“It’s a bone.” Bree squinted. “Probably from a deer—or a dog.” Her stomach turned. They were standing near the place her father had put down the dog that had attacked her. Daddy had made her watch, after telling her she was responsible both for the attack and for the dog’s death because she’d wandered too close. She’d been five.
This is why we have rules, Bree. Her father’s voice echoed in her mind. An involuntary shiver passed through her. In her head he sounded like a character in a Stephen King novel—downright psychopathic. Was her recollection accurate, or was her imagination adding detail?
Did it matter?
Psycho or not, Daddy had been a lazy man. The dog had been large, and he’d probably buried it close to where it had fallen.
Bree scanned the shallow ravine and saw a few more bones seemingly exposed by the runoff. “It looks like this area flooded recently. There’s a stream on the other side of those trees.” She nodded toward the woods. “And we did have some big storms in the past few weeks.”
Adam shook his head. “I don’t think it’s a dog or a deer, Bree.” He waved to a spot about five feet away.
There were a few more bones. Wait. Bree moved closer to a large, rounded object wedged under a rock. She didn’t want to believe what she was seeing.
Bree straightened, suddenly light-headed. The implications of their discovery swirled in her brain. “It’s a skull.”
“Is it human?” Adam asked, but from the tone of his voice, he already knew the answer.
A stick poked through one of the empty eye sockets. The remains weren’t canine.
“Yes. It’s definitely human.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Matt Flynn threw the toy out into the pond on the rear of his property. The young, pure black German shepherd plunged into the lake and swam hard for the floating toy. She ignored the squawking ducks that half flew out of her way. Greta was 100 percent focused on her quarry. She caught it in her teeth, turned, and swam back to Matt. She ran out of the water, spit the toy at his feet, and shook. Water sprayed in every direction. Laughing, Matt wiped a drop of pond water off his face. She stood in front of him, tongue lolling.
“Good girl,” he praised her, then poured water from a stainless-steel bottle into a collapsible bowl. She lapped up half the water.
Matt was fostering the young shepherd for his sister’s dog rescue. With keen intelligence and a strong drive to work, Greta had been difficult to place as a house pet. Matt had been tempted to keep her as a foster fail, but he recognized all her pain-in-the-butt traits made her a perfect K-9 candidate. By the end of the month, she would be old enough to be paired with a deputy and sent to K-9 training, provided Bree could raise the money for her training and equipment. With July ushering in sweltering temperatures, he was using the month to get Greta accustomed to water and burning off her seemingly endless energy. He shouldn’t have worried, though. Greta was fearless.
Matt picked up a towel and rubbed the excess water off her coat. Then he stuffed his gear into his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. After clipping a leash onto Greta’s collar, he commanded her to heel in German. “Fuss.”
Matt’s former K-9 partner, Brody, had been imported from Germany and already obedience-trained in that language, so Matt was accustomed to using German commands. He also felt using foreign words helped avoid any confusion on the dog’s part, especially in the early phases of training. The dog was unlikely to hear the words from anyone other than the trainer.
She fell into step at his side as they walked through the large meadow and into the grassy rear yard that led up to Matt’s back porch. His restored farmhouse sat on twenty-five acres, and the summer sun was afternoon-high. Greta was nearly dry by the time they reached the backyard. They walked past the kennels where Matt had planned to train K-9s before his sister had filled the entire building with canine rescues. He waved to his childhood friend Justin, who was walking a timid pit bull around the yard. Justin worked for the rescue. Justin had suffered terrible tragedy and was battling a drug addiction. He and the dogs were healing each other.
Matt went into the house. A second German shepherd, this one a traditional black and tan, rose from his bed and greeted Matt with a wag of his feathery tail.
Matt stroked his head. “I’m sorry, Brody. Next time you can come swimming with us, or even better, I’ll take you after Greta leaves for the academy.”
