by Terry Odell
Right now, she didn't want to make any decisions. "I think it's time you went home, Maggie. I have to get some sleep."
Maggie narrowed her eyes, then stood and tightened the belt of her robe. "Lock the door behind me."
Sarah heard hurt in Maggie's tone, but couldn't deal with it now. She walked Maggie to the door and threw the deadbolt. After a few deep breaths, she wandered into the bedroom and crawled into bed.
You get out of my head, Christopher Westmoreland. You're in New Jersey, in prison and I'm fine. You can't hurt me. You should be the one having nightmares, not me.
* * * * *
"You have something?" Randy asked Connor.
"Maybe." Connor crouched to the ground about five feet from where the body had lain. With a gloved fingertip, he scraped at the dirt, revealing a metallic gleam. He snapped a few shots to document the finding.
"A key?" Randy said. "You think it belonged to the vic?"
"Might have," Connor said. "If they stripped him here, it could have fallen out of a pocket." He shot another picture, then lifted the key from the soil. He angled his flashlight for a better look. "Might have a partial. We'll see what we get at the lab."
"Maybe they'll match the vic and that's a start." Randy crouched down and examined the small, flat key while Connor held it. "Safe deposit box? Mailbox?"
"I'm thinking padlock," Connor said.
Randy rubbed his neck against the beginnings of a tension headache. "I'll work my way outward with the metal detector. Kovak's trying to figure out how they got the body in here."
"Sounds good to me. Keep looking for a shell casing. Doc said her guess was a high-power rifle. I'll work out in the other direction, check for anything out of place."
Connor retreated and Randy settled the headphones over his ears.
An endless hour of listening to the beeping metal detector had netted four dollars and seventy-two cents in change, sixteen beer and soda cans, one silver chain, and a splitting headache. He doubted any of it was related to the crime, but he'd found them within the radius Connor had suggested as being most likely to have viable trace. But no shell casings. Whoever shot this guy probably watched too much television and took them with him.
Everything was photographed, bagged and tagged. He pulled the headphones from his ears and wiped his sleeve across his forehead. It took a minute for his hearing to readjust to the normal night noises. Tree branches creaked and leaves rustled, but he heard no animal sounds. Not unexpected. Between the banks of lights and the camera flashes, any self-respecting creature would have found a nice, dark hole to curl up in.
The sound of a car engine approached, stopped, followed by a door opening and closing. He turned. At last. The county CSI team was here. Connor was already approaching them.
Randy hastened to join the gathering of techs. "Glad to see you," he said. "You know Mike Connor, right?"
The men nodded.
"I'd like to collect as much as we can tonight," Randy said. "I'll arrange to secure the scene, but it's going to be tough to keep the entire property cordoned off. I appreciate the extra effort."
The techs nodded, already looking around. Connor started explaining what they'd done and Randy heard them talking about alternative light sources and Luminol.
Randy pulled out his cell phone. His finger hovered over the speed dial button for Sarah, but he resisted. He'd probably wake her and hearing her voice would be too much of a distraction. He looked at the phone before clipping it back on his belt. When it rang, his heart jumped. He willed Sarah's name to appear on the display. Instead, it was Charlotte's.
"Doc. You find something already?"
"Not yet. I wanted to let you know I'm going to cut at eight tomorrow morning. This one's moving to the head of the line. I'll get the DNA out to the state lab with a priority rush."
"Thanks."
"I've got the prints into the system, too. If anything pops right away, I'll call."
"Another thanks."
"Think nothing of it. Whodunits are the toughies, aren't they? And until we know who this vic is, we've got a doozey."
He thanked Charlotte and disconnected. For most crimes, the who did it was usually the easy part. Rival gang-bangers, jealous lovers, family members—people known to the victim. The challenge was making a case that would stand up in court. Knowing the victim gave you the starting circle of suspects. He hoped this would fall into that category. Solving a true whodunit where there were no clear suspects worked for mystery books. In real life, they too often stayed in the open files.
