Dead, Without a Stone to Tell It

by Jen J. Danna

  Crawling back to his comrade’s body, tossed aside like a rag doll.

  Sightless, staring eyes.

  Dead eyes.

  “Matt. Matt!” Pain from his right arm abruptly brought him back as Leigh grabbed his left shoulder and shook him sharply. “Matt!”

  He blinked and forced himself to focus on the woman standing in front of him. Leigh’s face was pale, her alarmed eyes fixed on his.

  “Are you okay?”

  He nodded once, a sharp jerk of his head. Then he forced himself to look back into the clearing, back at the nightmare that had thrust him into the horrific landscape of his own past.

  A short-handled shovel lay carelessly discarded on a loose pile of dark dirt, small roots and bits of gravel. Beside the dirt pile was a partially dug oval pit; a pit that was unmistakably long enough and wide enough to hold a human body.

  But the true horror lay in the dirt beside the half-dug grave.

  The broken, bloodied body of the woman was wrapped in a plastic sheet. She was naked, sprawled as if she had rolled after being carelessly dropped. The upper part of her body was partially exposed, black hair fanned around her bloodless, stark white face. Her lips and tongue had started to swell and dark liquid leaked from her closed eyelids—the tears of the dead. One ghostly arm had pulled free from the sheet and lay limply in the dirt, palm up and fingers outstretched as if in entreaty, bloody strips of peeled skin falling away from the limb. Her chest was a mass of bloody and lacerated tissue, and blood grotesquely smeared the inside of the clear plastic.

  Whoever had killed her had ripped her apart.

  CHAPTER NINE: ENVIRONMENTAL STRESSOR

  Environmental Stressor: a physical, chemical, or biological event, either natural or manmade, that adversely impacts the growth and development of the salt marsh.

  Wednesday, 7:35 A.M.

  Essex Bay Coast, Massachusetts

  Matt hung back at the edge of the trees, his eyes fixed on Leigh as she stood at the far side of the clearing. She was far enough away that he couldn’t hear what she was saying, but it was her fourth phone call. She ended the call, remaining motionless, her eyes locked on the horror in the clearing and her body rigid. Then she turned, stopping abruptly when she found him silently watching her. “Everything okay?”

  “No, everything’s not okay. We got shot at, someone’s been brutally murdered, my students could have been killed, and we’re still missing a body.” Matt jammed a hand through his already tousled hair. “What the hell is going on here, Leigh?”

  “I wish I knew. But whatever it is, we’re damned well going to get to the bottom of it. We’re about to have a flood of people arrive—half of the Essex force, a crowd of Crime Scene Services techs, and several state boys as well. And for some reason, Rowe’s on his way up here.”

  “I thought you said he doesn’t come out to scenes?”

  “He doesn’t. I’m not sure why we’re so special. If he wanted to tour a crime scene he could find one a whole lot closer to Boston. I guess we’ll find out when he arrives.” She studied his bloody sleeve. “How’s the arm?”

  “I told you, it’ll be fine.” When her expression turned mulish, he said, “Leave it alone, Leigh.”

  She let the subject drop for the moment. “Where are your students?”

  Matt pointed with a thumb back over his shoulder. “When you asked them to clear the area to maintain the integrity of the crime scene, they headed further into the trees. I waited because I wanted to know that help is on the way.”

  Irritation flashed in her eyes. “Of course help is on the way. Did you think I was going to handle this all on my own? I know what to do, Matt. I’m not a rookie.”

  She started to push past him, but he caught her arm, his callused palm rough against her skin. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m a little on edge. I brought my students out here and they could have been killed. It’s got me a little freaked out. It’s one thing to go into battle with trained comrades—”

  “Or a cop,” Leigh added.

  “Or a cop,” he conceded. “It’s another thing to bring in kids that can’t protect themselves and to watch them nearly get killed on your watch. And I—” He broke off suddenly, listening intently. “Is that …”

  “The sound of someone throwing up? Yes.”

