by Virna DePaul
“If she’s not good enough to handle the case alone then she’s not good enough to handle it at all. Give it to me and let her work on another case. Our backlog is getting too big as it is.”
Bastard, she’d thought, then and now. He knew how long she’d been waiting to head up her first serial case, and he wanted to take over? No way. If she had to work with him, fine. Maybe the more time she spent in his company the faster she’d get rid of the ridiculous feelings she’d been harboring for him for far too long.
“Special Agent Tyler asked that you wait for him before viewing the body,” Gordon continued, jerking her out of her thoughts. He swiped an arm across his slick forehead, his breathing slow but labored. “Hope we didn’t interrupt anything exciting to get you out here.”
Carrie, who’d turned to study the surrounding area, froze at his words. Slowly, she faced him again. His comment might have meant nothing but for the way his gaze dropped to her chest. Carrie narrowed her eyes and stared the officer down until his grin disappeared. “What were the witnesses doing here?”
Gordon shrugged. “Tim Larson and his son Ronald were searching for plants for some kind of school assignment. The kid saw a woman’s foot sticking out of a mound of dirt behind some bushes. The, uh, foot wasn’t connected to a body. Then he saw the woman’s head, propped on a tree stump, facing the trail. Freaked him out. His father came running, stumbled across the body just a few feet away. Literally.”
“And they probably trampled all over the crime scene.” Carrie didn’t blame them, but it would still wreak havoc with the recovery team’s ability to process the scene. “Have you seen the body yet?”
The officers glanced at one another, guilt and relief in their eyes. For a split second, Carrie saw a look pass between them—a look of encouragement and comfort—that shocked her. Gordon’s lasciviousness obviously didn’t negate a genuine respect and caring for his partner.
“No, ma’am.” Fitzpatrick answered, all bravado. Her posture was so erect and her speech so precise Carrie half expected her to salute. “We knew you and Special Agent Tyler were on your way. We figured we’d wait and make sure we didn’t contaminate the scene any further.”
“Good thinking.” Carrie looked around again and noted the road she’d taken to get here. The only way in. “Block the access road at the turn from the main highway,” she told the officers. “Try to keep the press out as long as possible.”
“But that’s almost a mile from here,” Gordon said, his voice perilously close to a whine. “That’s a pretty large area to contain. Shouldn’t we just focus on the immediate area where the body was found? Perhaps Special Agent Tyler—”
“Special Agent Tyler would agree with my assessment.” And he would. Because unlike Gordon, Jase knew his stuff. Carrie shook her head, trying not to show her impatience. Ignorance or laziness? Neither was acceptable. And besides, whether Jase agreed with her or not, she was the detective in charge of this case. “From the limited information we have, it’s possible this murder is connected to another recent one, as well as two that occurred almost a year ago. I’m here to confirm or dispel that possibility. To do that I need a clean crime scene. The crime scene includes not only the burial plot and adjacent areas but any area the victim and perp moved through to get to the burial sight.” She held up her hand to stop Gordon from interrupting her. “If he transported the body in a vehicle, the only way he could have gotten here was on that one mile of road. We need to contain as much of the area as possible.”
She glanced up at the darkening sky, and both officers’ gazes followed hers. Despite the warm weather, Marin County was known for fog and rain. “The recovery team’s going to have to work fast. The weather could change at any moment.” She looked at her watch. “Damn it. What’s keeping Jase?”
Gordon’s eyes narrowed when she used Jase’s first name, but she ignored him. It had been a slip. One she wouldn’t make again.
She studied the dense foliage separated by pits of mud and residual water. Would the recovery team use a helicopter to take a full panoramic picture of the scene? More likely they’d rely on current GPS technology to establish a blueprint to mark down whatever evidence they found. And preserve exact measurements. Problem was, with the body having been exposed to the elements for an unknown amount of time, chances were its condition, even its placement, had already been compromised.
Carrie turned to Gordon. “Where’s the body?”
“They said it’s through those trees right there. Just to the edge of the water and under the causeway. Back and to the left.” He hesitated. “You want me to come with you?”
“No,” she murmured, wondering if he was trying to be gallant or insulting. “Thank you, Officer Gordon.”
As she edged into the shadows cast by the hulking highway overhang, the vibration of rush-hour traffic shook the saturated, fetid ground sticking to the soles of her Rockports. Nervously, she eyed the dark crevices between cement blocks and knew she wasn’t imagining the flutter of movement she saw inside. Automatically, her right hand hovered near her weapon.
Bats.
Within the cavernous hollows of this highway lived thousands upon thousands of bats. Each fall, students were brought here to observe their twilight exit pattern, the group migration painting the sky in a massive shadow reminiscent of eels slithering in low water.
Carrie swallowed hard and looked over her shoulder. Twilight was hours away. She took a deep breath, trying to prepare herself.
But nothing could have prepared her for the sight of the woman’s bloody remains. The first thing she thought when she saw the tilting dirt-stained head resting atop a tree stump was—she’d been beautiful. With long brown hair other women would envy. The victim’s eyes stared garishly back at her, completely devoid of eyelids. Carrie’s chest tightened and she instantly visualized the autopsy photos of The Embalmer’s three victims. They’d stared back at her from the photos, as well.