A few years before, Matt and Brody had been a sheriff’s department K-9 team. A shooting had ended both of their careers. A bullet in Matt’s hand had limited his dexterity—and his marksmanship. He could shoot a rifle, but his accuracy with a pistol had been compromised. Now, he consulted as a civilian criminal investigator, a position that did not require him to carry a handgun. Brody was simply getting older, although the shooting certainly hadn’t helped the aging process.
Greta tried to nose her way between them, but Brody held his ground. Matt lifted Brody’s big head and looked into his deep brown eyes. “Don’t worry. She’ll be out of your hair in September.” After she was accepted into the training program, Greta would live with her new handler.
Brody let out a long-suffering sigh and gave his temporary houseguest a side-eye. The older dog liked Greta, but she also annoyed the hell out of him.
Greta moseyed over to the corner and stretched out on the cool tile. Swimming had tired her out. Matt went into his kitchen for a glass of water. He made a turkey sandwich and ate it while leaning over the sink. He felt the weight of both dogs’ stares as he chewed. He was brushing crumbs off his hands when his phone buzzed on the counter, and he reached for it.
Bree’s name popped onto the screen. They’d been dating for a couple of months. The smile that tugged at his mouth felt stupid, but he was always happy when she called him.
“Hey,” he answered.
“Hi.” The single syllable sounded stressed.
Matt remembered she’d agreed to see her childhood home with her brother today. “What’s wrong?”
She blew out an audible breath. “Adam and I found human remains in the woods behind my parents’ house.”
“What? You’re sure it’s not an animal?” At one time in Matt’s former career, he’d also been an investigator for the sheriff’s department. He’d gone out on more than one call to collect bones later determined to be an animal’s. Deer bones were similar in size to human, and bear and raccoon paw bones resembled those of a human hand.
“I’m ninety-nine percent sure,” she said. “We found a skull. I’d like your help with the investigation. Do you have time to work a case?”
Matt checked the time on his phone. One thirty. “I can be out there in fifteen minutes.”
“OK, thanks. The ME is on her way too.”
Skeletal remains weren’t as time sensitive as a fresh corpse. Bones weren’t going to degrade significantly in a few hours, but the location of the bones made Matt uneasy. Were the remains related to her family? Or had someone taken advantage of the vacant land? He hoped it was the latter. Bree and her family didn’t need any more tragedy heaped on their devastating past.
Ending the call, Matt quickly changed into a pair of dark-brown tactical cargoes and a polo shirt embroidered with the sheriff’s department logo. He took Brody out to do his business, then filled the water bowl. After donning boots, he left the dogs snoozing in the kitchen and drove out to the Taggert property.
Bree stood on the side of the road behind her official SUV and two patrol vehicles. She held her cell phone to her ear. She didn’t fidget or pace. She was 100 percent focused on her call. Bree didn’t waste energy.
Matt stepped out of his SUV. Her gaze met his for a brief second. At the eye contact, Matt felt the now-familiar light punch to his heart. Then she returned her attention to the caller.
Bree was an attractive woman. No doubt about it. Average height, she was naturally athletic and leanly built. Her hair was brown, wavy, and thick. Today, it had been half pulled from its usual neat knot and fell to her shoulders, tous
led and tangled and sexy. But it was her intelligence and another quality he couldn’t quite quantify that riveted him. Pure physical attraction was great, but Matt needed more. He wanted what his parents had—a lifetime of connection and friendship—but he understood most people never found anything even close.
Bree lowered her phone. Those intelligent hazel eyes landed on him again, and he felt the connection with her in his bones.
“Thanks for coming, Matt.” Her words were formal. She was never inappropriate on the job.
In fact, he could only hope that she wasn’t so worried about a potential conflict of professional interest that she couldn’t commit to him in any way. Bree’s identity was tied to her job, but her dedication had nothing to do with money. Adam would support her. Though her brother looked like he lived in a tent under an overpass, he was wealthy. His paintings sold for obscene amounts of money. Bree’s need to protect and serve came from her experience as a young victim of violence. The same childhood tragedy also made it hard for her to trust, and he understood why she needed to move slowly.
