by Vella Day
Buried Deep
The Buried Trilogy Book 3
Vella Day
Contents
Foreword
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Buried Deep
The Buried Trilogy
The Buried TrilogyBook 3
Vella Day
Copyright © 2018 Vella Day
Published in the United States of America
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief questions embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Created with Vellum
Criminal Minds meets Bones
Dead bodies, left in plain sight, are sometimes the hardest to find.
When Dr. Lara Romano, a profoundly deaf forensic anthropologist, first examines the exhumed skeletons of two Native American men buried in Tampa, she has no idea she’s caught the eye of a serial killer.
Missing Persons detective Trevor Kinsey needs a high profile case to land him a job in Homicide. Though he suspects the attractive rookie scientist, Dr. Romano, may hinder his success, he believes the cadavers in her investigation are linked to his current case—eight missing men, all Native Americans, all believed to be dead.
Both are determined to find evidence that will lead the police to the killer’s doorstep. What they don’t expect is to lose their hearts to each other in the process, nor end up as the killer’s next targets.
1
Tampa, Florida
Joe Merrick’s worn shirt stuck to his back. He wasn’t sure if it was from sweat or the damn muggy air. Didn’t matter. He was long past caring anyway.
Slurred curses came from behind the dumpster. What the hell was taking Chester so long? A man could only hold so much pee. Even a drunk couldn’t go forever. He took a step to see what was holding up his friend and stumbled over a beer can. Shit. They never should have bought that second bottle of Jack.
Let Chester find his own damn way home—if he ever stopped peeing.
As Joe staggered toward his black pickup wedged between two big ass vans, his fingers fought with the keys in his pocket. They were stuck on a damn thread that seemed as strong as a fishing line. Goddammit.
He was still struggling when the sound of gravel crunching under a pair of heavy boots came up behind him. Chester doesn’t wear no boots.
With his hands still his pocket, something sharp shot into Joe’s lower back. What the fuck? Red hot pain radiated down his legs and up his back, pressing into his heart. It hurt so bad, he couldn’t even take a step.
A forearm clamped hard across his throat, the sleeve scratching his neck. “You filthy Indian.”
Joe gasped for air, but all he got was the hot stinky breath of the prick who’d stuck him.
Shit.
Can’t breathe. A door clicked open, and Joe’s knees gave way. Plastic crinkled under him. Blood soaked his pants, and a bright flame flickered in front of his face. Joe tried to swat at the light, but his arm wouldn’t move.
His brain fogged.
His bowels loosened.
He was going to die.
Burning to death had to be the worst way to go.
With gloved hands, forensic anthropologist Dr. Lara Romano lifted the charred forearm from a pile of bones and remeasured its width. She should have been pleased her two calculations matched. Instead, her belly ached from the image of the victim’s last moments—the heat, the terror, the inability to escape inevitable death.
She squeezed her eyes shut and made herself focus on finding the identities of those in the torched Winnebago and not on their life ending torture. Becoming emotionally involved with the victims would only end in heartache. If she wanted to be a topnotch anthropologist, she needed to leave her heart at home.
As she leaned forward to type the results into her laptop, a blast of cold air burst from the lab’s ceiling vent and ran down the back of her neck. She shivered and drew her white lab coat tight.
Someone touched her arm, and she whipped around, pressing a hand to her chest. “Phil.”
Phil Tedesco backed his wheelchair away from her lighted worktable. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Her boss’ lips moved, but no sound reached her ears.
“No problem.” She smiled and flipped the switch on her cochlear implant to bring her into the hearing world. “What’s up?”
He tapped the edge of the table. “You draw any conclusions about the bone yard?”
She brushed some of the burnt embers off the stainless steel counter. Of all days for the lab to look a mess, it had to be the day her boss came to visit. Normally, every countertop in the large room gleamed, but today half the surfaces were smeared with ashes, and the floor needed to be swept. She didn’t want him to think she didn’t take pride in her workplace.
“Not yet. I don’t have enough to identify all the charred remains.”
“Can you tell the number of victims at least?”
She inhaled to steady her hands. “I know there are at least five different bodies, three male, two female. There might be more.”
“Looks like you’ve done a great job so far, but time’s up.”
“You’re kidding. I need another few days.” She wanted to have the conclusion correct, not only for the sake of her job but to bring closure to the families involved.
He held his palms outward. “The insurance company is bugging me for the results. Our boss is getting worried you’re taking too much time examining a few bones. You’ve been at it three weeks.”
