by Sara Gauldin
Jennings considered what I said. After a moment of hesitation, he turned back to Officer Reynolds. “You’re right.” Jennings looked around. “Get the K-9 unit ready.”
Genevieve looked down the bank as far as she could see. “Jennings, how do you want to handle this?”
“We can send out a team along the shore from here, but that’s too obvious. I want to go out to the area by boat. It may be better to land two boats. One by the boat that might belong to the suspect and one past it. That team can work their way back toward the first team.”
“That sounds like an excellent start,” Genevieve said.
“Do you have something else in mind?”
Genevieve smiled. “Let me make some calls, and maybe I can add another vantage point to this.”
***
The winter sunlight was already dimming as we made our way along the shore. The johnboat moved through the water using just the trolling motor. The pace was slow, but the quiet was important. If somebody was hiding out in the wooded area near the water, we didn’t want to warn them we were looking for them until it was too late for them to make a run for it.
We passed the empty boat, tied to a tree branch. I used my binoculars to get a better look at it as it bobbed in the water like a lazy cork.
“It has a waterway registration tag.” I read off the number to Genevieve who jotted it down in her notebook.
“Anything else?”
“There’s a bucket in the boat; it has a lid on it. I can see a paddle. The boat doesn’t seem to have a full-sized engine. It has just a trolling motor, like the one we’re using now.”
Jennings held up his own set of binoculars. “Yeah, that one can move quietly enough. I don’t see any blood or any sign that there are body parts on board.”
“Neither do I. Let’s hope we will not give some fisherman a heart attack,” I said.
“Agreed,” Genevieve said. “But we have to be sure.”
I held onto the side of the boat and tried to focus on the shoreline that remained still while everything else jostled along. The water was not my comfort zone. I tried to block out the memory of the time I went overboard when I was a young child. The memory was fragmented, but the part that stayed distinct was the sensation of falling. I could remember looking up at the boat that seemed too large and too far away. My mother had reached toward me with a panicked expression. I shook my head trying to clear the memory. There was no time for that now. An involuntary shiver went through me despite the warmer than normal weather.
The officer driving the boat, Officer Bradley, pulled up to the bank and tied off the boat. “I’m sorry I can’t get any closer. There’s no dock down this way.”
I realized he meant that none of us were getting out of this boat without a major jump or wet feet. “All right, it can’t be helped.” I looked down at my boots, mourning the end of their useful life.
Jennings made the jump first, clearing the water’s edge with one leap. How I envied those long legs. Genevieve went next. I felt the boat move back as she launched herself with all her strength toward the shore. To my surprise, she made it, just barely.
I was next, and I knew I was in trouble. Genevieve’s jump had caused the boat to float back a bit. I grabbed the rope that held the boat and pulled it, trying to move the boat forward. When I was as close as I could get, I stepped up on the bench and jumped for the shore. My right foot made it to dry ground, but my left one wasn’t clear of the water.
“At least I won’t have both feet squishing as I go,” I grumbled to myself.
Officer Bradley was the last one off of the boat. He cleared the water effortlessly, making me feel like a phys-ed dropout. We hiked from the narrow shore area up the muddy bank and into the tree line. I was glad to see the forest was older and well established. The trees’ canopy blocked out the sun, keeping brush or brambles from growing. We hiked forward for a little while, looking for any signs of people.
The forest was unspoiled.
In the distance, we heard the first signal that it was time to turn and make our way parallel to the shore and back toward the boat ramp. I heard two police dogs barking. Had they found someone?
Another sound caught my attention. There was a low hum in the distance. As I tried to identify it, the sound grew louder, and I realized what Genevieve had requested. A helicopter was closing in on the area, giving us eyes in the sky in case there was someone to find.
We hiked as quickly as we could travel, fanning out, so we could just see one another. Each person was armed and watching for any sign of trouble. Before long, the steady strum of the helicopter’s blades drowned out the sound of the dogs. I wondered where the killer could be hiding. Each tree, stump, or bank was an ambush point. I held my gun securely. The strum of the helicopter was at once comforting and problematic. It was likely they would spot a suspect before we could find them on foot. But it was obvious we were there for someone. Our approach was blatant, and while the noise overhead masked our footsteps as we tramped through, it also hid the sounds of our suspect approaching.
To my right, I spotted Genevieve waving for me to join her. My pulse sped up with the anticipation of catching a killer. I sprinted toward her. There was no way to read her expression or intent while she was bundled in a heavy coat with a scarf.
With each step, I expected a threat. But as I drew near, I saw what had Genevieve’s attention, and it was no suspect. A tall embankment partially hid the remains of a campground. A few stones surrounded the charred remains of a campfire. Someone had leaned evergreen branches up against the live trees in the area, giving cover to the missing inhabitant.
Genevieve was already at the campsite when I caught up with her. She held her hand up and put her finger to her lips, warning me to stay quiet. I already knew there was no need. The campsite had been empty for more than a day, based on the fire.