He caught a glimpse of Kovak talking to one of the county techs, most likely showing him what evidence he wanted collected, or at least where he thought would be the best place to look.
Connor came over, putting fresh batteries in his flashlight.
"How's it going?" Randy asked.
"We'll be awhile yet," Connor said. "The vic wasn't wearing shoes and there are some spots clear enough where we've got shoe prints, but none of bare feet."
Randy considered that. "So, he was dressed when he got here."
"Or someone carried him in and then shot him. But that seems like a lot of extra work."
"The techs are processing the shoe prints. And maybe some facial bone fragments, if they can find them. A lot of leaves on the ground, though, and the wind was pretty strong last night."
Randy blew out a slow breath and took one more look at the scene. "Damn. It's not supposed to rain, is it?"
Connor shrugged. "Hey, this is Oregon. It could rain anytime."
"Let's hope this isn't one of those times. With luck, we'll get enough tonight, but plan on coming back tomorrow."
"You're the detective."
Which meant he was in charge, but he also needed to work on the victim's identity. "And you know your job." Randy dragged his fingers through his hair. "What do you think?"
"How about we go out about ten feet, then if Kovak finds the entry point, we'll work that way."
Randy nodded. He respected the lab crew's ability to know what was likely to be part of a crime scene and what was superfluous. He trained his light on the ground as he walked back to where Kovak was working. "Any luck?"
Kovak pointed to what looked like partial shoe prints and dislodged rocks and branches. "This is my best guess."
"Why don't you go hit the computers? I'll meet you in the office." He rotated his neck, working out the kinks. "I'll update Brody and follow up with some of the neighbors."
"He did okay for his first scene," Kovak said. "You gonna keep him on all night? One officer isn't going to be able to control the perimeter."
They walked back to Kovak's car while Randy thought about the size of the crime scene he'd taped, considering the options. "I'll get a couple of uniforms from the night shift. Neville, if he's on duty. He's got that intimidation factor. And maybe having a cruiser parked out here will keep the rubberneckers away. Brody's done enough for his first homicide scene." And he wasn't about to leave a rookie out here alone in case the killer came back.
Kovak nodded. "Probably save the kid a few nightmares, too. Nothing like being alone in the woods somewhere you've seen a dead body."
"There is the scary movie factor, yes."
"Right. See you later." Kovak said.
"Hang on a sec." Randy got into his truck and rummaged through his suitcase for the bag of designer coffee he'd bought for Kovak in San Francisco. If they were going to pull an all-nighter at the station, at least they wouldn't be drinking sludge. "Here you go."
Kovak's eyes lit up. "Thanks, big guy." He slid into his car and drove off.
Randy ran what he had through his head as he went to check on Brody. The key was a start. If they could tie it to the victim. On television, they'd take the key to the lab, stick it in a box, punch a button and in seconds, a computer would spit out what the damn thing unlocked and who owned it. Probably what he'd had for breakfast.
Why couldn't it have been a wallet? A nice smooth leather wallet covere
d with prints and filled with ID.
Yeah, right.
Chapter Three
Randy sat at his desk and stared at the pictures of his faceless victim. Not exactly what they'd put in the paper with a "Do you know this man?" caption.
"You think it was a mob hit?" Kovak asked. "The vic was shot in the back of the head."
Randy looked up from the monitor. "The mob? In Pine Hills? What the hell for? And why strip him?"
"Harder to identify?"
"If that was their goal, why leave his hands? Charlotte's already sent his prints to the network." He swiveled his chair and faced Kovak's desk. "It's the abdominal carving that worries me. What if we do have a serial killer here?"
"Why did that reporter bring it up out of the blue, anyway?" Kovak asked.
"Good question. I've never seen her before and I thought I knew them all."
"Let me call her station manager and do some checking."
Randy went over to the whiteboard on the wall and started a timeline. He taped a photo of the victim to the board, front and center as a grim reminder of his job, which was making certain the victim had a spokesperson.
"I think I got it," Kovak said from his desk.