  Matt spun, pushing through the brush toward the sound, Leigh right on his heels. They found Kiko and Juka huddled together on the trunk of a fallen tree. Paul was nowhere in sight.

  “Where’s Paul?” Matt asked.

  “Here.” Paul stepped out from behind a tree, shoving through the scrubby brush. He was sheet white and even from a few feet away Matt could see that the hand he wiped across his mouth was shaking.

  Matt stepped forward to lay his open palm over Paul’s shoulder, the muscles tight with tension under his grip. “You okay?”

  A sharp-edged, strained laugh burst from the younger man. “Except that I just had to toss my cookies like a little girl, everything’s great.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up.” Leigh had been hanging back, but now stepped toward the group. “I’ve seen trained officers lose it over less. You guys held up wonderfully when you needed to and you used your heads and didn’t contaminate my crime scene. There’s no shame in being sick over what you saw in that clearing. I’d worry more if that didn’t sicken you.”

  Matt gave Paul’s shoulder a squeeze before releasing him. “Go sit down.” Before you fall down.

  Paul flopped down on the tree trunk on the other side of Kiko, purposely sidling close to her, his long gangly legs sprawled out in front of him while he slumped with his head bent. Juka leaned forward, his worried eyes focused on his friend.

  Matt stared at his students, seeing them huddled together for comfort. They were a unit. Hell, together with him they were a team, but maybe it was time to break up that team. It was one thing to ask them to participate in a recovery; it was something else altogether to ask them to put their young lives on the line.

  He squatted down in front of them, putting himself on their level. It was then that Kiko noticed the blood that soaked his sleeve.

  “Matt! What happened?” She reached out with her free hand to touch his arm.

  He swiveled sideways, evading her touch. “It’s barely a scratch. It’s fine.”

  Sitting on Matt’s right side, Juka leaned in. “You were shot?”

  Paul snapped upright, his own misery forgotten. “What?”

  “How did we miss that?” Kiko asked.

  “It’s understandable,” Leigh said. “There’s only so much that you can take in at a time like that and you were justifiably distracted.”

  “You need to have that looked at,” Kiko insisted before gazing up at Leigh. “You called this in. Are they sending out someone for Matt?”

  Leigh opened her mouth to answer, but Matt quickly cut them all off. “Hang on, everyone. It’s not serious. I’ll take care of it myself.”

  “It’s just a flesh wound.” Paul spoke and then his eyes snapped wide as he realized what he’d said.

  Relief washed through Matt. Pale and unsteady Paul worried him. Smart-ass Paul was comfortingly familiar. “You’re feeling better if you can make Monty Python jokes,” he said dryly. “And yes, it’s just a flesh wound. It’s nothing to worry about.”

  “Are you sure?” Kiko looked up at Leigh, not even allowing Matt time to answer. “Did you see it?”

  “Yes. It looks bad but with a little care, he’ll be fine. Don’t worry. It’ll be taken care of.”

  “Enough about my arm,” Matt insisted. “I’m more worried about you.” He scrutinized them, cataloging pale faces, worried eyes, dirt smudged clothes, and the small twig caught in Kiko’s ponytail. Otherwise they appeared whole and healthy, even if shaken.

  “We’re fine. No one got hurt,” Kiko said. “Well, no one but you. I really think—”

  “We’ve covered that ground already,” Matt growled. He forced himself to inhale deeply and take a moment. “Look
guys, I’m sorry if I’m being sharp with you. Truth to be told, this whole situation has me rattled.”

  Paul snorted. “You too?”

  “I never thought when we came out here that something like this would happen. But now that it has, it’s clearly time to get you guys out of the field. There’s more than enough work for you to do in the lab and that way you can still be involved in the case and—”

  “No.” Juka’s quiet voice snapped out, uncharacteristically backed by steel.

  “What?”

  “No,” Juka repeated. “We’re not children needing your protection. We’re adults and can make our own decisions.”

  Matt gaped at him, but was met by Juka’s steady unwavering stare. “You hardly ever say anything and now you decide to speak up?”

  Message delivered, Juka simply continued to stare at Matt silently.

