The Naturalist (The Naturalist #1)(47)

I pull my shirt over my mouth and nose and lift the coat entirely free of the earth. It’s in tatters.

At first I think it’s just decomposing; then I notice five long gouges in the fabric.

Setting it aside, there’s something marble white underneath.

Using two fingers like a trowel, I scoop away the dirt and reveal a forearm, wrist, and fingers.

“Fuck,” Devon whispers.

I stare at the arm in silence, not sure what I’m supposed to do now. Keep digging? Confirm that it’s Chelsea? Make sure it’s not some elaborate prank?

No. This is proof enough. It has to be her.

My doubts seem silly to myself on one level, because what else could it be? But on another, a voice is telling me this can’t be real. It refuses to believe.

The excitement of being right is obliterated by the fact that things are so much darker than I could imagine.

“Hand me the shovel,” I say to Devon.

“Are you going to dig her out?” he asks.

“No. We’re going to cover her back up.” I take a garbage bag from my pack and lay it over the body, then start heaping dirt on it.

“Why are you burying her?” Amber asks through tears.

“Because we have to let the police do it. This is a crime scene.”

“Yes, but why are you burying her?”

“So the animals don’t get her,” Devon explains.

“We’ll put her coat in a bag and take it with us. But we have to protect this for now.”

Amber wipes her nose on the sleeve of her jacket. “Should we call 911?”

“We should drive Amber’s coat there,” says Devon. “Get Charlie to meet us at the station. It’ll be easier than explaining on the phone.”

I put the dirt back in place and drag a log over the grave. “This is to make it easier to mark and make it harder for any scavengers to find the body.”

Chelsea’s made it this long without being dug up, but now that we’ve disturbed the body and the scent of decaying flesh is spreading throughout the forest like blood in the water, animals from all around know there’s something here.

The light has begun to fade, and we’re less than an hour away from full darkness.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” says Amber.

I feel the same way. “You guys go back to the car. I’ll be there in a second, after I bag the coat.”

Devon gives me a nod, then escorts her up the hill.

After they’re out of sight, I bag the jacket, then grab the log they saw me put over the grave and drag it ten yards down the gully.

Considering the inauspicious circumstances under which we met, I don’t trust them. I have no reason to think they’d do something to the body, especially since police should be here within the hour, but the scientist in me is telling me to take extra precautions.

When I return to the Explorer, Amber is in Devon’s arms.

“Can we drop her off at home?” he asks. “I’ll get my pickup and meet you at the police station.”

It’s a legitimate request, but I feel better for having moved the log.

“Of course.”

The drive back to their house is quiet. Amber cries softly in the back seat, dealing with the realization that her friend is truly dead.

Devon shakes his head and mumbles under his breath, “Holy shit. Holy shit.”





CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT


INFORMANT

The Hudson Creek police station parking lot is almost empty at this time of night. There are a half dozen parked police vehicles and two civilian cars. The lobby is brightly lit behind glass doors.

I grab the garbage bag containing what I presume is Chelsea’s coat and walk toward the building.

So much has happened in the last few days. From being suspected of Juniper’s murder, to the ridicule I received in the conference room at the Filmount County Sheriff’s Department, it’s been a strange trip.

Thankfully, with the evidence they’ll hopefully find at Chelsea’s burial site, they’ll be able to build a case and find justice for Juniper.

I get a guilty pleasure at the thought of Sheriff Tyson realizing her mistake and Detective Glenn having to admit that he judged me wrong.

I have to remind myself this isn’t some professional dispute in a journal over the results of a research paper. Two girls were murdered, and maybe many, many more.

My goal is simply truth. I have to take my ego out of this.

I step inside the police station, and the desk sergeant looks up at me. She’s in her midthirties, thick farm-gal build, and could probably easily take me in a fight. There are two other uniformed cops sitting behind her, engaged in conversation. One of them has his feet up on a desk.

“How may I help you?” she asks in a no-nonsense tone.

I can only imagine the crazies she deals with at night.

I read her name badge. “Sergeant Palmer, I’d like to report a lead in Chelsea Buchorn’s disappearance.”

She scrutinizes me for a moment. Probably noticing the bruise on my face. “Buchorn? Didn’t she move away?” As she says this, she picks up a clipboard and flips through it. “Ah, here we go. I didn’t realize this was categorized as a missing person.” She sets it down. “And you say you have evidence about an abduction?”