Chapter Two
Twenty minutes later, Sean pulled his new black Mustang into the playground parking lot at Red Maple Park. Fully loaded and top of the line, the car had been his birthday gift to himself the month before, and he loved it with every ounce of male ego he possessed.
A young sheriff’s deputy waved him to a stop before he’d fully entered the lot.
Sean didn’t recognize him from previous visits to Whisper.
The kid looked barely old enough to shave, more like someone playing dress-up than an actual deputy, though the name tag on his uniform identified him as J.R. Peterson.
Sean rolled down the window and held up his FBI credentials. “Sheriff Griffin’s expecting me.”
The deputy nodded so hard Sean thought his head might come loose.
“Yes, sir. He told me to watch for you.” His gaze drifted toward the Mustang again.
“Not sure you’ll want to drive this beauty down there, though.
Crime scene’s off that dirt trail.” He pointed toward a wide pedestrian path disappearing into the trees.
“How far in?”
“About half a mile—maybe a little less.”
Peterson’s attention lingered on the sleek black Mustang far longer than it did on Sean’s badge. The guy looked like he was one step away from asking if he could sit in it.
Sean parked, popped the trunk, and climbed out before locking the doors. No sense tempting the kid into getting handprints all over the gray leather interior. He grabbed a Maglite from the trunk, slammed it shut, and headed toward the trail.
A short walk later—past several patrol vehicles and two county Bureau of Criminal Investigation vans—he reached another deputy standing beside a folding table and holding a clipboard.
Sean showed his credentials again, signed into the crime scene log, and followed the deputy’s gesture toward a cluster of men gathered deeper in the woods.
Not that he needed directions. The harsh glow of crime-scene floodlights cut through the darkness like a beacon.
Sheriff Matt Griffin spotted him and headed over, looking like he’d rolled straight out of bed and pulled on the first clothes he found—sneakers, sweatpants, and a T-shirt beneath his department-issued navy jacket.
“Thanks for coming, Sean.” He extended his hand.
Sean shook it. Griffin was in his early fifties with salt-and-pepper hair and stood only an inch shorter than Sean’s six-three frame. The sheriff had known the Malone brothers most of their lives.
“What’s going on?”
A grim look crossed the other man’s face. “Female homicide victim. Third one in the past three months.”
His stomach sank. “Serial?”
“Yeah. No question.” Matt motioned for him to follow. “Come take a look.”
They moved past the trail and into the roped-off section of woods where crime scene techs worked beneath the glare of portable floodlights. Yellow tape marked the perimeter while investigators photographed and flagged possible evidence.
Matt handed him a pair of latex gloves and paper booties before pulling on his own. “BCI already completed the grid search over here.”
Sean followed him through the cleared section until they stopped near the victim’s feet.
She lay sprawled across a bed of pine needles and dead leaves, her vacant eyes frozen wide with terror.
Dark bruising circled her neck, while deep abrasions ringed her wrists and ankles where she’d been bound.
Her chest was badly discolored, the center slightly concave, possibly from fractured ribs or a broken sternum.
But what drew his attention most was the bloody word carved across her torso.
Sinner.
Revulsion crawled up the back of Sean’s throat. He swallowed hard against the dryness in his mouth. “Same as the other two?”
Matt nodded. “Yeah.” His jaw tightened. “We don’t have an ID on this victim yet, but the first two were blonde, attractive, and in their twenties before this psycho got hold of them. Coroner says the carving was done while they were still alive.”
He forced himself to stay focused on the scene instead of the anger building in his gut. “Sexually assaulted?”
“The first two victims weren’t. We’ll see what the ME says about this one.
Sean gave the victim a careful inspection from head to toe. “What’s that on her face?”
“His other signature. A penny.”
Careful not to disturb the scene, Sean stepped closer and crouched near the woman’s head. The shiny coin rested face up in the center of her forehead, bright beneath the harsh crime-scene lights.
He shook his head and rose to his feet. “I’ve seen enough for now.”
Without another word, the two men walked back toward the trail.
