"I also think the killer sorted the parts from each body at its respective dump site. He then bagged each piece, stapled the top, and set it out before moving on to the next. I know this because the sacks were too pristine to have been jostled during transport. And there's the order. These parts were lined up in the same order as Kusić's, starting with the right hand, then left, ending with the upper torso and head. Yet there are no marks on the bags to indicate what's inside. So how did the killer know? He couldn't have—unless he bagged them on site. And that order? It may mean something, if only to him."
But what?
Kate stared at the state trooper loitering beside Tonga's wagon. "Boss, we don't need a liaise-fest with the governor's office. We need a full-blown task force in place, and we need it yesterday. Hell, a psychologist from the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit wouldn't hurt."
The demand for a task force, much less a BAU agent, didn't have a thing to do with her scrambled psyche. She needed help. Without it, the body count would only rise.
If it hadn't already.
"Understood. Give me tonight, and I'll get it." The steely determination in Lou's eyes convinced her.
"Okay." Kate glanced past the sheriff's shoulder to where their burliest guys were marking time at the edge of the crime tape with the flood lamps. "I need to get those set up, then see if Tonga's learned anything new."
Lou nodded. "Keep me posted."
"Absolutely." Kate headed for the tape and paused to give the okay to set up the lamps. As she bent low to dip beneath, the setting sun caused something to glint just past the edge of the gravel road. Instinct sent her toward it.
Probably a shard from a long-shattered beer bottle some high school kid had tossed from the car on his way to a drunken reenactment of Stephen King's Pet Cemetery.
Kate reached the glint.
It was glass. But the green chip was also lying in the middle of the sweetest thing Kate had seen all day. Hell, all year. A partial tire impression. Though the convex curve was narrow in width, it was a good three feet long.
Please, please. Let it be fresh.
Kate chanted the makeshift prayer as she hunkered down, gravel digging into her elbows as she eased the beam from her flashlight along the impression.
Adrenaline spiked.
She laid the MorphoIDent near the tread to mark it and jackknifed to her feet to head back to Lou. She cornered him in front of his sedan. The second he hung up, she lit in. "Who found the bags?"
"An out-of-towner. Name's Glory Thacker."
"Where'd she park her vehicle? At the cemetery? Was anyone with her?"
"She was alone. And she weren't drivin'. She's some kinda cross-country cyclist out visitin' her aunt—Thelma Payne. The woman says she's been takin' this route past the cemetery most evenin's for a week now. She didn't have her phone while she was cyclin' tonight, so it took half an hour for her to get home. I called you as soon as we hung up."
"Did she see anyone on this road? Headed in either direction?"
"No. I asked. She was alone comin' and goin'."
Hope rivaled Kate's adrenaline, surging to the lead. She noted the distance between the grill of Lou's sedan and the crime tape. There didn't appear to be enough room to squeeze in another vehicle, but she wasn't assuming anything. "So you were the first responder on the scene. And your car's been parked right here since you arrived? You didn't back up, or ask anyone else to move behind you at any time?"
"No and no. Kato, what the heck you gettin' at?"
She forced herself to temper her excitement. It wasn't easy. "It could be nothing." Or the beginning of everything. She waved Lou up to the tape and slipped beneath. "Careful. Step where I've stepped and, for God's sake, stay on the gravel."
She directed her flashlight's beam at the ground just past the MorphoIDent, bathing the slender section of the tread impression she'd discovered in white light.
Lou's hand clapped down to squeeze the blood from her good shoulder. "What are the odds it's his?"
"Pretty good." Excellent, in fact. Kate shifted the beam to catch the impression from another angle. "See the crisp edges on those tiny walls of dirt? It's fresh. Given yesterday morning's rain shower and last evening's wind, I'm thinking it's very fresh. Plus, most kids talk their folks into visiting Rover and Fluffy on the weekend."
It was Friday night.
And the only thing of note at the other end of this road was the pet cemetery.
Lou let go of her shoulder and spun around as fast as a man his age and size could manage. "Get a Denstone kit over here for a tread cast. Pronto!"
