Ally searched for a pulse-finding nothing stirring under the cold, clammy flesh. This was a dead body, clearly…and that put Ally right smack in the middle of what she knew damn well was a crime scene. The urge to drag the body back to the Bronco was nearly overwhelming, but Ally knew not to disturb the scene any more than she already had, rushing in to chase off the coyotes.
Pistol still in her hand, Ally backed carefully to the vehicle, her eyes sweeping the dark beyond the body and the Bronco beams, just waiting for the first coyote to creep back into the wash of the car's headlights, for her to pick off. She knew, too, that if this was a murder, the perpetrator could possibly still be in the area…though she doubted that. The coyotes wouldn't have made their move until they were alone with the corpse.
Her eyes still searching the hill, Ally reached inside, plucked the mike from its dashboard perch, pulled the long cord out so she'd have an unobstructed view of the body and pushed the talk button.
'Dispatch,' she said, 'this is mobile two.'
No response from the base.
'Dispatch, this is mobile two. Aaron, it's your wake-up call! Get off your ass-I found a dead body.'
The low-pitched male voice sounded groggy, which was hardly a surprise. 'Ally? What the hell did you say?'
'Call the city cops, Aaron-we got a d.b.'
A summer intern brought back on temporarily to help out during the holiday vacations, Aaron Davis had little experience beyond handing out maps to tourists and flirting with teenage girls come to swim in the lake.
'Aren't we supposed to notify the FBI, Ally?'
The mild irritation Ally felt was a relief compared to the creepiness that had come over her, touching that cold corpse.
'We will, Aaron,' she said with feigned patience, 'but the Fibbies won't make it for days.' She sighed. 'The Vegas P.D. will be here within the hour. Call 911.'
'But we're the cops, aren't we, Ally?'
'Well…I am.'
'You mean, cops can call 911, too?'
'Aaron…just make the call. Then you can go back to sleep.'
'You don't have to be mean,' Aaron said.
She clicked off then and the ridiculousness of the conversation made her laugh. She laughed and laughed, tears rolling down her cheeks, and then she thought to herself,
And then she didn't laugh any more.
She just watched the still white lump of flesh, guarding it from scavengers. Ally Scott could protect the dead woman from the coyotes, no problem; but if the woman was a murder victim, it would take a different breed of cop to find the animal who had done this.
2
STANDING AT THE EDGE OF THE BLACKTOP, CATHERINE Willows-Las Vegas Metro P.D. crime scene investigator-let the headlights of the Park Services Bronco, blocking the road, give her her first view of the body.
The dead naked woman lay on her left side, arms folded chastely across her bosom, legs pulled up in a tight, fetal ball. At this distance, no signs of violence were apparent and Catherine wondered if this death could somehow be natural. According to the ranger, the woman's hair was damp and, even from here, Catherine could make out the dampness of the ground beneath the corpse. Maybe the woman had been swimming in the lake; perhaps this was a romantic tryst that had got out of…
Catherine stopped herself. Unlike her boss and colleague Gil Grissom, she almost always allowed herself to play with theories before all the facts were in. But she knew the practice could be dangerous if left unchecked, particularly this early on.
On their first case together, Grissom had said, 'It's a capital mistake to theorize before one has data. Insensibly one begins to twist facts to suit theories, instead of theories to suit facts.'
'That sounds like a quote,' she'd said.
'It is,' Grissom had said, with no attribution, just glancing at her with that little half-smile and smug twinkle of the eye she now knew so well.
Even so, the tryst notion was one of the few logical explanations that came readily to mind to answer the musical question, what was a nude woman doing wandering around the Lake Mead National Recreation Area in the middle of the night…?
Two squad cars, their rollers smudging the night with alternate smears of red and blue, blocked the road a hundred yards on either side of the scene. Detective Jim Brass's unmarked Taurus sat on the shoulder of the road near where Catherine and her partner tonight, Warrick Brown, had left their Tahoe.
Ever the gentleman, Warrick was pulling their flightcase-like field kits out of the back of the SUV while Catherine had stepped to the edge of the road for an overview of the crime scene. Her hair whispered at her ears, thanks to the gentle desert wind-which had a bite to it, as the sting at her cheeks attested.
Captain Brass ambled up next to her. Despite the temperature, Brass wore no topcoat, just a plaid sport-coat over a gold shirt with a blue-and-gold striped tie. When she had first known the detective, Brass had been a rumpled sort, with the unkempt aura of the recently divorced; but time passed and the detective had long since spiffed up.
A small cloud huffed out as he spoke. 'Dead nude woman.'
As if that were the beginning and the end of it.
Catherine asked, 'No ID?'
'Nude, Catherine,' he said, dryly. 'She wasn't strolling around buck naked with her purse.'
'I don't go anywhere without mine.'
'Nonetheless…we got nothing here.'
'Not yet.' Catherine smiled at him, teasing just a little. 'Warrick and I'll have a look, if you don't mind.'
'Knock yourself out.'
Following her flashlight's beam, she slowly walked over the sandy ground, careful not to disturb any potential evidence as she approached the corpse.
Brass remained on the edge of the road.
She heard Warrick behind her, field kits clanking. Then he was beside her, asking, 'How's it read?'
Tall, with a shaggy, modestly dreadlocked haircut, Warrick Brown had skin the color of coffee with just a hint of cream stirred in. He was a man with a ready smile, though Catherine knew him to be serious and even inclined to melancholy.
He watched as Catherine played the flashlight along the woman's back, as if painting an abstract picture. Then she crouched and shone the beam on the woman's disturbingly peaceful face: the eyes closed, a puggish nose above full colorless lips…but no sign of violence, no immediate cause of death visible.
'She doesn't have much to say yet,' Catherine said. 'Fortunately, the coyotes were just getting started when that ranger interrupted 'em-this could be a lot worse.'
'Maybe not from Miss Nude Vegas's point of view,' Warrick said, in his deadpan way. 'Dumped, y'think?'
Catherine nodded. 'Probably dropped here, yes-other than paw-and-claw prints, no signs of a struggle on the ground. But, damn…who is she?' Then to the corpse, 'Who are you?'
'She went out of this life,' Warrick said softly, 'same way she came in-naked.'
Catherine frowned. 'Maybe not…I think I saw some sort of impression, maybe from underwear. Still, it's not a lot to go on.'
'Well, you know what Gris would say.'
She nodded. ''Just work the evidence.''
'That's it.'
'Well, even if that's what 'Gris' might say, allow me to point out that while we're 'working' the evidence, our fearless leader and his trusty aide will soon be sucking up room service in a first-class hotel.'
