CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER THREE
Light rain misted Matt’s face as he led his Percheron gelding out of the pasture. Beast slopped through the mud around the gate. Matt stepped over the deepest spots. It had rained every day for what seemed like the entire spring.
Sitting on top of the fence, Bree’s nine-year-old niece, Kayla, laughed. “Beast rolled in the mud like a pig.”
“He did.” The horse was completely crusted in mud. Matt led him into the barn and put him in his stall.
After her sister had been murdered, Bree had assumed guardianship over her niece and nephew. Since Matt had moved in, they were starting to feel like a family.
Three other horses, all rescues, watched from over their own half doors. Bree’s nephew, seventeen-year-old Luke, walked out of a stall, an empty feed can in his hand. “How did he get mud between his ears?”
“Practice.” Matt latched Beast’s door and returned to the pasture for the last horse, Kayla’s sturdy little Haflinger, Pumpkin.
But Kayla had slid off the fence and already had a lead rope snapped to Pumpkin’s halter. “I’ve got him.”
“Watch the mud!” Matt called a second too late.
“I’m stuck!” Kayla giggled, wobbling back and forth, unable to extract her feet from the ankle-deep mire. Behind her, Pumpkin waited with the patience of a shaggy saint.
With a sigh, Matt waded back into the muck and lifted Kayla by the waist. Her feet came loose with a loud sucking sound. He set her on her pony’s back.
She grinned and held one sock-clad foot off Pumpkin’s side. “I lost a boot.”
Matt glanced back at the mud. No sign of a polka-dotted rain boot. He was soaking wet. He was not digging through a foot of solid muck today. “We’ll get another pair.”
“OK.” She hummed a Disney song.
He turned to lead Pumpkin to the barn, slipped, and fell on his ass. As he tried to rise, he slipped again, this time splashing down on one hip. Matt sat up. Cold mud soaked through his underwear. He attempted to wipe his hands on his pants but couldn’t find a clean spot.
“Are you OK?” Kayla stared down at him, wide-eyed. “You’re as dirty as Beast.”
Pumpkin nudged Matt with his nose. He gave the pony a pat and climbed—carefully—to his feet. “I’m fine. Just dirty.”
By the time they put the pony away, Luke had finished filling water buckets and distributing hay and feed. He stared at Matt, the corner of his mouth twitching.
“You can laugh,” Matt said.
“Bwahahahaha.” Luke doubled over.
Matt closed up the barn and herded the kids toward the house. Kayla kicked off her single boot and skipped toward the house in her socks. She did a double-footed jump in every puddle in the yard. Matt followed, scooping up the boot on his way.
They burst into the house. Kayla’s wet socks slapped on the hardwood. The black tomcat, Vader, watched from the windowsill as they stripped off wet gear. His gaze of feline superiority seemed to imply he was the only one smart enough to be inside on such a miserable day.
Matt couldn’t argue. “Everybody shower. Bring your muddy clothes to the laundry room.” He cringed at his tone, which sounded unnecessarily harsh. They were doing well for kids whose mother had been murdered a little over a year before. He would hate for a sharp word to dim any amount of joy they found.
But Kayla shot him a teasing salute. “Yes, sir.”
He grinned at her. “Go!”
With a happy squeal, she bolted for the steps, leaving Matt holding one muddy polka-dotted boot. Twenty minutes later, they were showered and dressed in dry clothes.
Matt settled on the sofa with his German shepherd and Bree’s rescue dog at his feet. “Pizza?”
“Yes!” Both kids whooped.
Matt made the call while the kids argued over movies. His phone buzzed in his hand before he could put it down. “It’s your aunt Bree.”
Luke’s smile disappeared, and he muted the TV. Bree usually texted with questions about dinner and such. Actual phone calls were typically official business.
Matt answered the call. “What’s up?”
Without a greeting, Bree asked, “Am I on speaker?”
Definitely a case,thought Matt. “No.”
She continued without a beat. “Hikers found a dead body.”
“Where?”
Bree gave him the location.
“I’ll meet you there.” Matt ended the call and glanced at the kids. Their biological father had never been part of their lives. Also, he was currently in prison. Bree was raising the kids and, in Matt’s opinion, doing a damned good job. Since moving in with them, Matt had new respect for all working parents. Juggling responsibilities was hard.
