River Bodies (Northampton County #1)(27)

“Single gunshot wound to the chest. I found the bullet. It’s in the evidence bag over there.” She motioned to the tray behind her. “Is he still a John Doe?”

“Yes.” Parker picked up the bag with the bullet. He’d have it sent to ballistics. “Any identifying features?”

“Barbed wire tattoo around his right bicep. Piercing above his left eyebrow. A small birthmark on his lower back.”

Parker took notes. “What about the gutting?” he asked.

“Yes, that’s interesting,” she said. “The blade entered here.” She pointed to the lower abdomen just above the genitals. “Worked its way upward.” She gave a detailed analysis of how the killer had carved his victim, the organs he’d removed—heart, lungs, liver, stomach, intestines. Parker listened, his own stomach queasy.

She continued. “I’m not a hunter, but it appears to be the same technique as a field dressing.”

“Any idea about what type of knife was used?” He was thinking about the original river body case.

“Well, I can tell you that it had a gut hook.”

“Like a hunting knife.”

“Yes. If you give me more time, I can get you the length of the blade.”

The knife in the first case was a large blade but had no gut hook. So different knives then. “Okay,” he said, having gotten what he needed at this point. He’d get the rest from her report. “I’ll let you finish up.” He couldn’t get out of the room fast enough. Sandra had said he’d get used to the smell, wouldn’t even notice it after he’d been on the job a few years. Parker wasn’t so sure about that.

He tossed the mask into the trash on his way out the door, headed to the crime lab with the bullet, thought about the knife again. He wondered if he was looking at a copycat killer.





CHAPTER FIFTEEN

John walked out of Sweeney’s feeling worse than when he’d walked in. His head pounded from the beer Chitter had given him in addition to all the alcohol he’d drunk the night before. His arms hung at his sides, and sweat leaked from his pores. He could smell himself, a mixture of alcohol, body odor, and adrenaline. After Candy had showed up at the club meeting screaming accusations, all he’d wanted to do was get on his bike, ride home, collapse in bed.

But he’d stayed seated out of respect for Hap and church. He’d waited until club business had ended. All the while his insides had churned, a swirl of stomach acid and dread.

Hap came up behind him. “I’ll have one of the guys keep an eye on Candy,” he said and stuck a toothpick between his teeth.

John appreciated the support even though he didn’t believe Candy was a threat, not really. “She’s young, but she’s not stupid,” he said. “She knows not to go to the police.” He glanced at Hap. “Lonnie will make sure she keeps her mouth shut.” Candy’s mother and Beth’s sister, Lonnie, was the old lady of one of the members in the Jersey chapter. She understood this was business.

Hap nodded.

John stepped off Sweeney’s porch and strode to his bike, brushing his graying hair from his eyes. If he didn’t get a haircut soon, he was going to have to tie it back in a ponytail. Maybe he could get one of the old ladies to cut it. He wasn’t ready to see himself as a gray, long-haired biker. He was still a few years away from fifty, but damn if it didn’t feel like it was closing in fast.

He slipped on the half helmet he wore. Some of the younger members preferred the full-face helmets, but John liked the feel of the wind in his face. He didn’t even mind the occasional smattering of bugs in his mouth and eyes.

He started his motorcycle and headed for home. What he needed was a little time away to be alone and sort things through, to go over one more time the steps he’d taken, the precautions, making sure he hadn’t left any evidence behind. But what he really needed was to come to terms with what he’d done. And sleep. If he had more sleep, he could think more clearly. He wondered if he’d ever have a restful night again.

He wove his way around the back roads, avoiding Route 611, Delaware Drive, and the cops, taking his time so as not to draw attention to himself. He was almost home when he passed by Clint’s house and spotted a Jeep in the driveway. He slowed, catching sight of a dog lying in the overgrown grass in the front yard.

He continued downhill and made a U-turn in the middle of the street. He hadn’t seen another vehicle parked outside Clint’s house in over a year. He wondered if the cancer had finally taken him. He’d heard the rumors in town about Clint’s illness, the diagnosis made not long after he’d retired as chief of police. The Scions kept tabs on all the cops, and the old chief was no different.

John passed Clint’s house again, and this time he was certain he recognized the German shepherd in the yard. He sped up the hill, made another U-turn for a third pass. Sure enough, outside the garage not far from the dog, he saw Becca. He was so surprised at seeing her that he didn’t realize he’d eased up on the throttle, almost coming to a complete stop.

She’d spotted him, of course, but what had he expected, riding past the house three times on a loud motorcycle?

Her dog lifted its head, tearing itself away from a bone. When Becca stepped toward John, he gave the bike some gas and sped away. An uneasy feeling picked its way up his spine. He didn’t like that she was on this side of the river.