When You See Me (Detective D.D. Warren #11)(16)

“Have you ever been in the woods?” I can’t help but ask her.

“I’ve hiked.” D.D.’s tone is defensive. I realize for the first time that the sergeant isn’t just an urban detective, but a genuine city slicker. I turn toward Keith.

“And you?”

“Um, I think I have a picture of a tree somewhere. Maybe a screen saver.”

“Oh my God, I’m the only one here with wilderness experience.”

“We can’t all grow up in Maine,” D.D. grumbles. “That’s why it’s Maine.”

I feel a renewed sense of responsibility. “Anything else?” I ask Dr. Jackson.

She studies me for a long while. “Examine the topography. Look for signs of water runoff. You’ll want the dogs to trace any and all creeks, as small bones can easily wash downstream. Pay particular attention for debris dams, which may have captured some of the bones. At this stage, they’ll resemble small, weathered sticks, so expect to wade into the water, get up close and personal. Finally, check for predator activity, signs of animal dens. In the beginning of decomp, raccoons are the worst. They’ll even crawl right into the chest cavity to gnaw on the ribs, let alone the damage they do to hands.”

I once burned a man alive. But this conversation is making me queasy.

“Small rodents—rats, mice, squirrels—steal bones once they’re dry. Chances are, many of the missing phalanges and ribs are in nests. So again, you can’t just study the ground. You need to look all around, get a local wildlife expert if you can. Someone who can track small game. I once worked a search where we recovered an arm and half a rib cage from a coyote’s den. That kind of find could make a huge difference for us. I’m assuming you have a search team?”

She glances at D.D., who nods.

“Standard protocol applies. Lay out the grid, work the grid. Then . . . listen. This line of work.” She turns back to Lilah’s graceful face. “Bones talk. And all children just want to go home again.”





CHAPTER 7





D.D.





D.D. WAS A NEW ENGLANDER to her core. The only time she’d previously spent in Georgia was flying through the Atlanta airport. Now, she followed the rental car’s GPS, heading north from the city into the mountains.

“Our first major town will be Dahlonega,” Keith rattled off from the back, staring at his phone. “It’s considered the gateway of the Appalachian Trail and—incidentally—in eighteen-twenty-eight, the site of the first major gold rush in the United States. The phrase, ‘There’s gold in them thar hills’? That’s originally from Dahlonega.”

“Okay,” D.D. said, as clearly someone needed to answer, and since leaving the forensic anthropologist’s office Flora had given up speaking.

“Dahlonega is known for its historic town square, surrounding vineyards, and luxury spas.” Keith looked up from his phone. “Any chance we’re staying in Dahlonega?”

D.D. laughed. “Welcome to real policing. We stay in economy inns, live on pizza, and are proud of it.”

“But I’m not really a cop . . .”

“You may go wherever you please,” D.D. assured him. “But don’t expect us to call you with all the exciting case developments you’ll be missing.”

Keith sighed heavily.

“According to SSA Quincy,” D.D. continued, “the local sheriff—”

“Smithers,” Keith interjected. “Took office twenty years ago. Active in D.A.R.E. and teaching educational classes in the school system. He’s also very proud of his Hunter’s Safety Certification program as well as firearms education for civilians.”

Computer nerd and a know-it-all.

“Sheriff Smithers volunteered his office as taskforce headquarters,” D.D. continued. “It’s in the center of the county, near Dahlonega, with some hotels nearby. He’s working on reserving a block of rooms in a local motel as we speak. I imagine we’ll learn more when we get there.”

“But ground zero is a good fifteen, twenty miles from Dahlonega,” Keith began, having no doubt traced it out on the map.

“Understood, but if you look up the little town in question, it’s barely a speck on the map. Apparently, it has a general store, some quaint B and Bs, local restaurants, and that’s it.”

“Niche, Georgia,” Keith promptly rattled off. “Located almost two hours north of Atlanta, it’s at three thousand feet and boasts cool mountain air, quaint storefronts, and access to the AT. With a population of three thousand, its primary industry is tourism, though there’s a growing retirement community based on quality of life, natural beauty, and small-town life.”

“Road access?” Flora finally spoke up. Her gaze was out the window, looking at the scenery, ostensibly, but probably still seeing Lilah Abenito’s reconstructed face. God knows D.D. was.

She hadn’t known what to think about Flora’s desire to “meet” the victim. In D.D.’s opinion, Flora shouldered way too much blame when it came to Jacob Ness’s reign of terror. And D.D. was never sure how much of Flora’s vigilante streak was truly due to a desire to feel safe, versus a need to serve penance.

“Dahlonega is at the end of a major highway, GA Four Hundred. What we’re on now,” Keith said. “After that, we’re traveling rural routes. Some of them quite steep and windy. For example, Route Sixty we’ll be taking to Niche.”