  “That’s because he’s got something important to say,” Paul said. “And this time he’s speaking for all of us.”

  “Juka’s right,” Kiko said. Matt instantly recognized the stubborn set to her mouth and knew he was fighting a losing battle. “We’re not kids. You can’t make the decision for us to bow out. I for one have no intention of doing that. When the going gets tough, the tough don’t head for the hills.”

  Matt straightened from his crouched position to pace away a few steps before turning on them again. “Do you guys understand that I’m responsible for you? This isn’t just a field trip to a dig anymore. We were shot at.”

  “Do you want us to sign a waiver absolving you of all responsibility?” Kiko asked. “Because we will if that’s what it takes.”

  Matt glanced over at Leigh, who had been quiet through most of the exchange. “Do you see what I have to deal with here?”

  “I see,” she said. “And I’m with you on this. It was one thing when we were just looking for remains, but now we’ve got a situation with an active killer. Emergency personnel know the risks and are trained to deal with them. You guys aren’t.” She met Matt’s eyes. “Assuming we find the missing remains, can you do the excavation on your own?”

  Matt ignored the objections from all three students. “Yes. It would just take longer.”

  “This is insane.” Kiko shot to her feet. “This has just become the safest spot in all of Massachusetts and you don’t want us here?” She turned on Leigh. “You’re going to have officers here guarding the site 24/7, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And they’ll be here during the excavation?”

  For a moment Leigh looked like she was going to argue, then she sighed. “Yes.”

  “Then I have a better chance of being mugged in Roxbury than the guy from this morning showing his face here again. We’ll have cops on scene at all times.” She rounded on Matt. “Hell, we’ll have you.”

  “Yeah, that’s right,” Paul interjected. “Exactly what happened back there? One minute, there you are, the mild-mannered professor. And, in the next, you go all Rambo on us. Where did the gun come from?”

  “Look, I don’t like to talk about it, but I served with the Marines in Afghanistan after 9/11 and …” Matt took in the mixed reactions from his students—shock, surprise, and a little anger. “What?”

  “You’re a Marine?” Paul blurted.

  “Ex-Marine. I’ve been out of the service since before grad school.”

  “Hey, once a Marine, always a Marine.” Paul gazed at him in astonishment as if Matt had just reached a whole new level of cool in his eyes.

  “You don’t think you might have mentioned this little fact before?” Kiko asked. “It couldn’t have just come up in conversation at some point?”

  “Maybe he didn’t want it to come up in conversation,” Juka interjected, earning the startled gazes of his fellow students. “Sometimes people don’t like to discuss their time in combat.”

  Matt stared in surprise at his unexpected ally.

  “I have family members in Bosnia who fought the Serbs during the war,” Juka clarified. “They don’t talk about it. They won’t talk about it. We don’t know what they experienced, so we have to respect that. If Matt wants to tell us about it, he will.”

  “I wasn’t excluding you guys,” Matt explained. “I don’t like to talk about it with anyone. Just ask my Dad. For now, let’s leave it at the fact that I know my way around guns and a combat situation. And it still doesn’t make me any happier that you guys got caught in one.”

  “Speaking of which,” Leigh interrupted, “I want to go walk the crime scene and make some initial notes before the techs get here. Matt, can I talk to you?”

  “Sure.”

  He followed her through the trees back to the edge of the clearing. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to give you a heads up as a courtesy.”

  “About what?” Matt asked suspiciously.

  “I want that arm looked after. Properly. Meaning not by you.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” Matt exploded. “How many times do I need to tell you that I can take care of it myself? I don’t like paramedics, and I don’t need one.”

  “And yet a team will be here shortly.” Her tone brooked no resistance, and when he started to protest, Leigh pinned him with an icy stare. “I know you don’t want them, but I called them anyway.”

  “You had no right—”

  “I had every right,” she retorted, the combined weight of exhaustion and stress flashing her temper toward the breaking point. “This is my scene and you were injured during an encounter with an armed suspect,” she said. “Add to that you’re part of my team and you’re my responsibility, just like you feel your students are your responsibility.” Before he could reply she stepped forward into his personal space. He stood his ground, staring down at her from just inches away.