Before he could say a word, Luke held up a hand. “I’ll look after Kayla. Go.”
Matt nodded. “Pizza will be here in twenty minutes. Dana should be home from spin class soon.” Bree’s former homicide partner and best friend served as an unofficial nanny.
“We’re cool,” Luke said. “Kayla, want hot chocolate?”
“Yes!”
Matt leaned over and gave Brody a pat. He hated leaving the kids alone, even for a short time. Luke was mature and responsible, but Matt always felt better if Brody was home. The retired K-9 would protect the kids with his life, and his honed senses were superior to any electronic sensor.
“Set the alarm,” Matt reminded Luke.
Luke nodded. “I’ve got this.”
Matt smiled. “I know. But I have to say it.”
Humor shone in Luke’s eyes, and he jerked a thumb toward the door. “Go. She needs you to watch her back.”
Matt jogged upstairs and changed. As a civilian consultant, he didn’t wear a uniform or a sidearm, but dressed in a long-sleeve polo bearing the sheriff’s department logo, tactical cargo pants, and boots. Matt had been a sheriff’s deputy years ago, until he’d been shot in a friendly-fire incident. Nerve damage in his dominant hand prevented him from passing the handgun certification and being an official law enforcement officer. But he was glad to put his investigative skills to work on an as-needed basis.
Downstairs, Matt grabbed his jacket, locked the door behind him, and hurried toward his truck. With the flu outbreak, Bree might not have backup, and Echo Road Bridge was in the middle of nowhere. She’d be isolated with night approaching. The possibility that the call was fake and she would walk into an ambush was always in the back of Matt’s mind.
At his vehicle, he donned his body-armor vest and jacket. He popped the flashing red light on the roof of his Suburban and sped along the dark country road. On the way, he sent Dana a text to let her know about the callout. When he arrived at the old covered bridge, he found Bree’s SUV parked on the shoulder behind a silver Prius. As expected, hers was the only official vehicle.
A small breath of relief escaped him as he spotted her standing behind her SUV talking to two men. Slim even with the added bulk of her body armor, she was an average-size woman, but she had a commanding presence. Every movement signaled purpose. Her size was the only thing average about her.
Matt parked behind her vehicle, pulled a hat from the rear seat pocket, and joined them in the drizzle. Bree was writing notes in a small notebook.
“This is Investigator Matt Flynn.” She waved between him and the hikers. “This is Doug Winner and his brother, Steve. They found the body.”
Doug and Steve both exhibited a strong green-and-crunchy vibe. Heavy backpacks sat at their feet.
Doug tugged on his thick beard. He was tall and broad-shouldered, an outdoorsman judging by the quality and worn appearance of his clothes, pack, and boots. “I think it’s a woman because of her long hair. I know dudes can have long hair”—he gestured toward Steve, who had long, shaggy hair under a knit cap—“but this just didn’t look like a dude.”
“You’re positive she’s dead?” Matt asked.
Steve nodded. He was smaller, more wiry, and clean-shaven. “Oh, yeah.”
“Where is she?” Bree asked.
Doug gestured to the woods behind the bridge with a gloved hand. “It’s about half a mile up that game trail.”
Bree turned to the cargo hatch and shoved a few items into her backpack. “Can you give us directions?”
Doug and Steve exchanged a look. Steve shook his head.
“We’ll take you,” Doug said.
Steve nodded. “You won’t find it on your own. It’s off the trail.”
“How did you find her?” Matt asked.
Steve pulled his hat down lower on his ears. “Like I told the sheriff, it was just luck. I stepped into the trees to take a piss. The wind shifted, and I smelled it. I thought it was an animal. Not even sure why I went looking.” Regret creased his face. He clearly wished he hadn’t searched for the source of the odor. “I’m going to see it every time I close my eyes.”
“There are things you can’t unsee.” Matt empathized.
“How’s the terrain?” Bree zippered her backpack. “Can we navigate it in the dark?”
“Yes.” Doug waved a flashlight. “The trail is a bit overgrown, but it’s relatively flat until we get almost to the body. As long as we take our time and watch our footing, we should be fine.”