Accusingly.
Pleadingly.
Even if she hadn’t been able to save them, Carrie could help solve their murders. Find their killer, whether it was the same man or not. Bring their families—maybe even their spirits—some semblance of peace.
Moving closer, Carrie saw hundreds of maggots and other insects feasting on the woman’s remains—her ears, her mouth, her wounds. Flies flew around her, landing periodically as if to direct the baser wingless insects from one spot to another. The department’s forensic lab would collect specimens. Classify the insects and even dissect them to determine the time of the woman’s death.
One thing Carrie did know, however. The woman had been killed someplace else and her body transported here later. Otherwise there would be more blood. Signs of struggle. And except for several vehicle tracks and some muddy footprints, there was no other indication of recent human activity.
Carrie took several shallow breaths before returning her gaze to the woman’s unnatural one. Somehow, she felt looking away would be disrespectful. This woman deserved to be recognized as more than the individual body parts she’d been reduced to. Given the state of her body, even once they identified her, her family wouldn’t get the chance to see her again before she was buried. The monster who’d killed her shouldn’t be the last person to truly see her.
When she couldn’t stand it anymore, she scanned the adjacent area. The woman’s torso lay about ten feet away, still clothed in a sleeveless lace top. The ragged cloth covering the woman’s lower half, or at least what was left of it, was dark and crusted over with dirt and blood. Her limbs were gone and, based on the discovery of her foot, would likely be found nearby.
The dismemberment hadn’t been done by an animal. At least, not the kind with four legs. Carrie could only pray she’d already been dead when the guy had mutilated her.
The sounds of footsteps made Carrie turn. The recovery team was carefully working its way toward her. Joe Mansfield, one of DOJ’s forensic examiners, met her first. Walking beside him was Jase.
> “Hey, Carrie,” Mansfield said.
Carrie nodded but Mansfield kept talking.
“I haven’t seen you at McGill’s in a while. Did you get a jealous boyfriend or something?”
Carrie forced herself to respond in the same casual tone Mansfield used. “Something like that. But hopefully I’ll see you guys soon. How’s Marcie?”
“She’s pregnant again.” He raked a hand through his thinning auburn hair. “We’re having a boy this time.”
“That’s great. A little brother is just what Lucy needs.” Carrie thought of Mansfield’s little girl, whom she’d met at a department barbecue only once. The spitting image of his petite, dark-haired wife, right down to matching dimples. Did Mansfield know how lucky he was? The light in his eyes said he did. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Mansfield put on a pair of latex gloves and took out his evidence collection kit and a camera. “I hear it’s pretty bad.”
“You could say that.”
She looked at Jase. “Did Officer Gordon fill you in?”
“Yes. Let me take a look at the body and then we can compare notes.”
“Fine,” she said. “I’ll be by the car. Just yell if you need me, okay?” Carrie started walking back toward the road.
Less than a minute later, she heard Mansfield’s gasp. Then cursing. “Jesus!” he exclaimed. Then retching sounds filled the air as the veteran law-enforcement officer emptied the contents of his stomach.
She was several feet away when she heard Mansfield say, “She must be made of steel or something. Nothing gets to her, does it?”
If Jase replied to Mansfield’s question, Carrie didn’t hear it. But she did hear Mansfield ask, “Jase, what’s wrong? You look—you’re looking at her like you knew her.”
Carrie froze and waited tensely for Jase to respond. Nothing but a heavy silence followed Mansfield’s question.
Then Jase said, “I didn’t know her. But I talked to her. Last night at McGill’s. Her name is Kelly.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A COUPLE OF HOURS LATER, Carrie and Jase arrived at Kelly Sorenson’s home. Sitting on the couch to Jase’s right, Carrie watched him closely. His expression gave nothing away. No hint of any inner turmoil he might be feeling. But she suspected he’d be feeling plenty, and she didn’t like the grim blankness that had settled on his face ever since he’d matched up the grotesquely beheaded female they’d found with the same woman that had flirted with him and DeMarco the night before in McGill’s Bar.
The young woman sitting across from them sobbed, drawing Carrie’s attention away from Jase. While she was technically a person of interest in Kelly Sorenson’s murder, it was only because she was Kelly’s roommate, not because they had any real reason to suspect her. Even so, the fact that she had a solid alibi—at the same time Jase had been chatting with Kelly at McGill’s, Susan had been in the middle of an all-night cramming session with several other students—wouldn’t necessarily get her off the hook. Although Kelly was a few years older and had already graduated, she’d attended the same college as Susan did now—the same college where Cheryl Anderson, The Embalmer’s third victim, had taught English. While Susan might not have killed Sorenson or even Anderson herself, that didn’t mean she hadn’t hired someone to do it. At least, that was one theory they had to explore, even though it ranked low on Carrie’s list of possibilities.
