Skye Cree 03: The Bones Will Tell

by Vickie McKeehan

  “How did you get away from him, Judy?”

  “After he…after he… He hit me several times. And while he was raping me…he had his hands around my throat. He said he’d been watching me, liked what he’d seen and that he had to have me. But he kept hitting me. I was sure he was going to kill me right then. I think he would have but…after he finished the second time, his pager went off. Those were the days when most people had one. Anyway, I remember he looked down at his pager and mumbled a curse word. He said something about having to go back to work. After that, he seemed distracted, not the same man. And when he reached to put on his pants, he turned his back to me. I got up and stumbled out of the opening. Remember the place only had three walls.

  “As soon as I felt the dirt under my feet, I took off running. I’d been a runner in high school, so I was pretty fast. I didn’t know where I was going but I couldn’t stop. I ran to get away from him thinking any minute he’d catch me. I was screaming for someone, anyone to help me. I was really loud.”

  Skye grinned at her. “I bet you were. You didn’t have your clothes on either, did you?”

  “No, or my shoes. And it was freezing cold. I ran and ran until I fell into a ditch. I stayed there for a long time, didn’t make a sound. I stayed like that until I guess he gave up looking for me. I finally heard the car start up and leave the area.”

  “Who found you?”

  “As soon as it got light enough for me to see where I was going, I started walking toward what I thought was road noise, traffic. When I reached a paved road, a trucker saw me and stopped. He’s the one who called the police.”

  “Wait a minute. Back up. Are you saying this guy didn’t take you very far from where he first talked you into getting in the car that night?”

  “That’s right. It wasn’t far at all from my apartment.”

  “And he didn’t take you that far away to where he stopped the car to assault you in the shed?

  “I’d say no more than five miles away total.”

  “Okay. Do you think you could find it again?”

  “The cops asked me that at the time. They went where I showed them. But I must’ve been confused. They couldn’t find a shed of any kind.”

  Skye frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean the cops checked out the area and the shed wasn’t there.”

  Skye rubbed her forehead and got up to pace in front of the couch. How was that even possible? “Is it possible he could’ve moved the shed? If we went back to the general area now, do you think you could point me in the right direction?”

  Judy shook her head. “I won’t go back there. Not ever.”

  “How about drawing me a map from your apartment at the time to where you thought the shed was located? Do you think you could do that?”

  “Sure, I’ll try.”

  Judy took out a pencil and legal pad from an end table drawer. She went over to her little kitchen table and sat down. An hour later, Skye had a decent idea of where Judy had been during her ordeal. While the location wasn’t on the base, it was in the general vicinity.

  “You did great, Judy. Thank you. I want you to work with a sketch artist, help us get a composite of what this guy looks like. You okay with doing that?”

  Her shoulders slumped. “I guess. Could you arrange for the artist to be a woman? And could she come to my house?”

  “Not a problem.” Skye put a hand on her shoulder, left it there. She could feel Judy tremble.

  “I came so close to dying that night. Maybe I was meant to die. I don’t know. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to survive because I’ve had so much trouble coping ever since.”

  “I don’t believe that. The same thing could’ve happened to me. I wasn’t facing death but a life sentence in the sex trade. I got away. You got away. There’s a reason we did.”

  “Is…is there any way I could help you at your Foundation? From home? From right here? I’d be willing to do just about anything. I could stuff envelopes from right here.”

  Skye chewed her bottom lip and made a decision. “I think that could be arranged. But how about this? At some point, if you ever want to get out of these four walls I could offer you a full-time job as my receptionist where you’d answer the phone and take messages.”

  “Really? But…” Judy looked around her apartment. With sad eyes, she added, “But I can’t leave this place.”

  Skye took her hand. “I’ll find this guy, Judy. And when I do, you won’t have to be afraid anymore to leave. Promise me you’ll continue with your therapy. Give it some thought, okay? Any time you’re ready to take the job, you call me. If you say yes, I’ll have to get you an honest to goodness desk because right now, all I have is a folding table.” Skye could see Judy wanted to take the offer. But old habits, especially those reaped in fear, didn’t go away overnight.

  Skye couldn’t think of a better candidate for the job than someone who had been through hell and escaped from it. “You let me know whenever you’re ready to take that first step. The job isn’t going anywhere. It’s yours whenever you want it.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The same day Skye found out the owner of the farmhouse had accepted their bid, the mailman dropped off the third package from their psycho to the Artemis Foundation—an innocuous-looking carton decorated with little red hearts drawn on the front and back.

  A little late for Valentine’s Day, Skye surmised as she used a letter opener to cut through the tape. This time he’d sent the upper and lower arm bones, presumably from the first victim. Another job for Bayliss or Dawson to figure out, Skye decided.

  She lifted the note on top with the same tongs she’d used before. Sad that she’d kept the utensil here at work rather than using it for its intended purpose in her kitchen at home. Holding the note out, she read the message, brief but to the point.

  You’re in over your head. Admit it.

  Maybe she was, Skye thought as she reached for the phone. But damn if she wouldn’t give it her best shot to find this bastard. She dialed Harry’s number first, then Josh’s, then had to look up the contact information for Dawson Hennings.