Matt came from a solid and secure family. Bree had been raised by a monster. It was not surprising he would be ready to make a commitment before she was. But he still feared she’d never be able to return his feelings. Not that it mattered. He couldn’t change how he felt. His heart was in her hands.
She tucked a stray hair behind one ear. Tension bracketed her mouth, and her uniform looked like she’d slid into home plate.
“What happened to you?” he asked.
“Long story.” As they walked around the side of the deteriorating house, through the rear yard, and past the barn, she filled him in on finding and chasing the trespasser. “He says he only went into the barn. The house was locked, and we found no sign that he’d broken in. He also says he doesn’t know anything about the skeleton.”
“How old is he?” Matt asked.
“Forty-eight,” Bree said.
“Of course we have no idea how old the bones are.” Matt stroked his beard.
“No.”
It was notoriously hard to determine the postmortem interval, or the length of time since death, for fully skeletonized remains.
Bree and Matt passed through a small strip of woods and emerged in a clearing dotted with the rotted ruins of small wooden structures.
Bree pointed. “The grave is over there, in a shallow runoff ditch.”
On the other side of the clearing, Bree’s second-in-command, Chief Deputy Todd Harvey, was stringing crime scene tape between trees, marking off the entire area. At the edge of the clearing, Adam was sketching on a notepad.
Todd raised a hand in greeting, then went back to his task.
“Hey, Adam.” Matt greeted Bree’s brother.
Adam lifted his pencil. “Bree put me to work.”
“Handy to have a real artist on-site.” Matt skirted a rusty stake in the ground. They stopped a few feet short of the runoff. He could see a few partially unearthed bones, including the dirty-white of a skull.
“What was this area used for?” he asked.
“This is where my father kept his dogs chained.” Bree waved a hand over the clearing. “It’s been decades since I’ve been back here, but I think the grave would have been out of their reach.”
“You don’t know that the body was here when your family lived here,” Matt pointed out. “The property has been vacant for how many years?”
“Twenty-seven,” she said without blinking.
“Right. These remains could have been buried here at any time before or after.”
Bree’s jaw tightened. “I know that, but it would not surprise me to learn my father had killed someone.” She exhaled. “He murdered my mother.”
His heart cracked for her. She’d endured and overcome unimaginable horrors.
“I understand,” he said, “but let’s not make any assumptions. Anyone could have accessed this land over the years. I’m sure the current trespasser isn’t the first.”
Matt scanned the weedy ground and surrounding woods. “Have you searched the whole property?”
“Just about to do that now,” Bree said. “So far, we just cleared for threats. From our initial sweep, it seems he’s been camping in the barn. It looked cozy, so I suspect he’s been there on and off for a while.”
Matt sized up the grave. “Excavation will take some time. The grave wasn’t very deep, and the skeleton isn’t intact. The ME will need to sift a ton of dirt to find as many pieces as possible.”
The small bones of the hands and feet often went missing after the connective tissue decomposed. Rodents and other scavengers dug up and carried away body parts.
A deputy walked onto the scene, carrying a clipboard. Matt didn’t recognize him, but he looked young and still sported an academy buzz cut. There was a bounce in his step, and eagerness shone from him. Like a Labrador retriever puppy, he wanted to please.
Bree waved him over and introduced Matt to Juarez.
“Start a crime scene log,” she instructed the rookie. “No one enters without signing in.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Juarez took Matt’s information.
The medical examiner walked into the clearing. Dr. Serena Jones was a tall African American woman, and she covered the ground with long strides. Her assistant, a full head shorter, race-walked to keep up.
Dr. Jones paused at the edge of the ditch and scanned the general area. “What do we have here?”
Bree summarized. The ME crouched to examine the visible bones more closely without touching them.
Straightening, she propped her hands on her hips. “There’s a chance of showers tonight. We need to protect this area.” Squinting at the sky, the ME grimaced. “Let’s hope it doesn’t flood this ditch.”