Matt returned to his vehicle for the backpack he kept ready. Like Bree’s, it was stuffed with basic survival gear and a crime scene kit. When you worked in a rural area, finding a body in the woods wasn’t a daily occurrence, but it happened. Usually, the deaths were accidental or natural. The elderly wandered. People hiked alone. They got lost. They weren’t prepared for the elements and died of hypothermia or heatstroke. They fell or suffered other medical emergencies.
Now and then, they were murdered.
Matt shrugged into his pack. Bree and the two hikers donned theirs as well. Four heavy-duty flashlights switched on as they headed into the woods. They had an hour before sunset. But trees, clouds, and the steady drizzle prematurely darkened the forest. The game trail was narrow, and they walked single file. Doug and Steve took the lead. Matt brought up the rear.
“You’ve been on this trail before?” Bree asked.
“Yeah,” Doug called out. “I have a secret fishing spot near the river not far beyond the body. Me and Steve head out here every spring for a couple of days. It’s not far from civilization, so if the weather turns too nasty, we can get back pretty quick. But it’s not on any real trail, so it feels more isolated.”
“You consider this weather acceptable?” Matt asked. He would not choose a rainy night for camping.
Doug added, “I’ve had a rough week with work. Camping is the best way to disconnect.”
“Always,” said Steve. “You just need the right gear.”
The darkness slowed their progress. The trail might have been flat, but it wasn’t clear like the popular hiking spots in the area. Watching for tree roots and skirting any muddy, slick spots, they walked for about twenty minutes until Doug stopped. He pointed the beam of his flashlight upward to illuminate a tree scorched by lightning. “It’s up there, about forty feet up this hill.” He turned and led the way up a steep grade.
Matt caught the unmistakable scent of decay. Ahead of him, Bree hesitated. Clearly, she smelled it too.
Steve hung back. He shrugged out of his backpack and leaned it on the base of the tree. “I’m going to wait down here.”
Doug also stopped. “Same.” He gestured with his flashlight. “There’s a small, mostly flat clearing behind that weird boulder. She’s there.”
Matt spotted the flattened vegetation that marked the hikers’ trek through the brush.
Next to him, Bree also shined her light along the slope.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“I don’t see any other trail of broken vegetation. This seems like the most logical way up. Anyone else who accessed the clearing probably went this way. Your thoughts? You’ve worked more remote scenes than I have.”
Matt turned to the hikers. “What’s above the clearing? Is there any other way to access it?”
Doug shook his head. “I doubt it. Above it, the grade is even steeper. It’s rocky too.”
So, Matt and Bree had two choices. They could stay in the hikers’ path to minimize the impact of their total footsteps. Or they could carve out their own route to avoid destroying any evidence left behind by the deceased and/or their killer. Better safe than sorry. You couldn’t decontaminate evidence. Once it was compromised, that was it.
“We do it the hard way,” he said.
She sighed. “Of course.”
Matt moved twenty feet to the side and started up. Underbrush pulled at his boots, and thorns snagged his pants as he plowed through it. Still, his long legs made quick work of the short climb. At the top, he reached back and hauled Bree over the edge. Bits of vegetation clung to their pants and the laces of their boots. She was breathing harder. She was fit, but her backpack was as heavy as his, a greater burden for her smaller size. Having been on patrol tonight, she was also outfitted with a fully loaded duty belt. Her armor, radio, handcuffs, sidearm, extra clips, baton, pepper spray, flashlight, and cell phone amounted to an additional twenty pounds of equipment.
“Thanks.” She huffed, shining her flashlight around on the ground. They didn’t walk any farther for fear of disturbing the scene.
Matt scanned the clearing with his own light. He found the body in less than a minute, curled at the base of a tree. One bare arm was flung out at an unnatural angle. The smell and the color of the skin told him the hiker had been correct. She was definitely dead and had been for several days, likely longer. A camouflage-printed tarp was wrapped around the body, only the single arm and head exposed. Her face was turned away. Leaves and dirt matted the long, wet hair that trailed out from under the tarp.
“Murder victim,” Bree said.