  Harry decided the best course of action this time was for Skye to bring the box directly to the medical examiner’s office.

  There, Skye watched as a technician dusted the box and its contents for fingerprints. They took Skye’s so they could eliminate them from the carton.

  Disgusted with frustration, she pointed out, “You do realize that the mailman’s are probably all over the outer shell and the dozen or so other people who handled it at the post office, don’t you?”

  “Sure I do. But when you’ve got nothing, you have to reach for anything. Process of elimination,” Harry barked.

  Josh looked around the room at the faces of the same people who’d started this quest. “No fingerprints leave us with exactly what we had before. Nothing.”

  The grumbling had Dawson offering up a tidbit. “It isn’t all bad news. I can tell you this much. I was able to extract DNA from the first set of bones to get a profile. It’s female. I entered it into the FBI’s National Crime Information Center and CODIS, category, unidentified human remains. I also got fingerprints off the mummified hand which I entered into IAFIS. We might get a hit there if the victim was ever picked up for anything. But to get a match to the profile in NCIC or CODIS…”

  “A family member would have had to enter theirs.”

  “You already knew that,” said Dawson with a wry smile. “I urge patience because the labs are backed up and sometimes it can take as long as four to eight months for results.”

  Josh looked around the lab at the glum faces. “Let’s hope whoever this is has family out there somewhere who cared enough to submit a swab.”

  Skye spoke up. “It isn’t that, Josh, sometimes the family members just don’t know to do it. Unless they’re a fan of CSI or Criminal Minds, they don’t know they can obtain a kit free of charge specifically for that purpose.”

  “Maybe we coul
d push that to the forefront through the Foundation,” Josh suggested before turning to Dawson, “Any idea how old she was? The victim from the first set of bones?”

  “Young. My guess is between seventeen and twenty,” Dawson answered. “As for DNA from the hand, I’m still working on getting a strong enough sample to profile.”

  “Protocol has changed quite a bit in recent years on how we handle missing cases versus human remains,” Harry revealed. “Now when a person goes missing we approach the family to ask for a DNA sample. In the Maggie Bennett case for instance, it’s routine if she had remained missing for longer than thirty days. The lead detective would have simply gone to her loved ones at some point and requested a cheek swab or some personal item he could use down the road for DNA comparison, like a hairbrush. The sample is sent to the lab, analyzed and then uploaded to the database where it’s kept there.”

  Bayliss assessed the troops. In his no-nonsense way, he added, “Drummond twisted my arm so that my office would revisit a few cold cases for him, to help out. You might want to listen up to what we’ve found. Back in 2000 they brought in a female, dismembered and unidentified. At the time the body was in an advanced stage of decomposition. But there were marks on the upper vertebrae indicating that whoever killed her tried to remove the skull.”

  “He tried to cut off her head?” Skye asked in astonishment.

  “Exactly. There were saw marks. But he was unsuccessful.”

  “You have photos?”

  “Of course.”

  Skye watched as Bayliss scooted around evidence boxes and took out several file folders until he handed one off to her.

  Drawing in a solemn breath at the sight of the gruesome autopsy images, Skye shuffled through the pictures in rapid order. But then stopped, realizing she needed to suck it up. What was the point of asking to see them if she had no intentions of really looking at the details? This victim deserved better. She reshuffled the stack, scanned each one at a time in slower study.

  “She obviously died a horrendous death, got dumped in a field until a hiker stumbled upon her body,” Bayliss said in a somber tone.

  “So we don’t know who she was or what she did for a living,” Josh said taking the photos Skye had given him. “How old do you think this one was?”

  “I’d say by the condition of her skin, the condition of her bones and teeth at the time of autopsy, a best guess, early thirties,” Bayliss answered.

  “However long she lived, it wasn’t long enough, that’s for sure,” Skye grumbled. She stared at Bayliss, met intense eyes and asked, “By mentioning this one, you think we should include her on the list.” It wasn’t a question.

  “That’s up to you. I’m giving you the facts as to what the autopsy told me. Then there’s this one.” Again, Bayliss hunted through the files until he found the one he wanted. “The victim had bruises from her face to her shinbone like she’d been repeatedly whacked with a blunt instrument. What instrument exactly is indeterminate, but I did take impressions if we ever have anything to compare them to.”

  Skye took the pictures again after they’d made the trip around the room. She noticed the grotesque condition of the body almost at once. These photos were even worse than the other victim’s had been. The images made her a little sick at her stomach. As the taco she’d eaten for lunch wanted to come back up, she tamped it down, considered another point. “But she wasn’t dismembered.”

  “True. But here’s the thing. The killer tried. See the back-and-forth knife marks at the throat, then again on the torso. They indicate a primitive sawing motion. Could be he was interrupted or changed his mind for some reason.”

  “Or, it was an impromptu killing where he wasn’t at his usual location. He tried using whatever he had handy and it didn’t work out as well and he gave up. Two for two in that regard.”

