by Hadena James
and forth over the ground. Gabriel stood next to him, his eyes doing the same thing. I knew what they were looking for, signs of our killer.
Lucas stooped down, examining something. Gabriel knelt with him. They were staring at something intently. I joined them. The snow had an indentation that someone had tried to cover up by piling more snow in it. However, it hadn’t worked well, the additional snow had settled, bringing the indentation back into view.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Something heavy was here,” Gabriel answered.
“Yes, I can see that, but what?” I continued.
“My guess, a mobile winch,” Gabriel began moving the snow with gloved hands. Slowly he revealed a couple of holes in the ground.
“So he staked it to the ground?” I asked.
“You’d have to in order to keep it from moving when you hoisted the body,” Gabriel informed me. “The only thing I can’t figure is what sort of stakes you’d need to get them to hold the weight.”
“That’s what you can’t figure out?” I asked. “I’m wondering why he doesn’t just attach it to a tree. That would make more sense to me. He’s picking good sized trees for his disturbing spectacles. Surely, a winch would attach to them.”
“That would be obvious,” Lucas said.
“And this isn’t?” I stared at the holes. “Is anyone else bothered by finding it now? Could it be that the locals missed it every time or is this another piece of information they’ve held back? If they did hold it back, what else are they hiding? How much more do they know that they aren’t telling us?”
“It is something to be considered, but not dwelled upon. This spot on the ground isn’t nearly as obvious as the tree or somewhere else,” Lucas answered.
“Then it’s vanity? He wants us to think he can hoist them up and down while he does his work to throw us off?” I asked.
“Possibly,” Lucas stood up. His gaze fell on Xavier and the body. I didn’t turn around, I had a feeling I was going to be getting the up close and personal treatment soon enough. Gabriel always sent me in during at least one autopsy to give Xavier a new perspective.
“You don’t sound very certain,” Gabriel said.
“I’m not. I think it’s just for convenience and expense. Mobile winches aren’t cheap and it would certainly cut down the time needed to do this work. However, I’m not sure why he hides it. He knew we would find the evidence eventually, so what does he gain by taking the time to cover it up?” Lucas was still staring. I followed his gaze. It wasn’t at Xavier or the body, it was aimed at the tree branch that the rope was wrapped around.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Why go through all the trouble of simplifying the process, only to overcomplicate it at the same time?” Lucas answered.
“Meaning?” I pressed.
“Why not attach it to the tree where the angle would be better and the tree would be more secure than the ground? The ground isn’t very giving at this time of year or in December, it seems like extra work to secure the winch to the ground. And look at the distance. There is at least twenty feet between the body and where we found the winch secured. So he would need to stand here to hoist her up or down, move back to the victim, work for a while, then walk all the way back here to the winch and readjust her position,” Lucas turned his blue eyes on me. His eyebrows were drawn in, frown lines created deep creases in his forehead and around his mouth. His lips were pulled tight, set in a hard frown that drained them of color. “So securing it to the ground has nothing to do with convenience. Why do it?”
“To keep it clean,” I offered.
“The moment he starts working on the body, every time he goes back to the winch, he is contaminating it further. The victim’s skin cells are going to be all over him. Just because she isn’t bleeding, doesn’t mean he isn’t being covered in traces of her. Especially in this situation. I can’t imagine he doesn’t realize that. He’s been very smart about everything. He is going to know that he is getting her DNA all over him and everything he touches. Her skin cells alone should be creating an evidence trail,” Lucas turned back to the tree. “Besides, there should be evidence of it. There should be a path of him walking back and forth from the winch. There should be trampled snow and melt marks. None of that seems to exist.”
“Why does someone skin another person alive?” I asked.