Something in the bushes caught my attention. I waved for Genevieve to follow me as I checked it out. I holstered my gun, knowing Genevieve would cover me as I put on gloves to pick up the piece of fabric, covered in something dried and brownish, in the evergreen branch.
I help up what appeared to be a lady's undergarment, now stiff and congealed with blood.
Genevieve scowled as she scanned the area for any sign of motion.
I stuffed the evidence into an evidence bag I pulled out of my pocket.
We made our way around the camp. I found the marks where tent stakes had once been driven into the ground. There were other signs of habitation there as well: a bag of trash with a liquor bottle and several chip bags were half-buried in a pile of leaves. There were footprints in the soft loam outside the well tramped down camp area. We would collect them when the area was clear. We could compare the tracks to those we found with Jeffery Ellis’s body.
The sound of someone or something moving in the underbrush caught me off guard. I drew my weapon as I searched for the source of the sound. Genevieve and I turned to find a set of brown eyes staring back at us. The coyote held a human hand in its mouth.
Chapter 14
“Hold your fire. It’s defending its food,” Jennings said, coming up behind the coyote.
“It’s destroying evidence, and it won’t want to give it back,” Genevieve said.
I aimed my gun at the coyote, hoping for a reason not to shoot it. It was thin and mangy, but something in its eyes reminded me of my Milly. The coyote was starving and was drawn to an easy meal.
“It could lead us to its pack,” Jennings said.
I shook my head, never taking my eyes off the target. “I doubt it has a pack. Look at it. It’s starving to death.”
I hadn’t finished speaking before the coyote tried to make its escape. Charging past Genevieve, I watched as the animal ran with the bloody, manicured hand into the tree line. The sound of the gunshot was louder than I expected. It lingered in the empty expanse of the forest, my ears ringing as I watched the coyote stagger and drop to the ground, the hand still clenched in its
teeth.
Who took the shot? I thought to myself. I readied myself for an attack, but there was no need.
Officer Bradley approached the coyote already holstering his weapon. “He was getting away.” The officer leaned over, examining the dead coyote.
“He could have led us to the rest of the body,” Commander Jennings argued.
Officer Bradly grinned. “Why would he do that? If he had more stashed somewhere, he would want to lead us away from it, not toward it.”
“I think you’re right,” Genevieve said. “Besides, if we want to find something dead, the coyote isn’t the one we need to follow.” She pointed to a vulture perched in a tree near the campsite.
“It’s not circling,” I said.
“No, that one’s waiting. It likely fed here before and is hoping for more,” said officer Bradly.
“Let’s keep looking around. I think whoever was staying here is long gone.” I said. We searched the campsite, finding a makeshift latrine and an empty water bottle tossed in the bushes.
“Collect everything we need to get this all to the lab with a rush order. Any prints or DNA we can collect could save a life.”
“Hello.” One of the K9 officers caught up as the helicopter sound was almost out of earshot.
I waved to show we were part of the same team. The officer jogged in our direction. As she approached the campsite, the dog went on high alert.
“Herman says there is a cadaver nearby.” The dog sat down hard, and his nose flared as he tested the air.
Genevieve gestured toward the dead coyote. “Well, we know there’s a hand over there with the dead coyote. We will need a team here to process everything. I don’t want to disturb the hand any more than the coyote already did.”
“Great, wildlife is part of the crime scene.” The K9 officer, her badge said Miller, made a gesture to the dog that settled it in place from its over alert stance, craning its neck toward the dead coyote.
Office Miller nodded. “Maybe our killer stayed here at some point. We need more analysis to know who and when.”
Officer Bradly used his radio to contact the other groups. “All units, be advised. We have located a campsite. There are no suspects at this time. The scene is cleared for processing.”
Genevieve smiled at the officer. “Thank you. Now as for the suspect, the helicopter didn’t spot anybody in the area. We would know that upfront.”
I pointed at the hand “And it’s clear that Holly, or whoever that was, wasn’t killed here. There’s no sign of a struggle and no actual blood trail.”
“So somebody brought in the body here, by boat, and then hiked part of it here.” Jennings scowled as he envisioned what that meant.
“It’s fair to assume that the perp is likely mentally ill. For anyone to value that much one-on-one time with a body, well, it isn’t about concealing the kill,” I added.
Genevieve shook her head. “I agree with Avery. They were interested in concealing themselves, but the time and effort that must go into bringing the bodies here, it must have some meaning to the killer.”
“That’s an interesting take on it,” I said.
Genevieve gave me an incredulous look. “Take on what?”
“Well, we already know that the carvings may have some specific meaning to the killer. But perhaps the place does, too. Think about it. They could dump the bodies anywhere. Why sneak in here to deposit a body, especially when they know we would watch for it? The place must have meaning to them. We need to look at the history of the place, not just the victims.”
“I think you’re right,” said Officer Bradly. “Has this always been a forest? Who owns this land?”
I wracked my brain. “I think it’s always been mostly forest, but there was something around here somewhere. Wasn’t there a summer camp here or nearby at some point?”
