Minutes to Kill (Scarlet Falls #2)(26)

No one spoke. Just as Chet knew all the municipal employees, the entire town knew his story as well. Three years before, his fifteen-year-old, mentally ill daughter had run away. Chet had been unable to track her down for a year. He’d caught sight of her last winter, in New York City, but she’d evaded him. He’d stopped actively searching since her eighteenth birthday this past spring, when Chet had taken his vacation and spent two weeks trying to drown himself in Johnnie Walker.

Frank straightened the sheet, zipped the bag, and motioned for the attendants to roll onward. He paused and spoke in a low voice to Chet, “We’ll take care of her.”

Discomfort at the ME’s unusual display of emotion spread through the group in a wave of bodies shifting position.

“I’ll have her dental records sent over to your office,” Chet said.

The morgue crew loaded the body into the van and drove away.

“I’m going home. You’ll fill me in later?” Chet spoke to the grass at his feet.

“I will,” Brody answered. “I can stop by your place when I’m done here.” He didn’t want Chet to be alone while he waited for news.

“No need. I’ll be fine.” Chet’s jaw tightened. “I have work to do.” He turned away, then paused, his face nearly as gray as the corpse’s skin. “This isn’t the first time I’ve seen a body that could be hers.”

But it might be the last.

“Let me remind you that you can’t base an identification solely on very basic physical characteristics,” Brody said.

With slow steps, Chet walked back to his car. He drove off slowly, as if even his vehicle were weighted with despair.

Brody watched the sedan disappear, frustration and sadness filling him. Then he went to his car and brought up Teresa’s file on his laptop. The photo was several years old.

Stella leaned into his vehicle through the open driver’s door. “It’s possible, but I wouldn’t put money on it.”

“Hard to tell. I haven’t seen her for a long time.” If that body was Teresa, how would Chet survive? He’d given up actively searching for her, but there was still hope that someday she’d come home. And even if she didn’t, he knew she was out there somewhere, alive. What would he do if he learned she was gone for good?

“When will we know for sure?” Stella asked.

“Chet’s been through the identification process before. He doesn’t have Teresa’s fingerprints on file, so dental records will be compared when Frank x-rays the body in the morning. Hopefully, the X-rays won’t match, and Chet will have his answer before lunch.”

In the meantime, Brody was going to do everything in his power to identify the dead woman and prove she wasn’t Teresa.

Stella went back to her duties. Brody checked his cell for messages. The sun sank over the trees, and the forensics team broke out overhead lights and turned them to high noon. The next twelve hours were going to be the longest in history. Chet was going to have a very bad night.





Chapter Nine

Jewel opened her clenched fist and stared at the business card she’d snatched off the floor of the woman’s car. Hannah Barrett, whoever she was, had tried to help her. But look what she’d gotten for her good deed. Mick had cracked her good. She’d gone down hard. Had Mick and Sam gone back for her after they’d dragged Jewel from the car? Maybe Mick killed her. Maybe Mick was going to kill Jewel.

Maybe that would be best.

The last six months had made her feel less than human. Most people treated their dogs better, except Mick. He starved and beat Butch, too. Asshole.

Sunbeams slanted through the dust-encrusted window high on the opposite wall. She licked her cracked lips. She’d been freezing all night, but the temperature in the shed had been rising all day. Sweat soaked her skirt and top. Dirt stuck to her damp skin. She straightened her leg to ease a cramp. Pain wracked her torso, her ribs screaming with every breath.

What day was it? Sunday?

Death couldn’t be too far away. She couldn’t last another day without water. The desert climate wasn’t natural to her. She never thought she’d say it, but she missed Toledo. At this point, she’d be happy to go back to her mom’s house and deal with the new boyfriend. Lenny’s abuse seemed like nothing after the hundreds of men since she’d been grabbed off the street and brought here.

Mick was a master at causing pain. He wasn’t going to forgive her this time, and if he ever learned what else she’d done . . .

Stupid is exactly what she was. All that risk for nothing. She’d thought she was smarter than him? That she could take him down? She shuddered. This beating was bad, but Mick could do much worse. But the worst thing was, despite her current misery, she could still envision escape. She didn’t want to die.

The cuffs dug into her wrists. She rubbed them in the dirt to move them to a fresh quarter inch of skin. The dog whined at the back of the shed. Jewel inched to the wall and stuck her hand in a two-inch gap between the dirt and the side of the shed. A wet nose sniffed her fingers. As the dog licked her hand, Jewel’s eyes filled. Too bad Butch couldn’t dig her out.

Footsteps outside the shed filled her with hope and dread. She wanted out of this shed, but Mick was pissed. Would it be better to die slowly of dehydration? If Mick did it, he’d make sure it hurt.