by Jo Robertson
“Let’s turn her over,” he instructed.
Bauer helped him lift the lower extremities from the shallow water. The head fell back, exposing a nasty gash across the girl’s throat. “Oh, shit.” Bauer’ voice was high and thready.
Slater hoped his partner wouldn’t vomit again. “Steady, man. Just hold the head up. I want to see if there’s anything beneath the body.”
The slit throat hadn’t caused the girl’s death, even though the wound itself was grisly and the skin gaped to show the tendons and muscles of the neck. Severing the carotid artery would produce massive amounts of blood. He carefully probed the back of the girl’s head. No blunt force trauma.
Bauer sucked shallow breaths through his lips, and edged sideways, almost dropping the girl.
“Damn it, hold still,” Slater snapped. At the look on Bauer’s face, he silently berated himself. Always decently kind to everyone, his partner didn’t deserve the impatient tone.
This last month Slater had snarled at every member of his team like a bear coming too soon out of hibernation. Even Sheriff Marconi had commented on his short fuse, claiming it wasn’t anything a good lay couldn’t cure. Must be some kind of mid-life crisis, Slater thought, though he was shy of forty by several years.
He continued to examine the girl’s lifeless body, her slim shoulders and firmly muscled leg. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but there was always something, some careless clue left by a hurried killer.
He lifted the girl’s bent leg and raised her hip, noticed the lack of postmortem lividity on the side where she rested. Trace amounts of blood stained the ground between her legs and under her hips where the water hadn’t reached.
There should be more blood. Slater was certain Wilson’s autopsy report would show the girl had been killed elsewhere, bled out, and moved.
Damn. This wasn’t the primary crime scene and their job just got a whole lot harder.
As Slater straightened the leg, something caught his attention. “Take a look, Bauer.”
Carved into the crease, high on the inside of her right thigh was a sign that looked like a tiny loop crusted with body fluids. Slater motioned the crime scene photographer forward and hoped the techs had gotten trace from the mark.
“It’s like a figure eight on its side,” Bauer offered.
Slater grunted, wondering if the mark meant anything. He explored the body, noting the wounds in the belly and chest, deep, ragged holes as if her attacker had stabbed her, and for good measure worked his weapon back and forth.
What kind of monster did this to another human being?
The instrument used looked to be a long-bladed knife. The violence of the attack suggested the perpetrator was a man, but it didn’t take much pressure to inflict a stab wound. Once the skin was penetrated by the blade tip, the amount of force necessary to penetrate major organs was very little.
He noted many shallow cuts and counted at least twenty stab wounds, some of which were so deep he wondered how the killer had removed the weapon afterward. But he didn’t think the carefully-placed stabs were meant to be killing blows. Had the killer intended to punish his victim and lost control?
Slater pushed the tangle of wet hair from the girl’s face. For all the damage done to the body, the face, as clear and smooth as a baby’s, was unmarked. In death the girl looked like a Greek statue, cold and hard as stone. Lying on her back with her eyes closed, she seemed younger than she was, and very vulnerable.
Slater hoped to God Jennifer Johnston was dead before these blows were inflicted.
What kind of maniac were they dealing with?
Chapter Two
Kate Myers drove fast.
She thrived on speed and recklessness and made no excuses for it. Even though the loose ends of her ponytail slashed across her eyes, she liked the sensation of the wind blowing in her hair and whipping at her face.
Once she’d put Los Angeles County, with its ten million people in their millions of smog-producing vehicles, behind her, she reveled in the fresh air. She glanced at the map weighted down on the passenger side of her Volkswagen convertible. She’d been on I-5 since early morning, and in spite of six hours of driving, she was pumped up with excitement over the latest hit she’d gotten on her home computer this morning.
It was a sad truism that if she had a boyfriend, she wouldn’t have been searching the private database with the software she’d created some years ago. And she wouldn’t have found the hit so soon. As soon as the new case rolled across her monitor, she’d known it was the one she’d been waiting for.