Most homicide victims were slain by someone they knew, but Carrie’s instincts told her that Susan wasn’t involved. Not only did the woman’s grief seem completely genuine, there was also the fact that Kelly’s killer had shown the same strange fascination with removing his victim’s eyelids that The Embalmer had. There was no way that was coincidental. In addition, what had been done to Kelly Sorenson hadn’t been the distant workings of a hired killer. It had been personal. Viciously symbolic. Given that, it was less likely that Susan was a killer and far more likely that The Embalmer was picking victims he spotted on campus, but had changed his M.O. in order to throw off the police or, more likely, just for kicks and giggles. In all probability, Kelly had simply been a mushroom, a term used by law enforcement for a person who just happened to pop up in the wrong place at the wrong time so as to catch a killer’s attention.
“We have a few more questions. Do you feel able to continue?” Jase asked gently.
Susan raised her red-rimmed eyes. After taking a deep shuddering breath, she nodded. “Yes. Whatever it takes to find the bastard who killed Kelly.”
“Thank you. You didn’t report Kelly missing even though she didn’t come home last night. Why is that?”
“I knew she was working, and it wasn’t unusual for her work to extend into the morning. I was worried when she didn’t show this morning, but I figured I’d give her a couple of hours. Kelly is—was—a free spirit and didn’t like to be tied down.”
“You said she was working. But I saw her at McGill’s around seven. She—uh—” Jase rubbed the back of his neck and looked decidedly uncomfortable for a moment. Then he plowed forward. “She intimated she was free for the rest of the evening. Granted, I could have gotten my signals crossed but she even gave me a card with her phone number.”
Jase’s tone was slightly apologetic. He didn’t want to imply Kelly had loose moral standards simply because she’d flirted with him.
Susan studied Jase, but she didn’t appear to take offense. “Can I see the card she gave you?”
Interesting request, Carrie thought, but Jase flushed. “I didn’t keep the card. I actually tossed it before I left the bar. But I glanced at it. It was purple. Simple. With a name and phone number, I think.”
Susan smiled slightly.
“You find that amusing?”
“No. I mean, yes. Not amusing, but… If Kelly gave you that card, it meant she liked you. For you. Not because she saw you as a potential customer.”
Even more interesting, Carrie thought.
“A potential customer?” Before Jase finished his query, his face lit with understanding. “You mean she was a…?”
He deliberately let his words dangle so that Susan would finish the sentence for him.
“A professional escort,” Susan said.
“Forgive me if this seems like a rude question, but why?” Carrie asked. “Kelly doesn’t fit the profile of most sex-for-pay professionals we run into. She’s college-educated.” Carrie waved to their surroundings. “She had a nice place. A nice life. Why go that route?”
Susan hesitated, and Carrie sat forward, urging, “She’s dead. To the extent we’re interested in anything illegal she was doing, it’s only because we want to find her killer. Before he does this to some other girl.”
At Carrie’s gentle but frank words, Susan’s eyes overflowed with tears once again. She sniffed, blew her nose then said, “To put it bluntly, it was the easiest and fastest way to make the most money. College loans are ridiculously high these days. She had her own. And she wanted to help her little sisters go to college, too. It’s just too bad you weren’t interested in her.” She glanced at Jase with a rueful smile. “If you’d gone home with her last night, she might still be alive. Instead, she settled for another job.”
Jase frowned. “What do you mean by settled?”
“She called and told me she’d picked up an unexpected job from McGill’s, although she said it was more a charity case than anything else.”
“What time did she call you?” Carrie asked.
“I—I think it was about nine o’clock. I can double-check caller ID on the phone.”
“Maybe in a second. A charity case? Those are the exact words she used?’
“Yes.”
“And did you know what that meant?”
“Not really. I know this is going to sound funny considering what Kelly did to make money, but she was pretty discriminating about who she hooked up with. She wasn’t stupid. She was careful. And she had her standards. Only lately…”
Susan’s voice brok
e, and she started crying again.
Carrie and Jase looked at each other but said nothing as Susan composed herself again.
“I’m sorry,” she said as she swiped at her eyes with a tissue.
“It’s okay,” Jase murmured. “We know this is extremely difficult for you and we appreciate the fact that you’re willing to talk with us right now. Time really is of the essence in these types of situations.”
Susan nodded, took a deep breath then said, “Lately, I got the feeling Kelly was being a little less exclusive when it came to the jobs she was taking. What she told me last night confirmed it. When she said she was taking a charity case, she meant that someone was getting lucky because she needed the money. But for that, it wasn’t anybody she’d ever sleep with.”
Carrie met Jase’s gaze again, then looked back at Susan. “There’s some indication that the person who killed Kelly might have killed other women, as well. Can I show you some pictures of the women? See if you recognize them?”
Susan looked panicked, and Carrie rushed to reassure her, “Just regular photos. Nothing gruesome, I promise.”
Reaching into the files she’d brought with her, Carrie took out the “before” photos of The Embalmer’s first three victims. She handed them to Ingram one by one.
When she got to the picture of Cheryl Anderson, Ingram gasped. “I know her. That’s Professor Anderson. I had her for American Literature last year. She’s dead?”
“She’s the latest victim. We’ve tried to keep her name out of the paper so the press doesn’t interfere with the investigation, and we need you to keep her identity as a victim in this case a secret. Can you do that?”