The sky was still clear, but the wind had picked up. Tree limbs waved above them.
Matt checked the weather forecast on his phone app. “Only light rain is expected, and we have a few hours before it starts.”
“Good,” Dr. Jones said. “We can do the site prep work today and be ready to excavate first thing tomorrow.”
Bree called to Todd. He walked over and she explained what they needed.
Todd nodded. “I’ll have a deputy transport the suspect to the station and bring a tent back here from the storeroom. Juarez is the FNG. He can babysit the bones overnight.”
FNG was cop-speak for fucking new guy. The newest recruit always got the shittiest assignments, like directing traffic in the middle of August or cleaning vomit from the back of a patrol car. It was an everyone-pays-their-dues tradition. Handling the worst assignments with grace and humor would help the new recruit assimilate into the unit and build camaraderie.
“I want Oscar and Juarez working the scene,” Bree said. “It’ll be good experience for the rookie.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Todd nodded.
Bree turned back to Dr. Jones. “How much time do you need to remove the remains?”
The ME changed her position, moving a few feet to the left and leaning over the ditch. “I don’t know.” She didn’t take her eyes off the bone she was studying. “I’m going to call the forensic anthropologist at the university.” She pulled her phone from her pocket. “I’d like his help.”
Matt sensed something had changed. “What do you see?”
“Look at this femur.” Dr. Jones gestured to a long, thin bone that widened at each end. “This is the head that connects to the hip. We can tell by the angle of the bone shaft that this is a right femur.” She pointed to another long bone a few feet away. “That is also a right femur.”
Matt and Bree exchanged glances.
He digested the information. “There’s more than one victim in this grave.”
“Yes.” The ME straightened and brushed her hands on her thighs. She surveyed the clearing. “We have at least two victims in this ditch. With comingled skeletal remains, I’d like the anthropologist’s input before we excavate. I also want to bring in ground-penetrating radar.”
>
Matt watched Bree turn to face the side of the clearing that led back to the barn and house.
Without turning around, she said, “You want to make sure there aren’t more remains.”
“Yes.” Dr. Jones turned in a circle. “There’s plenty of space out here for additional graves.”
Matt and Bree left the medical examiner and her assistant laying out their equipment. They trekked back to the barn.
“Where do you want to start?” Matt asked.
“The barn,” Bree said. “Adam keeps the house locked, and we found no sign that anyone had broken in.”
“When was he here last?”
“I don’t know.” Guilt swept over Bree’s face. “Apparently, he visits the place now and then, fixes things.” She shook her head as if she couldn’t understand. “He hasn’t bothered with the barn, though. It’s just an empty shell.”
They circled the building, then entered through the rear door. Six large stalls lined one side of the space, with a loft above them. Two-thirds of the space was wide open clear to the roof at least twenty feet up.
“Did your family keep livestock?” Matt asked.
“Not really,” Bree said. “My mother collected a few discarded animals. It was the one indulgence my father permitted her. We had an old pony, a used-up dairy cow, and some barn cats, of course.” She gestured to the empty area. “My father used this area to store farm equipment.” She sighed. “Knowing my grandparents, they sold the machinery. The animals probably went to slaughter. I never asked because I didn’t want to know.”
Since Bree’s grandparents had separated the Taggert siblings after their parents’ deaths, Matt doubted they had been the kindest of people.
The sadness on her face was heartbreaking. Matt wanted to take her hand. He wanted to hold her, but she’d never allow it, not when she was on duty and in public. The best he could do was make sure she didn’t have to be here alone.
He surveyed the mostly empty space. “You said it seemed he was camping here.”
“In the loft.” She headed for a ladder and started climbing.
The wood was old and creaky. Matt waited for Bree to exit the ladder before he followed her. While a thick layer of dirt and dust covered the first floor, the loft had been recently swept. The space smelled faintly of mold, and a few watermarks indicated areas where the roof leaked. But overall, the space was dry. Matt had seen worse digs for a homeless person.
Right Behind Her (Bree Taggert) Page 3
