Field of Graves(4)

Taylor held a hand up to cut him off. “C’mon, man, they’re all ugly. It’s too early to start spinning. Let’s just get through the morning. Keep the frickin’ media out of here—put ’em down in the duck shit if you have to. You can let them know which roads are closed so they can get the word out to their traffic helicopters, but that’s it. Make sure the uniforms keep everyone off the tape. I don’t want another soul in here until I have a chance to be fully briefed by all involved. Has the Park Police captain shown up yet?”

Fitz shook his head. “Nah. They’ve called him, but I haven’t seen him.”

“Well, find him, too. Make sure they know which end is up. Let’s get the perimeter of this park searched, grid by grid, see if we find something. Get K-9 out here, let them do an article search. Since the roads are already shut off, tell them to expand the perimeter one thousand feet outside the borders of the park. I want to see them crawling around like ants at a picnic. I see any of them hanging in McDonald’s before this is done, I’m kicking some butt.”

Fitz gave her a mock salute. “I’m on it. When Sam determined she was dumped, I went ahead and called K-9, and pulled all the officers coming off duty. We may have an overtime situation, but I figured with your, um, finesse...” He snorted out the last word, and Taylor eyed him coolly.

“I’ll handle it.” She pushed her hair back from her face and reestablished her hurried ponytail. “Get them ready for all hell to break loose. I’m gonna go talk to Sam.”

“Glad to serve, love. Now go see Sam, and let the rest of us grunts do our jobs. If you decide you want the whirlybird, give me a thumbs-up.” He blew her a kiss and marched toward the command post, snapping his fingers at the officers to get their attention.

Turning toward the building, she caught a stare from one of the older patrols. His gaze was hostile, lip curled in a sneer. She gave him her most brilliant smile, making his scowl deepen. She broke off the look, shaking her head. She didn’t have time to worry about politics right now.





2



Taylor approached Sam cautiously, making sure she followed the ME’s path to the body. They wouldn’t be able to blame any loss of evidence on her. Pulling on her latex gloves, she tapped Sam lightly on the shoulder. Sam looked up. Anticipating Taylor’s first question, she shook her head.

“There’s no obvious cause of death—no stab wounds, no gunshot wounds. Evidence of rape. There’s some bruising and tearing, a little bit of blood. He got her pretty good. There’s some dirt on her, too. Wind probably blew some stuff around last night. I’ll get a better idea when I get her open.”

She rocked back on her heels and saw Taylor’s face for the first time. “Girl, you look like crap. When’s the last time you slept?”

“Been a while.” The sleepless nights were catching up with her. She was almost thankful when a new case popped like this; the past slid away briefly when she could focus her attention elsewhere.

Sam gave her one last appraising glance. “Hmmph.”

Dr. Samantha Owens had shoulder-length brown hair she always wore back in a ponytail, feminine wisps she couldn’t control framing her face. She often joked that she’d rather look like a girl than a ghoul when she met someone new so the first impression wasn’t one of horror. Taylor was always amused to see people scatter like rats when they found out the beautiful and composed woman was a professional pathologist. Most run-of-the-mill people didn’t want to hang out with a woman who cut up dead bodies for a living.

Unlike many of the women she and Taylor had grown up with, Sam didn’t join the Junior League, have beautiful babies, and lunch at Bread & Company. Instead, she spent her time perched over Nashville’s endless supply of dead bodies, a position she was in much too often. She was also Taylor’s best friend and was allowed liberties where others weren’t.

“I’ve been telling you, you need to get some help.”

“Hush up, Sam, I don’t want to hear it. Tell me about our girl.” Taylor let the knot in her stomach and the ache in her temples take complete hold. She had warmed up in the early-morning heat, but looking at the dead girl was giving her the chills. “Fitz said she was dumped?”

Sam traced an invisible line around the body with her finger. “Definitely. She wasn’t killed here. See the livor pattern? The bottom of her legs, thighs and calves, her butt, the inside of her arms, and her back. The blood pooled in those areas. But she’s sitting up, right? The lividity wouldn’t present this way unless she had been chilling out on her back for a while. She was definitely dead for a few hours before she was dumped.”

Taylor looked closely at the purplish-red blotches. In contrast, the front of the girl’s body looked as pale and grimy as a dead jellyfish.

“No blood either. Maybe he’s a vampire.” Sam leered briefly at Taylor, made fangs out of her fingers, hissed. Her morbid sense of humor always popped up at the most inappropriate times.

“You’re insane.”

“I know. No, he did her someplace else, then dumped her here.” She looked around and said quietly, “Seriously, this feels very staged. She was put here for a reason, posed, everything. He wanted her found right away. The question is, why?”

Taylor didn’t comment, but tucked Sam’s remark into the back of her mind to be brought out and chewed on later. She knew it was worth thinking about; Sam had sound instincts. She turned back toward the command center. Seeing Fitz, she peeled the glove off her right hand, put two fingers in her mouth, and whistled sharply. He turned, and she shook her head. The helicopter definitely wasn’t going to be needed.