Randy snapped his head around. "Our victim?"
"No, our reporter. She hails from Portland, worked at the newspaper. Wanted the fame and glory of television, moved to Salem. The Portland paper's been running a series of articles on serial killers. Our little Miss Penny was way out of line, even for the television news standards. She'll be duly chastised for her attempts at sensationalism."
"Okay, then she's got serial killers on the brain." He stepped across the office and sank into his chair. "I'll check the newspaper archives. See if I can match our victim to one of the articles they ran." He scrolled through the articles, aware of Kovak standing over his shoulder.
"Look at that one," Kovak said. "The Triple X Murders. You think our victim's part of it?"
"Shit, I hope not." Already his belly was protesting against what it must know was going to be a diet of caffeine and little else for the next few days.
"I'll send what we have to ViCAP," Kovak said. "See if they have anything similar." He was already at his computer.
Randy's lips twitched at Kovak's eagerness. Then again, how often did the Pine Hills Police Force see anything worth reporting to the Violent Criminal Apprehension Program? "And I don't need to tell you the pattern—hell, even the fact he was cut—does not leave the office."
"No, you don't." Kovak clicked his mouse, then gave Randy a contrite look. "Hey, I didn't mean I liked the idea of someone getting murdered. But come on. We don't get this kind of crime here. This is—well, tell me your adrenaline isn't pumping. And that you're not looking forward to using what you picked up in San Francisco."
"What I learned in 'Frisco is that we'll be lucky to solve this case and we'll lose a lot of sleep trying. But let's give it our best shot. And, as I recall, that ViCAP form's going to take a while to fill out. You work on that, I'll see what I can do with missing persons reports."
* * * * *
Connor rolled in at about three a.m. "Damn, that coffee smells good."
"Kona. Compliments of the big guy," Kovak said. "Help yourself."
Connor disappeared, then returned with his Garfield mug. He stepped to the file cabinet where the office coffeepot sat and poured himself the rich brew.
Randy let him savor the coffee before he spoke. "Anything good to report?"
Connor shook his head. "Way out of our league here. The county took the evidence to their wizards. I can do some print work and look at the pictures, but we didn't find anything conclusive. Any leads on who the guy is?"
"Only who he isn't," Randy said. "No hits on his prints from the Western Identification Network database yet. I'm hoping we get something to go on from the autopsy before we have to start searching farther out. Seven states is enough."
"Strange," Connor said. He took another slug of his coffee. "Someone shot like that, you'd think he'd run in circles of the unsavory sort. I'd have bet my shirt he had a record."
Randy glanced at Connor's shirt and smiled. My Search Engine Ran out of Gas. "I'd have taken the bet—but right now, your shirt says it all."
Connor glanced down and grinned in return. "I'm happy to relinquish it."
"I'd rather not be reminded of my failures. Thanks anyway."
Connor slipped back to the coffee pot and topped off his mug. "I'm going to see if I can lift any prints from that key, then call it a night. I'll let you know."
While Kovak went to brew a fresh pot, Randy clicked open another search engine and settled in. He spent a few hours on what he convinced himself was productive work—after all, eliminating possibilities was part of the process—then stood and twisted the kinks out of his back. It was almost dawn. Connor had found a clear partial print, but it, too, wasn't in the fingerprint database. It would be weeks, maybe months before the CODIS system gave them anything on the DNA, assuming the man had a record. Randy extended the scope of missing persons reports to five counties, with nothing matching the vague description of their victim. But with a body dead barely a day, it was possible nobody had missed him yet.
"I'm going to grab a shower before the morning shift gets here," Randy said. "Doc's cutting at eight and I can see if the county CSI team has any results."
Kovak rubbed his eyes and took another sip of coffee. He grimaced and shoved the mug across the desk. "Eventually, even the good stuff turns on you. But thanks for getting me through the night."
"If you're smart, you'll hide the rest of the bag, or it'll disappear."