  “When you came on board, like it or not, you joined a team. And team members look out for each other. I would expect you to do the same for me if our positions were reversed. The current victim aside, you and I still have the responsibility to find the remains we originally set out to look for. And you can’t do that if you’re distracted by pain.” He opened his mouth to speak and she ruthlessly cut him off. “I’m not looking for a discussion. They’ll be local, so they’ll likely be first on scene. When they arrive, you will be treated.”

  She turned and marched away, leaving Matt seething behind her.

  CHAPTER TEN: TIDAL RANGE

  Tidal Range: the difference in height between consecutive high and low tides; it varies as a function of the lunar cycle, with extreme height differences occurring around the full and new moons.

  Wednesday, 8:32 A.M.

  Essex Bay Coast, Massachusetts

  Leigh stood over the body of the dead woman, clipboard and pen in hand. Dr. Edward Rowe, the Medical Examiner for the State of Massachusetts, knelt in the dirt across from her, dressed in Tyvex coveralls.

  “Liver temp is 20.5°C,” Rowe said, without raising his head.

  Rowe was a big man: big in body and big in voice. Many found him gruff and somewhat abrasive, but Leigh genuinely liked him. He was direct to the point of bluntness and never asked for more work from anyone else than he was willing to do himself. He was demanding of his staff but fair and conscientious at the same time. And he was honest to a fault, which Leigh found ideal in a man of his position.

  “Ambient air temp is 17.8°C,” Rowe continued. Leigh made a note on the Death Investigation form as Rowe handed his thermometers to the morgue tech crouching beside him. “She’s been on the ground here for how long?”

  “At least two hours,” Leigh answered. “We don’t know how much longer. It depends on how long it took to dig this grave.”

  Rowe bent over the body again, gently lifting one limp, bloody arm to examine the underside.

  “You haven’t actually said why you’re here,” Leigh commented. “You just came in, started ordering techs around, and got to work.”

  Rowe glanced up at her briefly from under a bush
y white eyebrow. “Isn’t it obvious?” His gaze fell pointedly to the victim before them.

  “It would be, except that your office never does on-scene exams.”

  “Yes, well … I’m trying to change that. Let’s call this a personal pet project. Best way to change people’s minds may be to see the difference it makes when we successfully nail the bastard who did this.” Rowe sat back on his heels. “Based upon decomposition, lividity, and lack of rigor, I’d estimate that she’s been dead for three to four days. You’ll have to give me some time to finish unwrapping her before I can give you a preliminary cause of death.” Rowe bent over the body again, carefully folding plastic away from the bloody thorax.

  Leigh glanced across the clearing and through a gap in the trees. She’d been surreptitiously keeping an eye on Matt’s treatment while she’d attended to Rowe. The paramedic was finally winding gauze around Matt’s upper arm. Leigh waited until he’d secured it and packed up his equipment before turning back to Rowe. “Do you need me for the next few minutes?”

  Rowe distractedly waved a hand in her direction. “No, no, do what you need to do. I’ll call when I need you.”

  “Thanks. I need to check on Dr. Lowell. The paramedic is done with him now.” She excused herself from the scene to cross the clearing and enter the trees where Matt and the team waited.

  Matt’s students were still perched on the fallen tree trunk about twenty feet away, talking in hushed tones. Matt sat on the low boulder the paramedic had chosen for him while being treated. His blood-stained plaid shirt lay draped over his left thigh. The paramedic had made short work of his T-shirt, using scissors to cut the right sleeve from the body of the shirt despite Matt’s objections. Below the pristine white bandage, Matt’s right arm was stained with dark smears of blood. His black jeans were stiff with drying mud from knee to ankle, and mud caked the laces of his left boot.

  His eyes stayed fixed on her approach, his mood evident in his tight mouth and furrowed brow.

  “Move over,” she said softly, indicating the rock, all traces of anger gone. “Please.”