“That is the part that makes even less sense,” Lucas’s voice sounded far away, as if he were somewhere else. His eyes had glazed, his face relaxed. It wasn’t the calm that I felt, it was his own thoughts. Lucas could get locked in his own head, almost literally. When he did, he got this look and countenance that was hard to decipher. “One person, I could see. But we are working with the theory that it is two. It is hard enough to find two killers who want to kill in the same manner and hook up. Something this bizarre, something so painstakingly difficult as this, I can’t even begin to fathom how they found each other. In no scenario can I see them finding each other. The fact that they did is mind-boggling.”
“Internet?” Gabriel asked.
“Do you know how few serial killers have ever skinned their victims?” Lucas snapped out of it and looked at him. “I can count them on both hands. Parts, yes, but the entire victim? No. It is probably the rarest form of murder. Even cannibalism is more common than this. And the two are usually linked, you skin your victims so that you can eat them. Not this. This is something different.”
“It’s art,” I said.
“That’s what it seems like to me,” Lucas agreed.
“That is not art,” Arons joined us.
“Yes it is,” Lucas looked at him. “Art is subjective. You may like Renoir or Monet, but the person next to you will not. And many artists from painters to sculptors to writers have found beauty in death.”
“Art,” Arons shook his head. “Well, you may consider it art, but I don’t.”
“As he said, art is subjective,” I shrugged and turned away from the scene. “The bow and arrow melting the snow can be taken as art. The precision with which it has to be laid out along with the time necessary to have the salt from the skin melt the snow, there is beauty in all of it. You just have to change your perspective. He practically tip-toed over to the area to lay it out and then got down on his hands and knees to carefully put each piece down.”
They continued to talk, but I tuned them out. I was once again faced with a pristine winter scene. Evergreens covered in snow. The ground covered in the white devilish stuff with a thick, crisp crust on the top of it. It would crunch when you walked on it. I closed my eyes. How many people had trampled the path before our killer had used it? How many boots had crunched in the snow? There was no way for me to know these things.
Most people would consider the body in the tree a desecration of both the body and the pristine winter. I did not. Crime scenes were a hallowed area for me. Until the area became a crime scene, it was just a picture to put on a postcard. This was reverse of what most people thought. I knew that, but couldn’t change my logic.
“What are your thoughts?” Lucas whispered to me.
“Was the area tracked up when we arrived?” I whispered back.
“Yes, it’s a well-used public area,” Lucas gave me a look.
“Then the point is moot,” I opened my eyes.
“What was it?” Lucas pressed.
“I was thinking that if he had picked an area that had been untouched since the snow had fallen, it might have significance. Desecrating nature, despoiling the virgin beauty of the snow.”
“Sadly, that is not the case. Although, I like the way you think,” Lucas gave me a wink. We both turned back to look at Xavier. The body was now coming down from the tree. He was barking orders to those doing the lowering. Dr. Ericson, the normal medical examiner, was standing with him.
‘“What do you think of him?” I asked, nodding towards Dr. Er
icson.
“Married to his job and he’s let it take its toll on him and his marriage. I know he runs a regular practice along with it, so he avoids being home as much as possible. He volunteers to work the evening and night shifts with the coroner’s office. On his nights off, he probably bowls or does some other team sport with other men. He is slightly phobic of women, which makes me wonder if his marriage crumbled first or if work crumbled his marriage.”
“Why do you think he is phobic of women?”
“He doesn’t talk to them unless he absolutely has to. As he made his way into the crime scene, he merely nodded at the females, but called the men by name. I would consider him misogynistic, but your confrontation with him would prove otherwise. He wasn’t upset that you were a woman in charge of yourself, it frightened him.”
“And Arons?”
“Special Agent Arons is in Alaska trying to salvage his career. Whatever he did, it was not enough to fire him, but it was enough to send him away. They sent him here. He is bright and capable as an agent, but it’s all about treading water at this point. He was hoping this case would be his return to the light. It isn’t working out that way, but if we solve it, he’ll be able to point out that he helped and put the feather in his cap. Might get him transferred out of Alaska and back into a more hospitable climate.”
“He’s a jerk,” I pointed out.
“He is a jerk, which is probably why he was