“Who found her?” he asked once they cleared the taped perimeter.
“A local woman walking her dogs.”
His eyes narrowed. “At this hour?”
Matt shrugged. “She lives a couple of blocks away and works evenings at a restaurant. Owns two pit bulls, so she’s not worried about walking the trails at night.
The dogs pulled her in this direction. Guess they caught the scent.
” His expression darkened. “She’s pretty shaken up, so I had a deputy take her home once she finished giving her statement. ”
Rubbing the back of his neck, he glanced around. “Where’s the coroner?”
“There was a bad pileup on the expressway tonight. Dispatch said someone was headed this way about five minutes ago.” Matt dragged a hand through his hair and let out a tired sigh.
“Listen, I know you’re on vacation before starting your new position, but I was wondering if you could get assigned to assist us on this mess.
You know the area, and apparently, you’ve got a pretty impressive track record solving cases. ”
He grimaced. “Uncle Dan’s been bragging again?”
“You got it.” The sheriff leaned against a patrol car. “Problem is, neither of my lead detectives was available tonight. Brad Lynch is in D.C. for his son’s wedding. You remember Jack Lynch, right? Think he was in your graduating class.”
“Yeah, I remember him and his dad. Last time I saw Brad, he was still on patrol. What’s Jack doing these days?”
“Besides getting married?” Matt stretched his arms over his head, then tilted his head from side to side. “He’s a doctor now. Cardiologist, I think. According to Brad, he’s doing well.”
“That’s good to hear.” Sean shifted his focus back to the investigation. “Who else is assigned to this?”
“Brad’s partner, Dave Farrell, but yesterday afternoon the fool fell off a ladder trying to rescue his daughter’s kitten from a tree.” Matt snorted. “The kitten made it. Dave’s ankle didn’t. He needs surgery and will be out for a few weeks.”
“And when does Brad get back?”
“Tuesday. Until then, I’m leading this myself. I’ll call him in the morning and bring him up to speed.”
Their conversation ended when headlights appeared down the trail leading into the park. A moment later, the county coroner’s black van eased to a stop near the crime-scene perimeter. Two men climbed out. One headed toward them while the other moved to the back of the van and opened the rear doors.
“You’re really starting to make my life miserable, Matt,” the gray-haired man said as he approached.
Griffin let out a weary chuckle and offered his hand. “Sorry to drag you out here, Pete.”
“Sure you are.” The sarcasm came through loud and clear as he shook the sheriff’s hand. Then his attention shifted to Sean. “Who’s this?”
“Sean Malone,” Matt said. “Special Agent with the FBI and a friend. Sean, this is our head coroner, Dr. Peter Hansen.”
The two men exchanged greetings and shook hands.
Hansen didn’t waste time on small talk. “Is this another one of our unfortunate women?”
“Yeah,” the sheriff responded. “Number three.”
The coroner blew out a breath. “Where do these psychos come from?”
“If I knew that, I’d be rich and famous.”
Sean waited until the coroner and his assistant headed toward the crime scene before turning back to Matt.
“Call my supervisor in the morning.” He pulled a business card from his wallet and borrowed the sheriff’s pen.
After writing a name and phone number on the back, he handed both items over.
“Special Agent in Charge Clay Osbourne is a good guy. I worked with him in Jacksonville before he got promoted. Tell him you’re requesting me and explain why.
He may assign another agent to work with me since I’m new to the office, but I have no idea who that’ll be. ”
He glanced toward the floodlit crime scene where investigators still moved through the trees. “If there’s nothing else you need tonight, I’m heading home. What time do you want me at the station? I want to go over everything you have on the first two murders.”
Matt checked his watch. “Make it noon. I’ll be here at least another hour, and I’m exhausted. I’ll have Pete hold off on the autopsy until we get there.”
“Sounds good. See you tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Sean. I appreciate whatever help you can give us.”
“No problem.” He bumped fists with the sheriff and headed back down the trail toward his Mustang.
Somehow, he doubted sleep would come easily after this.
Especially not with the image of that dead woman burned into his mind.