She’d had to convince Captain Howes to get her temporarily reassigned to the Bigler County Sheriff’s Office and effect her leave immediately, but she’d finally persuaded him to call in a favor with law enforcement up north. He’d complained, but when he called her Missy, Kate knew he, too, was intrigued about the discovery.
Howes was the only person she’d shared her obsession with. Well, that’s what he called it. An obsession born of trauma and reared in aggression. Maybe he was right.
Normal girl like her, he claimed, so pretty and all, should go home at night to a husband and a bunch of kids to keep her busy. Wasn’t going to happen, Kate knew, because more than obsession drove her. It was a strong sense of justice. Of righting old wrongs and preventing new ones.
Because she was a damn good worker and a critical part of the Captain’s department, he put up with her frequent wild goose chases around the country. However, whatever drove her – tenacity, revenge, or justice – Howes constantly warned her of the cost she might pay down the road.
Kate didn’t care. She’d never give up the search. She felt like she’d been waiting for the right piece of the puzzle most of her life, and she’d go to the ends of the earth to track it down. Luckily, she only had to make a four-hundred-mile drive.
An old cold case in Bigler County, California, was one she’d flagged several years ago, but it wasn’t until her program caught the homicide discovered just this morning in the same county that she made the connection. In the same county. Two murders in the same location, even with only tangential similarities, couldn’t be a coincidence.
Two hours after the computer hit, she packed as many clothes as possible into her Volkswagen Beetle and headed north on the interstate. When she reached the junction of I-5 and 80, she took the signs that pointed toward Reno.
As Kate drove through the commuter traffic of Sacramento, northeast toward Placer Hills, she impulsively decided to go straight to the sheriff’s office before searching for a motel. Quickly turning off the highway at the last moment to the sound of blasting car horns, she pulled into a Chevron Station. She took her vanity bag from the trunk, along with a few hanger pieces. She didn’t want her first impression at the Bigler County Sheriff’s Office to be one of jeans, tee shirt, and sandals.
Captain Howes had cautioned her to tread softly, but she wasn’t going to let this huge break slip by her. She didn’t care how big a stick she had to carry.
#
Katherine Myers’ arrival at the Bigler County Sheriff’s Office made quite a splash with every man in the bullpen. Detective Slater watched the lithe blonde maintain her composure while his fellow officers stared and gawked.
A cold blustery wind, unusual for California in late October, blew from behind her through the open door and whipped wheat-colored strands of hair across her face. Dressed smartly in a tailored navy suit and white shirt, bare legs long and slim above navy heels, she looked straight ahead as she made her way through the bullpen. Her calf muscles tightened with each stride, and the fingers of one hand gripped the thin, brown strap of her purse. The other hand attempted to tug her hair out of her eyes.
Slater gave her kudos for ignoring the whole bunch of them and focusing instead on some unseen spot on the opposite wall as she walked straight to Sheriff Marconi’s office. Pretty women could be pretty traps, Slater knew from experience, so he turned back to his report and eyed the phone as he waited for W
ilson to call him from the coroner’s office.
Marilyn and Kenneth Johnston had ID’ed their daughter’s body this afternoon, and Wilson had made the autopsy a priority. Although Slater had looked for signs of something off in the parents, he’d read nothing but horror and grief on their faces. Of course, they’d had nearly a week to practice, and he’d follow up on their alibis, but although Slater sensed tension in the Johnston household, he didn’t think it amounted to murder.
He and Bauer had finished up at the crime scene around eleven and high-tailed it over to the school where they spoke again to several of the Johnston girl’s teachers and friends. Nothing new. Now that he’d finished his report, his curiosity compelled him to keep one eye on the Sheriff’s closed office door. He drummed his fingers on the desk.
Until five years ago, the Bigler County Sheriff’s Department, housed in Placer Hills, didn’t have a computer system. When Slater discovered that even his nieces and nephews used computers at their elementary school, he’d pressured the Sheriff into updating their entire system. The old IBM’s, purchased at a bargain from the high school district, gave way to new computers. It’d only taken three years.