  Bayliss and Dawson both turned to stare at the woman in surprise. It was Dawson who told her, “You’re quite good at this. It’s as if you have some kind of second sense. It’s your Nez Perce heritage, I think.” He turned to Josh. “Yours is more…feral…and new to you while Skye’s ability is…innate.”

  Josh eyed Dawson. For several long seconds the two men scowled at one another until Josh figured out why. It seemed the anthropologist had a little crush on Skye. Like any good pack leader worth his salt, Josh determined he needed to keep an eye on the doctor. He wasn’t sure how he felt about Dawson so obviously enamored with his wife.

  Sensing the tension between the two, Skye cleared her throat. “My father’s people. The second sense, it comes from my father’s people.”

  Dawson’s gaze fell away from Josh to Skye. “Is it true what the Native American legends say about part of getting through life means staying true to your spirit guide? How does that work exactly?”

  Skye tilted her head, assessed the man’s demeanor. Noting the anthropologist seemed to be veering off the subject at hand for a reason, she decided to humor him. “Staying on your path, a path thought to be destined before birth, is customary in many types of folklore and culture, predominant in Native Americans.”

  Dawson nodded. “I believe you’re meant to do this type of work. You both are,” he finally admitted. “I’ve talked to a few people in law enforcement about you…both of you,” the man corrected, glancing over at Harry. “Drummond is one who sings your praises the most.” Now, Dawson acted embarrassed when he sent Skye a smile. “That Foundation you started is something to be proud of. What you do for victims is amazing. If you ever need a hand don’t hesitate to ask. I’m happy to help out any way I can.”

  Bayliss nodded and threw in, “My office is committed to working round the clock on this, too. Anything you need expedited, you have only to let us know.”

  When they were done with the meeting and walking back to the car, Skye leaned into Josh. “I was worried about you back there. For a moment, I thought you and Dawson were…ready to tangle.”

  “He’s a strange man.”

  “Not as strange as some. Why are there so many mean sick bastards out there walking among us? Who does this kind of nasty business and keeps their jobs, their families, their souls intact?”

  “People screwed up early and often,” Josh returned. “But we’re going to stop this messed up son of a bitch. He’ll make a mistake and when he does, we’ll be ready.”

  That night, before they left to walk the streets, Travis showed up at their door, unannounced.

  “What are you doing here?” Skye asked surprised to see him holding a box clutched to his chest.

  “This nut job has me worried about you,” he looked over at Josh. “About both of you. I brought you what our people believe is protection of the strongest kind.”

  “What, you have a loaded .45 in that box?” Josh quipped.

  “Maybe something more powerful than that,” Travis told him. He took out a soft leather bag decorated with ornate beadwork. “It holds something from Daniel, the one you considered your father for so long a time, and something from me. Daniel’s spirit guide was a hawk named Deata. Mine is a crow named Eotyuu.”

  “Dee-ah-tay and Ee-ot-tu,” Skye repeated. “Yes, I know. What are you up to, Travis?”

  “Feathers from both are thought to hold great power. Native custom dictates that long after the mortal body dies, the spirit still inhabits the earth taking whatever form they used as a guide. Deata will watch over you. I can’t be with you every single second of the day. No one can. So my spirit guide will you help along the way until you’re able to defeat this man and bring him down.”

  “You’re assigning your crow, Eotyuu, to me for the duration? But what about you?”

  “I am. The shamans have told many stories, sung many songs about such things where guides are transferred to others to protect their loved ones in battles.”

  “I don’t know what to say. Thank you, my father.”

  Travis smiled. “That’s the first time you’ve called me that. I don’t want to sound greedy but I’d settle for
dad at some point.”

  Skye wrapped her arms around him. “Okay, Dad. You humble me.” She held the soft leather pouch in her hand as if weighing its contents. “This is fairly heavy for just having feathers inside.”

  Travis grinned again. “It’s a little more than that, precious stones, locks of hair from the people who love you, old tribal arrowheads, herbs used for medicine. The usual stuff, think of it as your shield.”

  It was Skye’s turn to grin. She turned to Josh. “Did you know about this?”

  Josh gave his wife a sheepish look. “Hey, these days I don’t give up my hair easily without a fight or a good cause. Travis and I thought it was a good idea. Why don’t you do the honors, Travis?”

  Skye moved her hair aside so her father could place the thin, leather strap around her neck. The pouch was small, no more than two inches across by three inches in length, but as soon as the bundling hung in place, she could feel its power. It already made her feel capable and confident.

  Her father began to chant in brief ceremony until finally taking her by both shoulders. “It isn’t uncommon for the warrior to feel the power kick in. In times of great stress or danger, accept it, wield it. To take this man down you’ll need strong medicine to combat him. Even though he’s become reckless of late, the malicious aura that surrounds him is very strong. There is no greater strength than knowing here,” Travis put his hand over his heart. “That those who love you will not let you down and will be there for you when you need it. Never fear. Together, through this, Daniel and I will always be with you in spirit wherever you find yourself.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Later, she and Josh faced a steady downpour as they headed out the front door of the building. But before they took two steps away from the entrance, something caught Skye’s eye. Taped to the glass was an envelope with her name written in block letters. The paper had gotten wet which made the ink run.