“Yeah.” He let Bree go ahead of him, then walked in her trail. They proceeded slowly, shining their lights on the ground and searching for potential evidence. Recent heavy rains had wiped out any footprints, flattened weeds, and likely washed away most evidence.
She halted a few feet away and studied the body for a few seconds. Then, with careful steps, she moved in an arc to get another view from a different angle. Matt followed. She crouched next to the head. Using one gloved fingertip, she lifted the edge of the tarp a few inches. Their beams fell upon the victim’s face at the same time. They simultaneously recoiled.
The victim was a young woman. Her tongue, black and swollen, protruded from her mouth. Maggots wriggled in the light. Horror rocked him back a few inches on his heels, the wet earth squishing beneath his boots.
“I guess it hasn’t been as cold as I thought.” Bree’s voice rasped. “The flies found her.”
“They usually do.”
And they always went for the eyes, nose, and mouth first. Gray and green blotches mottled the bloated skin. Equal amounts of pity and rage filled Matt.
“I never get used to it,” Bree said. Before taking the job as sheriff of Randolph County, she’d been a homicide detective in Philadelphia. She’d no doubt viewed countless dead bodies, but she hadn’t become hardened to the sight, something Matt appreciated. It was easy to become jaded in their profession, to forget that each set of remains had once been a family member, loved by someone.
“In fact, since I have the kids,” she said, “I feel like I’m moving in the opposite direction. It’s getting more difficult to compartmentalize.”
“Same.” Living with her niece and nephew and developing a mentor-type relationship with them had affected him as well. He was growing more sensitive to all the awful crap in the world, as if he filtered everything he encountered through new eyes. He scanned the length of the tarp. “Even bloated, she looks small.”
Please, not a child.
There was nothing worse.
“Yeah.” Bree cleared her throat and looked away for a few seconds, as if gathering strength. “But whoever dumped her here isn’t weak.” She glanced around them. “I don’t see any way to get the body up here except by carrying it. That took some physical strength and size. I could barely get to the top with all my gear. A dead body would be two or three times heavier.”
“Agreed, and she obviously didn’t walk here.” Matt gestured to the tarp.
“I have to call the ME.” Bree took a step backward and pulled her phone from her pocket. “We’re in luck. There’s a signal.”
Matt stood, eyeing the length of the tarp. They wouldn’t touch anything until the medical examiner arrived, but he took in the details. The clearing was the size of a volleyball court. Tall trees surrounded the space, along with a few clumps of evergreens. The killer likely chose this spot because of its isolation. But the area felt more remote than it was. The walk to the road would take fifteen minutes in better weather.
Bree finished her call in a few minutes. “Dr. Jones is on her way. ETA to the bridge is thirty minutes.” She scrolled on her phone. “Juarez texted. He’s also en route. He’s bringing lights. He’ll need help carrying them in. The ME might also need assistance with her equipment and with removal of the remains.”
“I’ll hike to the road and bring them in.”
“Thanks. I’ll get started here.” Bree nodded. “I’ll call for a forensics team and a couple of deputies as well.”
Everything packed in and out would have to be hauled by humans. The game trail was too narrow for any vehicle, including an ATV. Even a dirt bike would struggle with the tree roots.
As Matt started down the slope, he heard the zipper of Bree’s pack open. He glanced over his shoulder. She was pulling out a roll of crime scene tape. He scrambled down. Doug and Steve waited side by side.
“Did you find her?” Doug asked.
“Yes,” Matt said.
“She was murdered, wasn’t she?” Steve’s voice broke.
Always mindful of the media, Matt skirted the question. “It’ll be up to the medical examiner to determine cause of death.”
“She was wrapped in a tarp,” Doug said. “Someone dumped her up there.”
Matt couldn’t argue. They all knew the truth, but he couldn’t say anything, not officially. “I’m walking to the road to escort the medical examiner back here.”
Doug frowned and looked up at the giant boulder. “Should we wait here? I know she’s the sheriff and all, but I wouldn’t want to leave anyone alone out here with ...”
“It would be helpful if you waited here in case the sheriff needs any assistance.” Matt reached for his phone. “I’ll text her and let her know you’re here.”
Bree could handle herself, but it was dark, shit happened, and he wouldn’t be back for at least an hour.