Fifteen minutes after the woman entered Marconi’s office, the door opened, and the Sheriff emerged. “Slater, Bauer, get in here.”
Slater’s partner, Matthew Bauer, rolled his chair back from the desk that faced Slater. “You suppose the Boss wants us to meet her?”
Slater looked up from his report. “Meet who?”
“Are you blind? The looker that just came in. There’s not a red-blooded American in the county wouldn’t like to see her on his arm. She’s the most gorgeous thing I ever saw.”
Slater never ceased to be entertained by his partner’s old-fashioned expressions. “Maybe Marconi needs our help. She might be too much woman for him to handle.”
Bauer blushed. “Aw, Slater, you hadn’t oughta talk about a lady that way.”
“Who says she’s a lady? Let’s go find out.”
Sheriff Xavier M. Marconi had squeezed his enormous bulk behind a walnut desk that matched his size. In spite of the clutter of papers, files, and an ashtray littered with cigarette butts, Slater knew the Chief was very organized about his cases. Slater rolled his eyes toward the no-smoking sign posted over the office door, the same sign displayed in every public building in the state.
He thought the woman suppressed a smile.
“Slater, Bauer, this here’s Dr. Katherine Myers.” Marconi didn’t offer them a seat. “She’s come all the way from Los Angeles to help us out around here. Detective Slater’s in command of Investigations. Bauer’s his partner.”
He dragged the city’s name out so that the last syllable of Angeles rhymed with fleas. Marconi had lived in Bigler County all his life, had never even visited the big, bad City of the Angels.
Dr. Myers rose from the wooden chair in front of Marconi’s desk, extended her hand first to Bauer, then Slater. “Call me Kate, please.”
Her grip was firm and cool as her fingers wrapped around Slater’s. Their hands contrasted sharply, his skin the deep brown he’d inherited from his father’s side of the family, hers a light tan. Freckles sprinkled her nose. When she spoke, a dimple indented a single spot below her left cheek.
“Help us out with what?” Slater asked, looking from the woman to Marconi.
“The Jennifer Johnston case,” Marconi answered.
Slater narrowed his eyes in suspicion. The murder they’d caught this morning, the missing teenager who’d shown up dead. Although they’d been investigating the disappearance since Wednesday, they’d only just begun the homicide investigation.
Why the need for outside help?
Since when did the Chief call on other agencies, especially as far away as L.A.? Especially in a homicide. Their murder rate was surprising low, and their solve rate was high. There’d been only one unsolved case in the ten years Slater had been here, and just two in the decade before.
“Didn’t know we needed help, Sheriff.” Slater addressed Marconi, but his eyes never left the doctor.
Myers sat while he and Bauer remained standing. Her legs were crossed at the knee and her hands folded in her lap. She’d managed to tuck her hair back into a sort of knot at the back of her head, held in place by a clip.
“You never know when we will, Ben. Doc, this here’s Ben Slater and Matt Bauer, Special Investigations Division, mostly homicides, but they’re general jack of all trades. Slater’s team investigates any crime against persons from robbery to murder.”
Marconi emitted his traditional snort that sounded like a laugh. “Doc here’s a psychologist,” he explained. “Specializes in forensics, that right, Doc?”
“A forensic psychiatrist,” she corrected gently in an amused tone.
Marconi waved a hand her way. “I’m sure we’ll find out about that soon enough. Slater, I’m assigning the Doc to your team. She’ll wanna see the crime scene photos ASAP. Show her around, will ya, teach her the ropes, stuff like that.”
Marconi gestured toward the door in dismissal. “I’ll get a deputy to set up an office for you soon as I can rustle up a place,” he added. “Welcome aboard, Doc.” He’d already returned to the papers on his desk before these last words were out of his mouth.
Bauer scrambled to hold the door for Myers. “You can use my desk for the time being, ma’am. Uh, if you want.”