Try four. “It’s in my nature to be thorough.” She’d done postgraduate research at the University’s lab for three years and no one ever rushed her. “I’ll do my best to finish soon.”
“Perfect.” Phil sat up straighter. “The other reason I’m here is to get your opinion on some bones that just arrived.”
As if he was psychic, the big steel lab door eased open, and he spun his wheelchair away from the entrance. Two men, covered head-to-toe in white protective gear, rolled a pine casket with mud-streaked sides past her workstation into the middle of the expansive room.
The stone-faced technicians lifted the cover and placed it on the bottom shelf of the steel gurney. As a blast of death hit her, she reeled and stepped back. Rotting dead rats baked in the hot sun for days would smell sweeter. The school’s research lab mostly had exposed her to sanitized skeletons, not the foul stench of real dead bodies. The times she’d examined remains, the bodies had been completely decomposed.
Phil covered his nose and waved the two men to the door.
She glanced over at him. “The bodies
just keep showing up, don’t they?”
“Yup.” His jaw relaxed. “Hell, when I worked homicide, I often had four cases going simultaneously. I remember when I considered three hours sleep a good night.”
She’d been there many times. “I guess the dead don’t care about our workload.”
He chuckled. “You got that right.”
“Who is it?” she asked, wishing she had some VapoRub to put under her nose to blunt the smell.
“Two John or Jane Does.”
“Two? In the same casket?”
“‘Fraid so.”
She leaned over to look inside. No clothing was visible. One skull had most of the hair intact. Only the second victim, who was hairless, had areas of soft connective tissue, which hopefully would help with the identification.
She stepped back. “Who dug them up? And why?”
He wheeled away from the casket. “One of the workers at the cemetery was preparing a grave when he came across a coffin already in the plot. The parents of the dead girl were quite distraught when they learned the site had been taken over by someone else.”
She grimaced. “I’d be upset too. I’ve never seen two in the same casket before.”
“Maybe the family wanted to save money on the burial.” He pulled out a yellow pad from the side pocket of his wheelchair. “Can you tell me anything about these two?”
Even though he was a seasoned cop, the double burial softened his shoulders, and her respect for him grew.
Two people in the same coffin wasn’t right. She couldn’t imagine being that poor and not finding a way to provide a proper resting place for her loved ones. And why no cement vault around the casket? Did these relatives not respect the dead? If she had her way, she’d start—
“Lara?”
“Oh, sorry.”
She leaned over the casket again. Keeping her hands tucked behind her back to avoid disturbing the evidence, she noted the slight traces of white powder dusting a few of the bones. Definitely lime, which was very caustic. She moved back to the counter, picked up a metal caliper and held it above each skeleton’s hips to get an estimate of the width.
The dimensions fit the standard chart perfectly, and she tried not to smile. “The heart-shaped pelvic inlets and the narrow width tell me you have two males.”
“Good.” Phil made a note on the pad. “Age?”
One of the craniums faced forward, exposing the top of the skull. Her heart turned heavy when she realized this man had died so young. “The cranial sutures,” she said, pointing to the skull nearest to her, “indicate he’s between thirty and forty years old.” Close to her age. “Without digging out the second head, I can’t tell how old the other one is.”
Phil edged closer. Manipulating the gurney’s pedals, she lowered the level to give him a better angle from his chair.
“Thanks.” He peered over the rim of the wooden box. “Race?”
“I’ll need to take accurate measurements and do a few tests before I can be sure. Even though I have an intact cranium, I want to run the information through my computer.”
He gently squeezed her hand. “A guess is all I ask.”
Here goes. Despite the coolness in the room, her armpits began to sweat. And here she thought her exam days had ended four years ago.
“The teeth, which are badly decayed on the top male, are rather crowded together due to the narrow dental arch, and the skull appears smaller than the usual Caucasoid.” She searched her mind for details of differentiating between races. “The forehead is somewhat low and slightly sloped backwards—”
“Lara, just tell me.”
She looked up. He’d gripped the wheelchair’s armrest and tensed his jaw. Not hearing the nuances in people’s tones, she had to use physical clues. She rushed to explain. “From the size of the nasal opening and the rather square shape of the eye sockets, I’m going to say some kind of Mongoloid. Native American most likely, given the Tampa area has a large Seminole Indian population.”
Phil’s fingers relaxed. “Excellent. Can you tell me anything else? When they died? Cause of death?” He kept his gaze on her face.
