The Next Grave (Columbia River #6)

1

The breeze carried the scent to Detective Evan Bolton’s nose, and he instantly knew his day was going to suck.

A Deschutes County deputy next to him wheezed and jerked his head as if he could avoid the smell. “What the hell is that?”

Evan assumed it was a rhetorical question.

The rail-thin man in overalls leading them through the junkyard maze glanced over his shoulder solemnly. “Told ya.” Silas Moon had owned the junkyard for forty years, and decades’ worth of cars, trucks, buses, and campers had found their final resting place on his property. And decades’ worth of teenagers had sneaked in at night to drink and smoke among the rusting metal. In his youth, Evan had done it several times, and he figured the deputy with him had too.

A rite of passage.

Silas Moon had been a fixture of Deschutes County for as long as Evan could remember. He’d always worn faded overalls. Only what was under them ever changed: a heavy sweater in the winter and often just skin in the summer. Rumors about the man had ebbed and flowed for years. Evan had heard that he’d abandoned a wife in California, heard that he’d fathered six kids with six different women, heard that he’d murdered three of those women and then created the junkyard to cover up their bodies.

Silas Moon was a man of mystery.

But Evan believed he was simply a man who liked to break down junk and challenge himself to find the little treasures that people had left behind. Moon made money selling the odds and ends he discovered in the abandoned vehicles. But after today’s discovery, he’d called the sheriff’s department.

Evan was thankful it was April. If it had been July in Central Oregon’s high desert, the stink would be ten times stronger. It’d been a mellow spring. Nearly all traces of winter snow had vanished except for some crusted patches in shaded areas. To the west, the tall Cascade mountains still had a thick white blanket and stood out sharply against the intense blue sky.

The three men worked their way between two ancient Dodge Darts, the vehicles in the junkyard packed together like Tetris blocks. They’d passed a few stacks of crushed cars and a forklift with peeling paint. Fresh tracks near the forklift and a newer pair of gloves on the seat indicated the forklift was Moon’s for moving cars, not an abandoned piece of machinery. They continued past a school bus with no windows, two decrepit motor homes, and a small white Ford pickup that made Evan pause and take a closer look, wondering whether it could possibly be the truck he had driven in high school. When he’d owned one, it still had a hood, along with both bumpers—unlike this vehicle.

Silas stopped at a gold Toyota Camry. The paint on the hood had faded to a pale yellow, and patches of gray Bondo dotted the passenger side. Both doors on the driver’s side were bashed in, creating a huge concavity, crumpled far beyond repair. Evan could picture the accident: someone had T-boned the Camry. He fought an urge to check the driver’s seat for blood, wondering whether the driver had survived. Judging by the damage, the chances were fifty-fifty.

The smell of death was unavoidable and was most powerful at the trunk, where flies crawled and hovered at the seams. A muted, buzzing chorus indicated there were far more flies in the trunk.

The deputy pulled out a mask and covered his nose and mouth. “Can’t remember the last time I wore one of these things.”

“Does it help with the smell?” asked Evan, who’d switched to breathing shallowly through his mouth, trying not to think about the composition of organic compounds floating in the air that carried the scent.

“Takes the edge off.”

“I’ve smelled this once before in my life,” said Silas, rubbing the few days’ growth of stubble on his cheeks. “You don’t forget it.”

Evan agreed. But he’d encountered it several times. “You didn’t open the trunk?”

“I did three months ago when I got this vehicle. I thoroughly go through each one—I would have noticed if there had been something that would cause this smell.” He scowled. “Someone must have recently dumped something inside.”

“Do you know where the car came from?” asked Evan.

“I can figure it out. Most of these vehicles were abandoned and then impounded. Impound sells them to me after clearing their paperwork.”

“Got cameras back here?” Evan couldn’t see the tall wood fence that surrounded the yard. Too many stacked vehicles blocked his view.

Silas snorted. “Only on the front gate. I can see everyone who comes and goes legally . Don’t bother keeping track of people who hop the fence.” He eyed Evan, which made him feel as if Silas was fully aware he’d trespassed as a teen. “I tried cameras back here. They were constantly messed with, and replacing them got expensive. I figured whatever little trinket or car part someone could get by climbing over the fence wasn’t worth my trouble.” He shrugged. “They also enjoy bashing in the windows. I don’t give a shit about that. I like to do it too.”

“Let’s open it up,” said Evan, slipping on vinyl gloves. “You got exterior shots?” he asked the deputy, who had been shooting with his phone.

“Yeah.” He looked a little green around the gills. “Maybe there’s an animal in there.”

“Maybe,” said Evan, positive it wasn’t. Dead animals smelled different. He couldn’t explain the difference; he just knew.

Silas stepped to the driver’s door and leaned in through the missing window to pull the trunk release.

Evan stepped back as the trunk lid creaked and only opened an inch.

Damn. I have to do it.

He held his breath, grabbed the lid with both hands, and hauled it up the rest of the way, creating a nails-on-chalkboard sound. A cloud of startled flies flew out and then immediately resettled.

“Oh fuck.” The deputy turned away.

Evan forced his gaze to stay on the naked body facing him as it lay on its side in the trunk. The body had been dead for a while.

Short, gray hair. Clearly male.

The victim’s arms were tied behind his back, and under the crawling flies, Evan could make out a hole in the victim’s forehead that didn’t belong there.

Headshot. Executed?

He glanced at the deputy, who had composed himself and was taking more photos from several angles—but at a distance. “Call the medical examiner and get a forensics team out here.” The deputy nodded and used the task as an excuse to move farther away.

“Found some change under the driver’s seat that I missed,” said Silas, showing a palm with three coins. “People ignore change, but I collect it all. It adds up,” he stated. He peered in the trunk. “Well, shit. Can’t say I’m surprised. Glad I called you.”

Evan held out a gloved hand. “Sorry, but those coins are now part of a crime scene.”

Silas reluctantly gave him the money, and Evan sealed it in an evidence bag.

“Any idea who this is?” Evan asked.

The thin man shoved his hands behind the bib of his overalls and took a long look. “Hard to say.” With a scowl on his face, he leaned in close to the body, and Evan heard a choked sound from the deputy’s direction. Silas straightened. “Something shiny and silver is sticking out under his leg. Usually shiny metal can be something good when I’m going through cars.” He shook his head. “But I ain’t touching that .”

Evan took out his phone, snapped a picture of the metal, and then gently slid it out from under the gray leg. His heart fell as he turned it over.

It was a Deschutes County Sheriff’s Department badge.

A high-pitched ringing filled his head, and his fingers froze on the metal.

I know that number.

He looked at the gray hair.

That’s Rod.

Evan’s friend and mentor, Detective Rod McLeod, had retired five years ago.

Memories flooded Evan’s brain, and a sharp pain bloomed in his chest.

I’ve got to call Sophia.

Guilt swamped him, and he set the badge back in the trunk. Rod’s daughter, Sophia, had left Evan a voicemail two days ago, asking him to return her call. He had been running to a meeting when he listened to the message and had forgotten to call her back.

His hands shook as he scrolled on his phone, looking for Sophia under his recent calls. He touched the entry and lifted the phone to his ear. It immediately went to voicemail. He struggled to speak. “Sophia, it’s Evan. Call me. Soon. It’s important.” He hung up and sent her a text stating the same thing.

His gaze went to Rod’s badge.

Was Sophia’s call about Rod?