Kate retrieved the MorphoIDent and handed it to Lou as he swung back. "Boss, we'll need the crime unit to go over this strip of road with a magnifying glass as soon as dawn hits. And send them back to the Kusić scene. Have them comb Old Man Miller's drive and every road and lane that feeds into it." If they were lucky, they'd find a matching tread.
Lou nodded. "I was on the phone with the governor's aide when you found me. He and his boss'll be pissin' over the particulars for hours, but the task force will happen. Tell Tonga to prep these parts for Little Rock, then crate Kusić's. I want both victims at the state lab by midnight. He won't argue. I spoke to Tonga when he arrived. These autopsies need fancy tools and expertise he just don't have."
"Will do."
Kate left Lou's side to make room for the approaching forensic tech tasked with photographing and prepping the impression for casting. She linked back up with Tonga at the victim's torso. He appeared to be studying the tool marks at the base. "Learn anything new?"
The ME shook his head. "Unfortunately, no."
Kate passed on the sheriff's instructions as she assisted Tonga to his feet, then turned around to join the remaining crime scene techs as they began their careful canvass of the remainder of the road. Despite the luminescent bump from the flood lamps, the search yielded zilch. They'd have to regroup and resume at first light.
Until then, more than enough time had elapsed to allow the Denstone to harden. Kate reached the spot where she'd found the impression as one of her dad's grizzled old hunting buddies carefully packed up the resulting cast for transport.
"Hey, Emmett. How's it look?"
"Sweet." The tech's grin rivaled the flood lamps as he lifted the lid to the cardboard box. "See these lateral grooves at the tire's shoulders? Combine 'em with the number and angle of these circumferential groves running down the center here, and I'm all but certain we're looking at a Starblaze. I'll confirm at the lab."
"Is it unusual?"
"Unfortunately, no. Starblazes are a cheap, all-season tire. They fit a wide range of cars, smaller SUVs and pickups." In other words, one hell of a list.
But there was more. Why else had the tech's grin split almost to his ears?
Emmett motioned her closer as he tucked a magnifying glass in her hand. "Here's where you plant one on my cheek, Deputy, 'cause we just may have this bastard." He pointed to the right of the cast, midway down. "See this inch-long sliver here? That's a clean slice in the rubber. And see this depression here? Something's caught in the tread. A small rock or the like. And the void here? That's another gouge, though this one's more a missing chunk of rubber at the tip of this groove. All three flaws are within a palm's width." He encouraged Kate to spread her free hand to verify his makeshift measurement. "See?"
She did—and promptly bussed the man's whiskered cheek as he'd predicted. "Emmett, you're a miracle worker."
Kate held her breath as the man hefted the evidence box and carried it down the road with all the care and reverence its contents deserved.
Emmett was right. Starblazes might be a dime a dozen, but a Starblaze with this particular trio of flaws was the equivalent of a vehicular fingerprint. All she had to do now was find the vehicle that went with it.
Unfortunately, that was easier said than done.
Six hours later Kate was still fixated on tires. She and her fellow deputies had spent nearly every moment of those
hours combing through gravel bathed in the blinding light of flood lamps. Other than the grisly packaged parts of their second victim, that tread impression was the only thing they had to show for their efforts. They'd still be searching if Lou hadn't called a halt.
His new orders were for sleep.
Despite her reluctance, she'd willingly complied. Lou's rationale was sound. Rest was something they were all going to need in the coming days if they hoped to remain sharp enough to catch this bastard.
Kate succumbed to a bone-weary yawn as she turned her Durango onto her private lane. A quarter mile farther, she turned again, taking the left arm of the Y that led to her split-log home. As expected, Ruger was waiting, the slight hitch in his gait masked by the moonless night as he loped down the lane to meet her. He spun around as he reached the driver's door to race her SUV to the garage. Kate punched the remote and waited for Ruger to enter, then pulled in after. He returned to her door as she exited the Durango, eyes sharp and tail thumping vigorously from side to side despite the hour.