Myers smiled sweetly. “Detective Bauer, is it? I’ll take you up on that offer, but first I’d like to examine the crime photos.”
“Sure.” Bauer blushed and led the doctor to his work space, clearly a crush in the making.
Slater reluctantly pulled the Johnston file folder from the battered gray filing cabinet behind his desk. Damned if he was going to toss an unknown entity into his investigation. No matter what the Sheriff said.
Because of the high-profile nature of the case, the crime scene unit had rushed the job from the photography lab. Bauer pulled the unsteady desk chair from beneath his government-issue desk and held it for Myers. She draped her purse over the chair back and folded her hands on Bauer’s desk blotter, gazing across the short distance between the two partners’ desks which butted against each other.
“These aren’t pretty,” he warned as he handed Myers the file folder. Bauer rolled a chair perpendicular to his desk, but avoided looking directly at the Johnston girl’s body.
Slater studied Dr. Myers as she flipped through the pictures one by one and waited for the smooth, impassive face to respond to the horror of the teenage girl’s body. But if she reacted at all to the gruesome scene, he couldn’t tell.
One cool cucumber, he thought. “Seen anything like this before, Doc?”
But when she finally looked at Slater she was pale and her eyes distant and unfocused. Not as unaffected as she’d like them to think, then.
Kate fought to control the tremor in her hand as she stared at the graphic pictures of Jennifer Johnston’s partially clothed and wounded body. It was him. The viciousness of the stab wounds, the placement of clothing on the naked body – a wave of nausea swept over her. He’d been here. Was possibly still here. After all this time, so close.
Relief washed over her, along with the fear and excitement she always experienced when she beheld the handiwork of the monster.
“Dr. Myers?” Detective Slater’s voice brought her back to reality. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she snapped. “When can I see the crime scene?”
Slater put his hands up in a whoa-there gesture. “It’ll be dark in less than half an hour. You won’t be able to see anything more than what’s in the photos.”
“Then I’d like to take the file with me and study it tonight.”
“Pretty grisly bedtime reading.” Though his voice was mild, Slater’s sharp, gray eyes pierced her like nails. She realized he was annoyed by her request.
She shouldn’t alienate these men before she even began working with them. “Look, Detective Slater – �
��
“Just Slater,” he interrupted.
She wouldn’t ignore the peace offering, even if she sensed it was insincere. “Slater,” she amended patiently. “You’re right. I can look at the scene photos and study the files tomorrow.” She glanced through the folder again. It cost her to hand it back. “What about the autopsy report?”
“The medical examiner’s working on it now, but he won’t be finished until tomorrow, early if we’re lucky, later if not.”
She nodded. “Of course.” Standing and retrieving her purse, she slung it over her shoulder. “Well, gentlemen, I just drove straight from L.A. to Sacramento today. I’ll get settled in my motel room and see you tomorrow.” She smiled at Bauer. “Maybe you and the Lieutenant can teach me the ropes in the morning?”
Then Dr. Myers flashed Slater that amused look again, and he noticed for the first time the deep violet hue of her eyes.
“Sure,” he answered. “First thing tomorrow.”
As they shook hands, Slater pondered why a highly-trained specialist like Dr. Myers would leave L.A., the crime capital of the state, for their sleepy, little county. He intended to discover what had really brought her here.
Slater and Bauer traced Kate Myers’ exit from the detectives’ squad room, past the officer on duty at the front desk, and out the frosted-paned, double doors of the courthouse. The wind gusted up at the moment she pulled on the door, flipping up her navy skirt just enough to show the backs of her bare thighs.
Sometimes Slater believed there was a God.
Chapter Three
As it turned out, Kate’s first real day with the Bigler County Sheriff’s Office began earlier than she expected. She’d been up late, unloading her car and unpacking the meager items she’d brought from L.A.
The bulk of her car’s back seat contained her files. She’d rather leave behind her underwear than be without her murder books. Hopefully, she’d have found a rental apartment when her furniture was delivered next week. Long after midnight, she finally set the alarm for seven and fell into bed.
