group stood around the table. He placed Lane’s belt around Jennifer’s neck and pulled it through the buckle until it was snug.
“Judging from the buckle marks on back of the victim’s neck, I believe she was lying face-down either on the floor or on top of a table or bed. The killer approached her from behind to strangle her with the belt. You’ll notice that as I stand next to her, the belt is pulled at an angle, which would have caused a different marking on the victim’s neck.” Doc Meade climbed on the table. “That is why I believe he straddled her, like this, from behind as he pulled the belt tighter and tighter until the victim died.
He helped Jennifer get off the table, handed the belt back to Lane, then continued. “Thankfully, death would have come quickly after the onset of unconsciousness which is only ten to fifteen seconds.”
Blake leaned forward and asked, “What about the injuries to her buttocks, thighs and back?”
“It’s likely the killer used the same belt he used to kill the victim to cause the severe bruising, abrasions and lacerations to her buttocks, back and thighs.” He passed around another photo. “See the linear marks connected with a curved end? These are indicative of the belt being folded in half, with the looped end being used to strike the victim. Since the wounds are in varying stages of healing, she suffered many beatings.”
“Oh, my God,” exclaimed Jennifer as she shuddered. “I don’t even want to imagine the pain she endured during those beatings.”
“The pain of the beatings with the belt was significant enough to cause the victim to bite her lip so deeply, it was practically severed.”
Tim shook his head angrily. “I’ve been in law enforcement for thirty years and I’ve never seen such brutality. We need to find this sick bastard and lock him up where he belongs.”
Lane nodded his head in agreement then asked the doc, “Did you find anything that suggests Catherine was tied down?”
“Yes. There is bruising on her wrists and ankles from being restrained. In addition, we found residue from tape on her wrists and ankles. I sent a sample of the residue to the lab. My guess is that the tape used was duct tape — and he used it to restrain her for the seven days she was missing.”
He got up to fill his cup with more coffee then returned to the table. “I’m convinced she was also restrained during her murder because there are no fingernail marks on her neck to suggest she struggled to remove the ligature or belt.”
“Was she raped?” asked Michael.
“Yes, there was vaginal tearing that suggests the victim was raped. There was no biological evidence; therefore, it is likely the killer wore a condom.” The coroner tiredly rubbed his hands over his face. “There’s a good possibility that the killer was raping her at the same moment he was strangling her with the belt.”
“So this killing could be sexually motivated?” asked Jennifer.
“That is your job to discover.”
Lane squirmed in his chair, agitation evident on his face. “Tell me you found some trace evidence or something that will help us find this freak.”
“The body was found nude and had been washed with what looked like regular bath soap. There was residue in her hair. We’re sending a sample to the lab. The body was also washed down with bleach. Each of her nails were cut and scrubbed with bleach. I’m sorry, there’s not much to go on.”
“Time of death?” asked Michael.
“Anytime between 9:00 p.m. last night and 1:00 a.m. this morning.”
Blake’s face reddened with anger. “Whoever did this was playing with us when he left Catherine’s car in the Deer Run State Park parking lot. That’s why it wasn’t seen before. It wasn’t there. We searched that park three fucking times. Someone would have seen it.”
“I agree,” said Jennifer. “He left her car there after he completely wiped it down. There were no fingerprints, not even Catherine’s. Which makes me wonder if he might be in law enforcement? Look at how hard he worked to eliminate the trace evidence.”
“Maybe, Jennifer,” said Tim. “But keep in mind, since TV programs like CSI have gained popularity, there are a lot of amateur forensics experts out there. Criminals are using these programs and the Internet to learn how to hide their crimes.”
“I agree,�
�� said Lane. “Remember how Charles Beatty, the serial killer who tried to kill Anne, washed down every victim with bleach. He was a computer technician. We can’t rule out the killer might be a cop, but I don’t think it’s wise to turn our entire focus in that direction.”
“Any suspects?” asked Michael.
“We’re looking at Catherine’s boyfriend, Nicholas Connor. He has no alibi for the day she went missing. He also hasn’t participated in any of the searches for her. We’re talking with Catherine’s friends today to find out more about their relationship,” Blake offered.
In the parking lot outside Michael’s office building, Blake stopped Jennifer. “So where’s Dick? Wasn’t he supposed to be at the autopsy and this meeting?”
“Yes. I tried calling him, but got no answer. I left a voicemail.”
“Well, since you’re without a partner today, how about helping me interview some of Catherine’s friends?”
“Sure.”
“Hungry? I thought we’d have lunch at the Sugar Creek Cafe and talk to the owner and some of the waitresses Catherine worked with.”
Jennifer grabbed her laptop out of her car and joined Blake in his SUV. “I was thinking. We’ve done a criminal background on Nicholas but didn’t find anything. He’s been teaching at the elementary for about a year. Wonder why he left his last school? Most teachers stay for years at the same school to get tenure. Let’s find out what his fellow teachers have to say about him.”
“Good idea. The more information on him, the better.”
At the cafe, Jennifer ordered a breaded tenderloin sandwich with fries and a sweet tea. She studied the young waitress who took Blake’s order. With brown hair tied in a perky ponytail, she looked like she was the same age as Catherine, and just as friendly with a contagious smile. She introduced herself as Brianna Hayden, and promised to take a break and talk to them, as soon as she put their order in.
