Chapter One #2
I think this is a good time for some me time, Stefanie told herself as she meandered her way through the crowd, seemingly unnoticed by most, who were too caught up in themselves or each other.
She headed toward a part of the park near the river that was less likely to be too occupied while the festivities were underway.
She had no problem with any mild-mannered wildlife she might encounter.
I won’t complain if some western meadowlarks want to sing to me, she thought wittily.
Just as she started to head down a trail, Stefanie was stopped cold as she came upon a naked body.
It was that of a young and slender white female with dark, short hair and small breasts.
She was lying flat on her back atop some undergrowth.
What looked to be initials were noticeably tattooed on her pale right forearm, as if to make a statement.
Sucking in a deep breath, Stefanie could only imagine how the pretty twentysomething woman had ended up there without any clothes on. But she didn’t need much imagination to believe that she was looking at the pallid face of a corpse.
* * *
RESTON HILLS POLICE DEPARTMENT Detective Campbell Sawyer sat at the counter of Harriette’s Café on Pickford Street, named for its longtime owner Harriette Yardley, musingly sipping coffee with a dash of cream.
He probably should have been at the Founder’s Day celebration like a number of his coworkers—some on duty, others off—but he figured they could survive without him.
Not that he hadn’t attended enough of them since he was five years old—probably too many to count.
But it was different now. Or seemed that way.
He simply couldn’t muster up the same enthusiasm from years past to be an active participant.
Even if he was proud to be a member of the community, which was thriving insofar as relatively small towns could thrive.
Reston Hills was in Eckerslin County—one hundred and seventy-five miles from Boise, but it might as well be a thousand miles away with regard to its down-to-earth, laidback lifestyle where people largely stayed out of other people’s business unless invited in.
He should know. Prior to the last three and a half years, he had lived in Boise, where Campbell worked for the Boise Police Department as a detective in the Criminal Investigation Division’s Violent Crimes Unit, Narcotics Unit and Crimes Against Children division at varying times during his ten-plus years with the force.
Prior to that, he had attended Boise State University, where he’d received a Bachelor of Science degree in Criminal Justice.
But burnout and a high-stress environment, along with a longing to reestablish roots in his hometown, brought him back to Reston Hills.
The fact that there was an opening at the detective level with the Reston Hills PD’s Investigation Division, for which he came highly recommended by his former boss, Captain Mick Fernandez, made it a done deal.
Campbell hadn’t looked back, having settled into life again in Reston Hills—now at age thirty-six, with few complaints to speak of.
He had reconnected with his father, Mason Sawyer, a retired police detective who had a horse ranch not far from town.
Though they hadn’t always seen eye to eye, the real love and respect had been there throughout.
Especially after Campbell had lost his mother, Alyssa Sawyer, a decade ago to breast cancer.
He and his father had taken it hard, neither seeming to find the right words to say to each other in dealing with the death.
But they had slowly worked their way through and come to terms with it.
Campbell ran a hand through his black hair, which was cut short but was long enough to appreciate.
He put the coffee mug to his lips, just below a Dallas mustache.
About the only thing missing at the moment in his life was romance.
Or something resembling an intimate relationship.
Since breaking up with his last girlfriend, Naomi Espelita, while still living in Boise, he’d remained frustratingly single, with only an occasional date here and there to fill the void of loneliness unsuccessfully.
Oh well, I’ll just have to wait it out till the right woman comes along and let the chips fall where they may—hoping they fall in the right direction, toward a real future together, Campbell thought, finishing up the coffee.
No sooner had he set the empty cup on the counter when the waitress was before him almost on cue with the pot of coffee in her hand.
“Care for a refill?” she asked, a flirtatious smile playing on her full lips.
Campbell cast his blue eyes at Sarah Huffstetler, in her late twenties and voluptuous inside the tight taupe uniform.
She had thick blond hair with parted bangs.
They had gone out on exactly one date, which was all it took for him to realize they weren’t meant for each other.
Though he had expressed this in the nicest way possible, he suspected she may have felt otherwise and had apparently not gotten the message.
He gave a sideways grin and, lifting a hand as if to ward off a blow, responded, “Thanks, Sarah, but I’m good.”
She looked disappointed but seemed to recover quickly. “Had to ask.”
“I know, and I appreciate the service.” Campbell stood to his full height of six feet, two and three-quarter inches, towering over her at just over five feet tall. “See you next time around.”
Sarah licked her lips invitingly. “I’ll be here.”
That’s what I’m afraid of, he thought sardonically, but actually had no problem with them being on friendly terms, even a little flirtatious from her end. So long as it went no further than that.
After stepping outside into the fresh—albeit a bit humid—air and bright sunshine, while feeling this was perfect weather for the Founder’s Day events, Campbell’s cell phone rang. He removed it from the back pocket of his tweed pants and answered in his strong detective’s voice, “Yeah?”
