The Naturalist (The Naturalist #1)(6)

“Yes. And what makes a ranch a ranch?”

His gives me a nod as he begins to get it. “Usually a fence.”

“A barbed-wire fence. That’s how we contain the system. It works great for cows and sheep. But it’s too short for horses, and pigs can burrow under it. The only things getting killed here are the animals that are stopped by a barbed-wire fence. Sheep and cows.”

“So they’re getting stuck on the fence and the coyotes find them, then drag them away?”

“Perhaps. I imagine the coyotes have learned to chase them into the fence. The cow gets cut up, but not stuck. It keeps running until it bleeds out. Maybe miles away from where it hit the fence.”

“Impressive. Well, you’re a genius in my book.” There’s something about his praise that feels exaggerated. He rests his hands on the remaining folders. “These are a bit graphic. Random cases. I’d like you to look at them and see if you get any sciency thoughts.”

He slides the stack over to me, but I don’t touch them. “Is this why I’m here?”

“Just humor me again, Professor. Trust me, no one else here is as charming to deal with as me.”

I decide I don’t want to find out what he means by that. As far as I can tell, I have nothing to be implicated for, so making some observations shouldn’t be a problem. Anything to get out of here sooner.

There are two dozen photographs of bodies, bloody handprints, and random items. The photos are of at least three different people: an elderly woman who looks like she was beaten to death, a man with cuts and stab wounds, and a bloodied young woman whose face isn’t visible in any of the images.

There are also photographs of bloodstained clothes, cell phones, money, and tree trunks, along with some other, pristine items.

I’m lost in my thoughts as I pore through the photos. Detective Glenn is a million miles away to me. So is the camera in the corner of the room that’s still watching. And presumably the Watcher.

I gather the photos into four piles and sort through them one by one. I see insect bites, poison ivy rashes, a hand resting on a closed pinecone. I don’t know where to go with any of this. The cow was easy—it was just one photo.

After a few minutes, I look to Glenn for some guidance and notice the polite smile is gone from his face.

He’s staring at a pile in the middle. His eyes flick to the camera for a brief second; then he looks at me, regaining his composure. “Dr. . . . Theo, why did you put those photos there?”

My stomach clenches. Something has happened. Something that makes me look bad.

I spread out the photos from that pile, hastily trying to explain myself. “These look like different angles of the same victim.”

He pulls out the photo of the bloody pinecone and another of a purse on a log. “There’s no person in these photos, yet you put them into that pile.” He drops the photos back onto the fanned pile. “Why?”

“Oh.” I gather up the photos and thumb through them again. “I wasn’t really paying attention. Random, I guess.”

“There are two dozen photos here. You separated the six that were all from the same case. What are the odds on that?”

“High. So I guess it wasn’t that random . . .” I try to understand my own reasoning.

“No. It would appear not.”

I point to the numbers on the bottom of the photos. “These are case numbers, I’m guessing. They all match up. Mostly. It looks like a coding for a date.”

Glenn takes the photos and studies the numbers. “These shouldn’t be here.” He shoots an annoyed glance at the camera. His shoulders slump. “So you just looked at the numbers? That’s why you put those in one pile.” He shrugs and lifts his palms in the air, frustrated. “I guess that makes sense.”

I should keep my mouth shut. I can’t. My desire for logical explanations is a compulsion—a dangerous one at that. “No. That’s not how I knew.”

The cords in Glenn’s forearms tighten. His whole posture goes stiff. His voice is calm and controlled as he asks me, “Then how did you know they’re all from the same crime scene?”





CHAPTER FIVE


INDEX

I can tell Detective Glenn has spent a lot of hours working on being calm and composed in extreme situations. I suspect nothing has been an accident so far. The “accidental” photo of the split head was because he wanted to see how I reacted.

His composure slipped when he saw me pile the photographs together. It caught him by surprise. I think that up until then he’d been only casually entertaining his suspicions. His lack of aggression was an asset. If I’d picked up on that, then I probably would have realized sooner what was going on.

There’s a reason I haven’t seen the sheriff—the woman in the parking lot—for hours. She wears everything on the surface. Glenn glides along the bottom of a deep ocean. I suspect she’s the one who ordered the SWAT team to knock down my door, while Glenn is the one with the nuanced approach who got me to willingly hop into the back seat of his car like a frightened stray.

“Why did you group those photos together?” he asks again.

I face them toward me. “It was a subconscious thing.”

His voice becomes cordial again. “Is there something you want to tell me, Theo?”