During her studies she was allowed as much time as needed to draw the correct conclusions. This Johnny-on-the-spot diagnosis set her nerves on edge. One slip and he might think less of her. “As a former homicide detective, when you came across a dead body, could you determine the who, what, when, where and why right away?”
His eyes twinkled. “No. CSU needed hours to collect the evidence.”
“My point exactly.”
“Do your best. I realize haste isn’t always our goal, but I want to give our boss something.”
The tension released from her shoulders. “I need to photograph the bones before I move them, but if you look here.” She held her fingers above the skull on the bottom. “From the slope of the beveled edges, the hole might have been caused by a gunshot.”
Phil smiled. “Now that’s what I’m talking about. Any idea when they died?”
His praised bolstered her spirits. “There’s still some soft tissue...” She stopped. Only another anthropologist would care about the details. Lara took a leap into the deep end. “Six months to a year.”
“Good enough for now. I’ll let you get back to work. Let me know when you have a cause of death on both men.”
“Will do.”
He held up a finger. “I hate to do this to you, but the mayor wants this done ASAP, and Mr. Pomerantz promised him we’d have these men identified by the middle of the month.”
“So soon?”
“I know, I know, but Pomerantz pays the bills. It’s not like we’re some state run facility with a huge backlog. He built this state-of-the-art facility so he could get what he wants, when he wants it.”
Her childhood dream was to be a forensic anthropologist at the best private lab in the country. She’d worked extra hard her whole life, and her hard work had paid off, but if she messed up now, she might end up teaching high school science, which for a deaf person, would be a big challenge.
If she came in all day Saturday and a half day on Sunday for the next two weeks, she might be able to finish both cases. “No problem.”
“Another thing. Someone from the sheriff’s department might be stopping by this afternoon to check on your progress.”
She didn’t have time to stop her work and explain procedure to a local cop. “Do I have a choice?”
“Nope. I know you won’t disappoint me.”
“I don’t plan to.” She’d graduated at the top of her class. She could do it.
The moment he disappeared out the door, she blew out a breath. Ready to tackle the two victims, she flipped off her implant and reveled in the freeing silence.
She spent the next several hours scraping the tissue from the bones and placing each piece in a large vat to finish the cleansing process. Four hours of bending over the table examining the bones caused her back muscles to tighten into tiny knots. The moment she arched to soothe the ache, her stomach grumbled. It was time to go home and feed herself and her eternally hungry fat cat. Since the bones were still cooking, the remaining tasks would have to wait until tomorrow.
She stripped off her disposable gear and dumped the soiled garb in the waste bin under the portable X-ray machine. To ease the tension building in her scalp, she rubbed her head to loosen the braided strand. God that felt good.
Just as she reached to pull open the heavy door, the stainless steel entry eased toward her and a tall stranger appeared.
As he strode in, she took a step back. “How did you get in?” She quickly flipped on her implant.
The door was key-coded, and only a few lab workers knew the combination. Having worked at HOPEFAL close to a year, she knew everyone, and he was no employee. She would have remembered someone this good looking.
“I put my right foot in front of my left?” He cocked a brow and leaned forward.
“That’s not what I meant.”
He flashed his
sheriff’s badge, and then waved a piece of paper with numbers scrawled on the front. “My brother used to work with Phil, so he gave me the combination. Said you might not hear if I knocked.” He tugged on his right ear.
Great. Though the newcomer probably would deduce from the slight nasal twang in her tone she was deaf, she didn’t need her boss announcing to the world she had a handicap. Out of habit, she tucked her hair over the wire leading to her battery pack to make sure the implant didn’t show. She braced for the look of pity she always received when people learned of her deafness. When she searched his face and found nothing but openness, her pulse skipped a beat.
She ran a gaze from his scuffed cowboy boots, up along the faded jeans that hugged his muscular thighs, past the tight T-shirt and to his penetrating aquamarine blue eyes.
She stilled. God that was rude. Had he noticed? How could he not? Thank goodness he had the courtesy to keep his focus off her.
He swiveled toward her. “I’m Trevor Kinsey—Missing Persons detective at the sheriff’s department.”
Ah, yes, the man to check on her progress. He was running rather late. She extended her hand and a rough palm met hers. His touch was firm, yet gentle. Nice.
“Dr. Lara Romano.”
Detective Kinsey stepped past her, halted, and surveyed her lab, his head twisting from right to left in slow motion. Given the high-tech equipment and many gadgets, he probably liked what he saw. The lab still impressed her every time she came to work.