The Shepherd let out a loud woof as she spread her arms so he could launch himself into their nightly hug.
"I missed you too, buddy. I truly did." She laughed as he bathed both sides of her face with his tongue, equally. "Good day, huh? Better than mine, I'll bet."
His second woof rattled the chimes attached to the door that led to the kitchen. Ruger clamored down from her arms and pushed through the flap, whining as he waited none too patiently for her to lower the garage door and follow him inside.
The wooden cuckoo clock she and her mom purchased on a trip to the Harz Mountains heralded midnight as Kate dumped her phone, flashlight and 9mm on the counter. Ruger had already planted his mammoth paws beside the fridge and was nudging his nose into the seal of the door. He knew better than to break it. He'd done so on his own when she'd been late about a year ago, and gobbled the treats within until he'd made himself sick.
He hadn't violated that seal since. Unfortunately, while the lesson had included a heck of a bellyache, it hadn't included patience. His sharp bark underscored that fact now.
"I know, I know. It's past snack time."
Three hours earlier, her own hunger had turned to cramps even an endless supply of cop coffee couldn't ease. Ruger scooted backwards as she opened the fridge to retrieve the oversized tub of sliced cheddar. Guilt bit in as Kate spotted the Styrofoam clamshell that held her leftover burrito from dinner the night before. Dinner she'd shared with Grant.
He hadn't texted her all day. Clearly, he was trying to give her the time and distance he'd failed to provide this morning.
Doubt crept in.
If her suspicions were correct, and Grant was seeing a shrink, perhaps she should wait to break things off. Although facing off with some quack who thought he understood the shitstorm of her life hadn't worked for her, that didn't mean it wouldn't help him. She might be ready to punt on their relationship, but she did want Grant happy. Healthy. Someone who'd survived that hellhole ought to be.
What if last night hadn't been about her at all?
What if Grant had broached her POW experience in order to talk about his own tours in Iraq, and his lingering guilt over his brother's death?
If she hadn't shut him down so quickly and completely, Grant might've told her about his meeting with Liz...and whoever else he'd either seen or was seeing at Fort Leaves.
Ruger's pointed whine forced Kate to realize she was still staring into the open fridge.
She closed the door on the clamshell and set the tub of cheese on the counter. Peeling off several slices, she tore the cheddar into sections and lobbed them at Ruger. His succession of happy half-groans and growls warmed the kitchen, and her, as he snatched each piece from midair.
It was gone too quickly, at least according to Ruger. His tail thumped hopefully as she returned the tub to the fridge.
"Sorry, bud. There's food in your bowl if you're still hungry."
His head slumped to tell her what he thought of that. Kate held firm and he finally shuffled toward his bowl. Her own belly resumed its cramp as she refilled his water.
There was still that burrito.
Food or shower? It was a tough choice.
The shower won.
Kate dug her credentials from her pocket, as well as the business card Liz had given her. She was about to set them on the counter when Ruger's ears perked up. A moment later, he growled. Unlike his earlier vocalizations, this one was low and deadly. And meant just for her.
"What is it, buddy?" Coyotes again?
A good twenty seconds later, she heard it. Not coyotes.
A car.
Kate considered Grant—until she heard the engine rumble up the right side of the Y of her private lane. The side that dead-ended at her empty cabin.
Squatters?
It wouldn't be the first attempt.
Kate slipped her credentials in her pocket and swapped Liz's card for her flashlight and 9mm. Based on her previous experience with a group of meth-head, would-be freeloaders, she chambered a round and shushed Ruger. He took the order in stride, patiently waiting for her to unlock the glass double doors that led to the backyard. Within seconds, they were off the deck, Ruger on her left as they slipped across the clearing to thread through the surrounding woods.
Kate slowed her pace as she reached the outer edge of the trees that separated her primary home from the cabin.
There were no lights visible.
But there was an SUV.