“We got a report of a dead naked female in Reston Hills Park,” the dispatcher said tonelessly, as if it was no big deal.
Campbell frowned, believing otherwise, as every life was precious to him.
Without considering the circumstances of the deceased, he hated the thought that anyone—on this, of all days—should have to die and be deprived of a future and all the positive things it could entail.
“I’m on my way,” he muttered, walking toward the parking lot.
He climbed into his cypress-gray Chevy Tahoe SUV and headed for the park while wondering if the victim had succumbed to a drug overdose. Or other means of avoidable death. Those were always the worst circumstances, when someone’s life was cut short through no fault of their own.
Arriving at his destination, Campbell took a routine peek at the Glock 19 Gen5 9x19mm duty pistol that was concealed in a paddle holster inside his wool blazer.
He turned his attention to the festival, which was still in full swing—a good sign, since the community depended on the revenue earned by businesses that used Founder’s Day to generate year-round exposure.
Not to mention, the last thing anyone needed was to take away from the spirit of the important day in the town’s history through tragedy.
Once the cause of death was determined, a period of adjustment could be made accordingly.
Campbell flashed his identification to Officer Eli Gundersen, a twenty-five-year-old rookie who was tall and muscular with red hair in a crew cut.
“We’ve got a strange one here…” Eli said, a catch to his voice as he rubbed his jawline.
“I can see that.” Campbell was inclined to agree as he took a look at the deceased white female laying awkwardly on her back in the nude at the spot, with other officers keeping the public at bay.
He guessed her to be in her mid-twenties.
She had jet-black hair in a bob style and was maybe five-five or so.
There were cuts on her arms, legs and feet that may have come from being in the park naked.
But no outward signs of foul play or otherwise significant distress of the corpse.
He zoomed in on her thin forearm and noticed the initials that appeared to be “KB” tattooed on it.
That rang an immediate bell with him. Members of a local cult calling itself the Braison Family were being branded with the initials of its controversial leader, Kenneth Braison.
Campbell had visited their compound before, investigating reported drug activity that had proved inconclusive.
Was she—or had she been—a member of the cult?
“What are your thoughts?” Eli asked curiously.
Campbell couldn’t help but think back to a similar case his father had encountered as a police detective twenty years ago that involved a fatally poisoned woman, in what turned out to be a homicide that eventually became a cold case.
It had dogged his father for the rest of his career and had never been solved to this day, as far as Campbell was aware.
“Well, I’m still working on that,” he responded contemplatively.
“Any sign of her clothing…or a cell phone…?”
“Not yet.” Eli looked off into the distance. “She either ended up here without them, or someone took them after she died.”
Campbell pondered this. “Do you know who she is?” Though most people seemed to know one another in a small town, to one degree or another, this wasn’t always the case.
Especially for those affiliated with the Braison Family, who tended to maintain a low profile in a concerted effort at staying under the radar from law enforcement.
Not to mention, the Founder’s Day celebration typically attracted visitors from elsewhere.
“Haven’t seen her before,” Eli answered succinctly. “At least, not that I can recall.”
Campbell took that as a no. Or maybe as a newly married man, the officer felt uncomfortable in saying otherwise, as if it made him look guilty of her death just by association.
Campbell chose to give him the benefit of the doubt, considering Eli had given himself some wiggle room by not insisting that he hadn’t seen her before in any way, shape or form.
Focusing his gaze again on the dead woman, Campbell felt a touch of familiarity, as if they had crossed paths before, in one way or another.
He strained his eyes for recognition. He was usually pretty good at pinning to memory those he’d crossed paths with, even if with little more than a passing glance.
But in this instance, he came up empty. Maybe this was the very first time he’d seen her face—and body.
And, if so, it would certainly be memorable moving forward.
Campbell turned back to Eli and asked, “Who discovered the body?”
Before the officer could respond, Campbell heard a female’s voice say in an elevated tone, “I did.”
He gazed out beyond the yellow crime scene tape’s established perimeter and laid eyes on a gorgeous and slender Asian woman in her early thirties, with long dark hair.
Walking over to her, he got past his initial reaction to her as someone who was totally his type—to the degree that he had any real type, as such—and said professionally, “Hi. I’m Detective Campbell Sawyer. ”
“Stefanie Nguyen.”
Campbell took a moment to gaze into the arresting brown eyes on her heart-shaped face, with a thin nose that was slightly upturned, and a small mouth.
He then said evenly, “Ms. Nguyen, can you tell me how you came upon the deceased, if you saw anyone else near the body—and anything more you care to say about this…?”
Stefanie swallowed and replied, with a catch to her voice, “I can try my best.”
For the time being, that was about all Campbell could ask for from her. Beyond that, he was more than willing to keep an open mind.