Officer Miller’s eyes widened. “Oh yeah, I remember that. My brother told me about kids going out here for the summer. He never went.”
“Interesting. I think I remember something about a summer camp near the water, but I never knew where it was. I never went, either.”
Genevieve smirked. “All right, so maybe our guy… or gal is connected to the camp somehow. An owner, a child or relative, a former councilor or camper.”
I sighed. “Or maybe just someone who knew this place would be empty and available for whatever they had in mind.”
“Whoever they are, they are long gone. I hear the team coming now. I think we can head out and follow up on some of these leads.
***
Genevieve and I hiked back to the boat ramp rather than attempting to jump from the bank onto the boat. “So where is your head in all of this?” she asked.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well, I was wondering if being back here with your old unit, and running into your father, was giving you any second thoughts about taking the case?”
I took a moment, listening to the leaves crunching beneath our feet as I contemplated the answer. “My dad isn’t the man I thought he was. He was devoted. But lately, something about him has changed. I don’t know his connection to his so-called client, but the man practiced contract law. I don’t know why he’s here to defend against a murder accusation.”
“That’s a good question. You didn’t answer the question about the department or the case.”
“Oh, I hadn’t thought about it. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
“You know my specialty.”
I swallowed the knot in my throat. This was the department that made me. The one that taught me about trust and teamwork. “It could be an inside job.”
“The killer knew the area was being monitored.”
I nodded. It was true. There was nothing I could do to change that. “It makes sense. But I have a feeling there is more to this.” We reached the clearing leading up to the boat ramp.
“And that’s your specialty, seeing things as they are, and following your gut.”
“Well, my gut says we’ve just scratched the surface of this, and we need to move things along before the morgue is full of mismatched parts.”
***
The M.E. identified the remains as Holly Mangrum with her dental records. We needed to look into her life to see if anything could lead us to her killer. Holly Mangrum owned a townhouse just outside the city limits. Genevieve and I had marked the location on the map earlier, but it wasn’t anywhere near the other victims’ homes.
I drove the borrowed patrol car to the place and parked down the street. There was a group of reporters behind a tape line, hanging over and looking at us like hungry wolves.
Genevieve held up a file folder, blocking her face from their gaze into the passenger window. “Don’t make eye contact. If they can get you to look at them, it’s ten times worse.”
“I guess the local stations are getting wise to the murders,” I said.
“Yes, and Holly’s fiancé has been all over the news crying about her. There was a whole social media fury about it. Holly had a hashtag, but she’ll never know it.”
“A hashtag? Wow, I wouldn’t have thought something in this area would make it that big on social media.”
“You never know.” Genevieve unbuckled her seat belt and smoothed down her tailor-fit pantsuit. “I’m out of the loop with how any of that works. Who has time?”
I climbed out of the car and stretched before checking to make sure my weapon and my bag were ready to go. “It has to interest people, I guess.” Something about Holly having a hashtag was bothering me. Why Holly, why now, and how did her disappearance affect so many people online, while others died and I never heard anything about them. “Hey, Genevieve, did the other victims have a hashtag?”
“I don’t know. It’s possible. I only noticed the one for Holly because her fiancé was talking about how people’s support touched him during an interview.”
“Oh.” I couldn’t ask any more questions now. We ducked under the police line. Genevieve f
lashed her badge, and the officer waved us through.
“Special Agent Richards, Avery.” Major Watkins didn’t look glad to see me again, but considering our last encounter, it wasn’t a surprise. He had always been that way, all business, even back when I was new to the department.
“Hello, Major.” The other rookies and I had always joked that Major Watkins was a major pain in the butt. But when things went wrong, he was the guy you wanted on your team.
“Well, so far this place is clean a whistle.” Major Watkins gestured around the room. The furniture was sparse, there were no personal touches. The lone photo on the wall was a black and white print of a mountain pass. There was no sign that people lived there.
“Where are the belongings?” I asked.
“According to Dylan Troy, the fiancée, Holly was into the minimalist movement. Apparently, they got rid of everything that didn’t bring her joy.”
I walked into the kitchen and peeked in. “Holly must have been a miserable person. There is nothing here. It looks like it’s staged for a buyer. Not like a home.”
“Have you found anything of interest?” Genevieve said. Her lips pressed into a straight line, as we walked down the hallway toward the bedrooms.
“Well, Dylan’s prints are all over the place.” Watkins pointed to the blackened smudges where fingerprints were collected from a hall doorknob. “But not Holly’s.”
“Her prints are on record?” Genevieve asked.
I flinched as I envisioned Holly’s hand dangling from the coyote’s mouth, prints and all.
“She had a juvie record. We’re still trying to get the details for that.”
“Good luck,” I said. Holly was dead, and they were investigating her murder. That was the ace in the pocket, but the truth was unsealing juvenile records was difficult for a reason.
I looked around the sparse bedroom. There was an alarm clock on the floor next to the bed, which was only a mattress and box springs on a stand. “How can it be possible that Holly’s prints aren’t in her apartment?”