It was parked beside the cabin, facing away from her. She couldn't tell if someone was in the driver's seat or not. It was too dark. Ruger shaved the distance between them down to her jeans and his fur as they crept forward. Kate stroked his head once, then tapped his shoulders to signal him to wait as she continued on. Glock raised, she breached the tree line. The SUV's engine roared to life as she reached the gravel drive.
The vehicle shot backward, tires squealing then spinning as it executed a sharp stop followed by a whiplashing one-eighty-degree turn. She clicked on her flashlight, but the SUV's driver had beaten her to the punch, blinding her with the vehicle's brights as he switched them on, gunning the engine as he headed straight for her.
Shit.
Kate dove back into the tree line, sucking in fallen leaves, pine needles and dirt as she hit the ground. She sprang to her feet, coughing violently as she whirled about—but it was too late. The SUV was already halfway down the lane, plate obscured.
Figures.
Within seconds, Ruger was at her side, barking his head off and visibly torn between giving chase and remaining behind to protect her. She won...but he wasn't happy about it.
Kate stroked her hand down the Shepherd's hackles and he quieted. Once more glued to her side, Ruger accompanied her out of the trees and into the lane. Kate reached the spot where the SUV had executed its one-eighty and holstered her Glock.
Great. The SUV had torn up the edge of her cabin's lawn. She swept the beam from her flashlight over the damage at her feet—and froze. Blinked. Her free hand on Ruger's back to hold him in place, she knelt and adjusted the light to double check what she thought she'd seen. For the second time that night, gooseflesh rippled across her neck. The tread she found matched the impression she'd located six hours earlier.
She spread her palm, as Emmett had encouraged, to estimate the distance between the small slit, the elliptical depression and the triangular void that waited.
The trio fit.
Coincidence?
She'd rarely believed in them. Three years with the Army's military police and another six with CID hadn't changed that. Nor had the last three with the Braxton PD.
Kate stood and pointed to a spot several feet from the impression. "Ruger, sit. Guard."
He complied.
Irony ratcheted in as she left Ruger to protect the impression while she headed for her garage and the spare Denstone kit she kept within. She might not know who was slicing up bodies and leaving the results strung out al
ong Braxton's back roads, but there was an outstanding chance he knew her.
5
Soft. Cold. Wet.
Ruger.
Kate shot upright, pushing through the fog of sleep to assess her surroundings—herself—as she realized the Shepherd was trying to wake her, and why. The ragged breaths ripping in and out of her lungs. Her heart pounding so hard and fast she feared her ribs would crack. The twisted sheets. The ice-cold perspiration soaking her T-shirt.
Night terror.
Her second one in as many nights. This time she couldn't lay the blame at Grant's feet either. Not all of it.
Stress.
According to the blowhard she'd been forced to see at Walter Reed and the stack of internet articles she'd amassed on her own since, night terrors were brought on and exacerbated by episodes of severe tension and anxiety. Score one for the doc and the internet. Between that display of cobalt blue pottery at Fort Leaves and the grislier, bookending finds out on Braxton's gravel roads, she was swimming in it.
She was also swimming in sweat.
Ruger, bless him, didn't care as he lurched up onto the bed, his massive body landing across her lap. She returned the compliment and unconditional love by burying her face in his fur. It took a good minute for her breathing to calm. Several more for the familiar muck that had been swirling in to ebb.
She finally straightened and ruffled the Shepherd's ears. "Thanks, buddy. I'm okay now."
The lighter patches of brown in his brows furrowed, as if to convey that he wasn't quite as convinced.
Kate withdrew her 9mm from under her pillow anyway and slipped out from beneath the Shepherd to stand. Ever the intuitive one, Ruger bounded off the bed and followed her out of the room. Kate glanced at the dial on her dive watch as they headed down the hall. It was just past three-thirty a.m.
She shifted direction, heading for the living room instead of the kitchen and Ruger's trusty dog door. After nearly getting mown down by an SUV with a potential serial killer at the wheel, she wasn't taking chances with the only family she had left.
The Garbage Man Page 7
