The Naturalist (The Naturalist Series Book 1)

by Andrew Mayne

  I catch Devon staring at his reflection in the passenger mirror. His eyes are sunken and his skin ragged from his addiction. “That’s for sure. That’s sure as hell for sure.”

  This bit of introspection doesn’t comfort me as I drive into the woods and away from civilization and safety.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  DARK PATHS

  We park my Explorer on a side road just past a small plot where a sad pizza parlor sits next to a tiny convenience store. Two miles up the highway is an RV park.

  I imagine either Amber or Chelsea had business in one of those places.

  We begin walking up a small trail. Amber leads the way, while Devon is a dozen yards behind me, which does nothing to make me feel better about my choice to come out here with them.

  I was foolish to agree to meet Amber under such shady circumstances yesterday. But coming here with them after what happened? Sheer stupidity.

  One hand is in my pocket on the Mace. The other tightly grips the heavy flashlight I keep in my SUV. I have lighter, more modern ones, but they wouldn’t make as good of a club.

  “What’d you and Chelsea do up here? Lez out?” taunts Devon.

  “Get away from assholes like you.” Amber stops by a large tree stump at the top of a hill. “This is where we’d meet up. You could probably make a fortune on all our empties out here.” She kicks at a faded piece of metal.

  “Not to mention the dildos,” Devon says, still in jerk mode.

  “At least they can stay hard.”

  Devon mutters something about fucking a subway tunnel, then goes over to a tree to take a piss.

  “Is this where it happened?” I ask.

  She points down the hill to a flat area. “Over there. We were walking from the other direction. I saw the shadow up by here before it broke into a run.”

  “On how many legs?” Devon asks after zipping up.

  “Two, dumb ass.”

  He shoots me a look. “That’s not what she said at first.”

  “I always said he was a man,” she explains to me. “He may have crawled some. I don’t know, it was dark.”

  “You were high,” Devon adds.

  “Not that high. Not yet.”

  I walk down the hill to where she said Chelsea was last seen. There are a few rocks and rotting logs on the ground. I grab a stick and use it to turn over the dirt.

  If this had been sand or something else porous and dry, you might be able to still see blood. It just looks like soil to me.

  “What should we be looking for?” asks Amber.

  I give her a shrug as I stand up. “I don’t know. A shirt. Her purse. Something that says she was here.”

  Amber and I spread out and start kicking through brush and rocks. Devon sits on a log and watches us.

  Not sure myself what we should be looking for, I ask, “You remember what she was wearing that night?”

  Amber sets down an empty beer can. “She had a blue coat that came down to her knees. Knit cap. Jeans.”

  Other than beer cans and silver Mylar candy wrappers, there’s no sign of Chelsea.

  I’m not sure what I was expecting. A bloody shoe that matched the foot of a long-gone Cinderella? A confession from the killer?

  We spend the next half hour searching while Devon types away on his phone.

  “Thank you for your help,” Amber says to him sarcastically as she passes him.

  “I’m just here to make sure you don’t get raped and murdered.” He nods to me, then grins.

  Amber glances back in my direction. “Maybe you’re afraid we’d just fuck while we were up here alone.”

  Devon’s smile fades. “He don’t look rich. But go ahead. See if I care. Fuck who you want.”

  Their squabble is making me uncomfortable, so I give them some distance.

  I keep hoping one of us will have that magic eureka moment where we find the clue that solves everything. It’s not happening.

  While I think Amber is sincere in her own way, I don’t think she’s all that reliable. If I’d known she and Chelsea came out here to drop acid, I’m not sure I would have made the effort to come to this town. Especially if I knew I’d get an ass kicking.

  “How much longer do you two want to keep doing this?” asks Devon.

  “Until you leave us alone so I can blow him.”

  “Christ, already. I’m going back down to the car.” He turns to me. “Can I have your keys so I can wait inside?”

  I don’t trust the situation. I’m afraid that’ll be the last I see of him or my Explorer. Devon had been friendly, but I wouldn’t put anything past him.

  “No,” I say as forcefully as I can. “You’re the last person I’d trust with my keys.”

  He raises the hem of his sweater and shows me the butt of a pistol. “If I wanted to take them from you, I’d have done that.” He drops his shirt, concealing the gun.

  My leg begins to shake. I try not to show it.

  Amber sprints over to face him. “Jesus, Devon! He already thinks we’re psychos. Why did you have to do that?”

  Devon raises his hands. “I was only making a point.” Over her shoulder he says to me, “That wasn’t a threat, man. Sorry.”

  My leg’s shaking subsides a little. “Why don’t you help us?”

  “Look for something that didn’t happen?”

  Amber makes a cross face. “You said you believed me.”

  “I’ll say anything to get laid.”

  “Asshole.” She stomps away. “That’s the problem around here, everyone is full of shit.”

  It’s getting darker, and I’m beginning to think I should call it before things get too tense. Part of me is still afraid that this is all for show and I’m being set up for something. After my beating, the world looks a little different to me.

  “Can’t you do some science shit?” Amber asks.

  “It’s not like a magic power,” Devon sneers. “Maybe he’s got one of those CSI methane probes in his truck. Do you?”