"I'd put it in my locker, but it would probably end up tasting like old socks. I think this is one treat that's going home with me." He crossed to the printer and picked up a stack of paper. "I'm hoping ViCAP has something with the knife pattern. Meanwhile, I'll finish these reports."
"Can you handle the incoming calls? Half the town's likely to think our John Doe is their missing Uncle Edgar or swear they saw the killer skulking around in the bushes."
Kovak nodded. "No lead too small. No citizen too nuts." He scratched his fingers over his scalp. "And I'll follow up on last night's door-knocking with county."
"Good luck," Randy said. "I'll see what the county lab's got as long as I'm going to be over there for the autopsy."
"Sometimes that's what it takes. You want to grab a bite at Sadie's before you head for the morgue?"
Randy realized Kovak hadn't been working with the reserves of a substantial dinner from Rob's the way he had. His partner hadn't complained about the vending machine fare, which was unusual. Then again, this case was a heck of a lot more than their normal Pine Hills petty theft, traffic violations and the occasional breaking and entering.
He hesitated. Sarah often stopped at Sadie's for a morning cup of coffee, but not this early. Besides, he didn't need the distraction. "I'm fine. But you go on. Maybe we'll meet for lunch, assuming I have any appetite after an autopsy."
Given the early hour, traffic on the interstate was light and Randy arrived at the morgue by seven-thirty. He wound his way down the stairs and through the dimly lit corridors to Charlotte's office where he tapped on the wired glass pane in the door and let himself in. She sat back in her chair, her legs crossed at the ankle on her desk, reading the newspaper.
He stood half a step inside the doorway. "Morning, Doc."
A tiny nod acknowledged his presence, but her eyes remained on the paper. He waited until she finished, folded it neatly, placed it in the wastebasket and smiled at him over black half-rimmed reading glasses. "Don't know why I bother, but I can't break the habit. Nothing but half-truths and lies."
"Comics are usually entertaining," he said.
One corner of her mouth turned up. "Park it, Detweiler." She inched her head toward a wooden chair. "I've got a report to finish. Coffee?"
The thought of more caffeine in his system and acid in his belly turned his stomach. The aroma would
mask the odor in the lab, but Charlotte would never let him bring anything inside. "No, thanks. Shall I gown up?" She was persnickety about any possible contamination of samples, but her findings were gospel in court.
Another nearly imperceptible nod.
"Meet you in the lab, then." She grunted and he left her to her computer.
At precisely seven fifty-seven, Charlotte approached the lab where Randy, wearing yellow disposable coverings, leaned against the wall by the door.
"How much sleep did you get last night, Detweiler?"
He straightened and shook the cobwebs from his brain. "I remember going to bed Tuesday night in 'Frisco. What day is it now?"
Her glare was almost motherly. "Thursday."
He shrugged. "Then let's get going so I can go home." She unlocked the door and he followed her inside, his nostrils flaring at the odor. He dragged a tall stool to a point well away from the table where last night's body lay.
"You small-town boys don't see much of this, do you?" Charlotte asked, apparently noting his discomfiture.
Although he'd cooperated with the county sheriffs countless times, and in the course of joint investigations had been to a number of autopsies, being lead on a homicide put things in a different perspective. He lowered himself from his perch and stepped closer. "Once is too often."
She cocked her head at him, then gave him an understanding smile. "You're right. It would be nice if we never had to deal with death like this." She adjusted the microphone hanging above the table. "But as long as we have to, it's our job to listen to the victims."
"Nobody hears them like you, Doc." He swore a faint pink tinged her cheeks.
"Well, our man's being too quiet. I had my guys run the films last night. According to their reports, no broken bones, no steel plates, screws or anything helpful for identification. Time for a closer look."
"Let me get a shot of this, and get a copy to you." Charlotte took a picture of the victim's abdominal wounds before she brought her scalpel to the body's torso, making a standard Y incision. Randy concentrated on her matter-of-fact voice recording her findings. Like a good news anchor, he thought, keeping his report impartial. Even though he knew he'd get a full account, he busied himself taking notes, trying not to look at the body.