  “Not quite. I’m not a forensic technician . . .” My voice trails off as I think about what he just said.

  I was looking for signs of Chelsea—clothing, a possession. Maybe hair on a branch or something from the killer.

  The thought of looking for Chelsea herself never struck me.

  I keep thinking it would be like Juniper’s murder scene, where she was found lying on the ground. What if Chelsea’s killer had a little more time to prepare or to clean things up?

  If he didn’t take her with him and he didn’t leave her for dead, that would mean she’s buried somewhere around here.

  There’s acres and acres of potential ground to cover and no way to search it in my lifetime.

  But what if I do use some of my science powers?

  “Are you okay?” Amber asks.

  “He’s thinking,” Devon says. “Or getting ready to flip out and kill you.”

  “Shut up.”

  It hits me. “I know where to look.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  BIODIVERSITY

  “You’ve never been here before,” says Devon. “Or have you?” His hand goes toward his gun.

  I get the sense he’s a very scared and jumpy kid trying to cover it up with this false bravado. “Relax. No. I just thought up some science shit. See that?” I point my flashlight at a leafy green plant with small white flowers. “That’s mallow-leaf ninebark. And that’s western meadow rue. Those are the droopy ones.”

  “Do they grow over graves or something?” asks Amber.

  “They grow over a lot of things.”

  Devon is now interested and starts looking around with his light. “Here’s some ninebark.” He points to a patch of the plant. “Over here, too.”

  “I found some, too,” says Amber.

  I walk over to inspect what they’ve found. “Good. Good.”

  “What do you want us to do?” asks Devon.

  “Keep looking.”

  After a few minutes he points out, “It
’s everywhere.”

  “The meadow rue, too,” adds Amber.

  “I know. We’re doing a survey. You can tell the difference? Right?”

  They both agree.

  “Okay. We’re going to add another one.” I point to a white grass with tiny white flowers. “This is bear grass. Any time you see one of these, call out the name. Got it?”

  “Is there going to be a prize?” Devon jokes.

  “We’ll see. It’s only a guess.”

  We spend the next half hour calling out the different plants as we spot them.

  “Ninebark, bear grass,” Amber shouts.

  I walk over to where she’s standing. It’s by the thick roots of a tree. “Keep going.”

  I move us down the hill toward the small valley between the ridge on the side farthest from the road.

  We keep within sight of one another. The calls are a little less frequent. I decide to give it a little longer.

  “Ninebark, bear grass, and meadow rue. I hit the trifecta,” Devon exclaims. “Neat trick. Was this to keep our eyes on the ground?”

  I rush over to him. “No. This was to see if we could find the three of them together.”

  Sure enough, all the wild plants are represented here. He’s standing in a small flat area at the base of a steep incline. The hill is bare, with loose rocks poking through the soil.

  It’s a great spot. Lots of erosion from uphill. Something buried here would only get deeper and deeper underground every time it rained.

  Amber walks over to us. “Is one of these something that grows over dead people?” She doesn’t hide the dread in her voice.

  “I couldn’t tell you what a dead body would cause to grow. Except maybe more of something if it was decaying quickly and fertilizing the plants near the surface.

  “If it’s down deep, then I doubt it. This really is outside my area.”

  Devon kicks at the plants with his foot. “So what are you looking for?”

  “A sign that someone was here. That someone was digging in the dirt.”

  “These plants are everywhere.” Devon pulls at some bear grass.

  “Yes. But in how many other spots were all three here?”

  “None.”

  “Why?” I scan the ground for anything unusual. “Or rather, why aren’t they growing together elsewhere?”

  “Because they don’t like each other,” Amber answers.

  “Exactly. The plants create their own herbicides that kill off rival species. But it takes a while for one to win out.

  “When you dig up the soil, you’re basically tilling it and creating a free-for-all for anything that wants to take seed there.”

  Devon gets to the point. “So what is here?”

  “Probably nothing. It was just a theory.”

  “Let’s test it. You have a shovel?”

  I never planned for this. “I don’t know if we should be digging here.” The thought that Chelsea could be under my feet is making me anxious.

  Amber chimes in, “So, what? We’re going to go into the police station and tell them we found some pretty flowers? We might as well go home.”

  “Give me your keys,” says Devon. “I’ll go get the shovel.”

  I hand them over without much thought.

  As he reaches the top of the hill, he shouts back, “See you later, sucker!”

  I spin around. He shakes his head and laughs. “Whatever you two are gonna do, hurry it up.”

  “He’s such an asshole,” Amber groans as she stares at the ground.

  I think I can tell what she’s wondering—is my friend really down here?

  Devon’s jackass behavior is because he’s nervous. For Amber, this could be vindication.

  A sad vindication. For as long as people said she was full of shit, there was the possibility in her mind that they were right.

  Chelsea could be out there having a great life.

  If Amber is right . . . if I’m right . . . she’s rotting away beneath our feet.

  I feel her shoulder touch mine. I awkwardly put a hand on it. I don’t know what to say.

  “I’m sorry you lost your friend,” she whispers, probably thinking of her own loss, too.

  “Me, too. I wish I’d known her better.”

  “You guys are too slow. Or too quick,” Devon chides as he comes skidding down the hill with the shovel.

  He sees the tears in Amber’s eyes and shuts up.

  “Here?” he asks, pointing to the ground.

  We step back. “Yeah,” I say. “It’s as good as any. It could be several feet down. We’ll probably need to dig a few different holes.”

  He scoops up a pile of dirt, uprooting the plants. I examine the soil, trying to figure out how to tell if it’s been disturbed.

  Devon tosses aside another pile. I grab a handful and start poking through it with my finger, looking for some clue. This could take forever.

  He stops digging. “Want me to take over?” I ask.

  I look up when Devon doesn’t answer. He’s staring at something. Amber steps up behind him, then suddenly puts her arms around his waist.

  It only took three camping shovels of dirt in the very first place we decided to look.

  Dirty, but as plain as could be, a bright blue coat is lying there.

  Amber buries her head in Devon’s shoulder. I look up at him in disbelief. He covers his mouth and shakes his head.

  “Holy shit. Holy fucking shit.”

  I’m not sure which one of us said it. But I know we are all thinking it.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  REMNANTS

  I remind myself that it’s just a blue piece of fabric we’re looking at. We don’t know that it’s a coat, let alone Chelsea’s.

  “Is it her?” asks Amber, as if Devon and I have the answer.

  Devon lowers the shovel and looks at me.

  This was all theoretical until now. It’s a strange blend of the thrill of discovery and horror as the reality sinks in.

  I came to Hudson Creek on little more than a lark, because of an educated guess based on the slimmest of data. My gut and MAAT thought that there was something here that fit the pattern of Juniper’s death.

  Now I’m staring at what may be proof. The analytical part of my brain is exhilarated; the neurons that get pleasure when I solve a Sudoku are euphoric.

  But is it what I think it is?

  Is it Chelsea?

  Devon nudges the coat with the tip of the shovel. “Should we dig it up?”

  My first impulse is that we should go straight to the police. But with what? A photo of the coat on a phone?

  Assuming we could convince them to come out here, something they weren’t too enthusiastic about before, what if it is just a piece of blue fabric?

  I’ll look foolish.

  There’s only one solution. “We have to see what’s under there.”

  Devon begins to reach down to grab the coat. I clutch his wrist to stop him. “Hold up.” I’d done that more than once in the field or the lab when a careless student let their excitement get the better of them.

  I take out a pair of latex gloves from my day pack and slip them on. I keep them around for dealing with specimens that could do me harm, or that I could kill through my touch.

  I squat down and carefully grab the coat. If I had the proper tools, it would be better if we removed more dirt before pulling it free, in case it falls apart.

  I slowly lift the fabric, and it begins to slide out of the dirt. It resists for a moment, and I get a nauseated feeling at the realization Chelsea could still be wearing it.

  Gently, I pull back the coat a little more. A pungent odor wafts through the air.

  Devon makes a choking noise as he turns away. Amber covers her mouth and steps back but doesn’t take her eyes off the hole.

  I’ve encountered lots of dead things in the field, but this is probably the worst smell I’ve ever encountered.

  I pull my shirt over my mouth and nose and lift the coat
entirely free of the earth. It’s in tatters.

  At first I think it’s just decomposing; then I notice five long gouges in the fabric.

  Setting it aside, there’s something marble white underneath.

  Using two fingers like a trowel, I scoop away the dirt and reveal a forearm, wrist, and fingers.

  “Fuck,” Devon whispers.

  I stare at the arm in silence, not sure what I’m supposed to do now. Keep digging? Confirm that it’s Chelsea? Make sure it’s not some elaborate prank?

  No. This is proof enough. It has to be her.

  My doubts seem silly to myself on one level, because what else could it be? But on another, a voice is telling me this can’t be real. It refuses to believe.

  The excitement of being right is obliterated by the fact that things are so much darker than I could imagine.

  “Hand me the shovel,” I say to Devon.

  “Are you going to dig her out?” he asks.

  “No. We’re going to cover her back up.” I take a garbage bag from my pack and lay it over the body, then start heaping dirt on it.

  “Why are you burying her?” Amber asks through tears.

  “Because we have to let the police do it. This is a crime scene.”

  “Yes, but why are you burying her?”

  “So the animals don’t get her,” Devon explains.

  “We’ll put her coat in a bag and take it with us. But we have to protect this for now.”

  Amber wipes her nose on the sleeve of her jacket. “Should we call 911?”

  “We should drive Amber’s coat there,” says Devon. “Get Charlie to meet us at the station. It’ll be easier than explaining on the phone.”

  I put the dirt back in place and drag a log over the grave. “This is to make it easier to mark and make it harder for any scavengers to find the body.”

  Chelsea’s made it this long without being dug up, but now that we’ve disturbed the body and the scent of decaying flesh is spreading throughout the forest like blood in the water, animals from all around know there’s something here.

  The light has begun to fade, and we’re less than an hour away from full darkness.

  “I think I’m going to be sick,” says Amber.

  I feel the same way. “You guys go back to the car. I’ll be there in a second, after I bag the coat.”