“What’s that drag mark?” the agent said, walking away.
“Looks like the dad shot a deer,” Sonny said, walking over. “I know it’s out of season, but the family clearly ain’t got a pot to piss in…”
“Look closer, sheriff,” Diller said. “The brush is bent away from the house.”
The path was broad, with not only the loam disturbed, but small saplings and bushes pressed down. If it had been a deer, it had been the biggest buck in Claiborne County history.
“Don’t know what it is,” the sheriff said. “But it ain’t the body of a fourteen-year-old girl. Ain’t a body drag mark at all. Seen them.”
“So have I,” Diller said, looking into the woods. “But it’s also odd. Maybe a tarp with something piled on it.”
“Sheriff, we’re going to have to have copies of all your findings,” Adams said, walking over. “If you’d like we can bring in forensics support.”
“Appreciate that,” Cribbs said distantly, rubbing his chin. “Don’t look like the dad raked the leaves much.”
“I’d like to see where it leads,” Diller said.
“Randell!” the sheriff said, shouting across the yard. “Go with this FBI guy.”
“Roger, sir,” the deputy said, trotting over.
“Stay off the path,” the agent said. “Be back.”
“You’re going to mess up your shoes,” Randell said as they walked through the woods.
“I’ve done that before,” the agent said, sniffing. “What’s that? A dead deer?”
“Maybe,” the deputy said. “But it smells like what I smelled in the house.”
The agent approached the still-obvious path of whatever had been dragged through the woods, and bent down.
“It’s coming from the trail,” he said, sniffing around like a dog. “There’s a dark discoloration.”
“You want my thoughts?” the deputy asked as they started off again.
“We at the FBI always welcome input,” the agent replied, looking around.
“I think this guy is a real sicko,” Randell said. “I mean seriously deranged. I think he brought a dead body with him. Maybe more than one. That’s the only way to explain the smell in the house.”
“And it would explain the drag marks,” the agent said, stopping and cocking his head. The brush and trees had thickened as they headed up the ridge, and at one point the dragged area narrowed down between two trees to barely the width of a body. “But I don’t think you could drag many bodies through that gap.”
“Tarp with leaves?” the deputy said. “The lawn didn’t look raked.”
“Maybe,” the agent said. “In which case we’re wasting our time. But why would someone drag leaves through a forest, deputy?”
They continued to follow the path up the hill until it stopped at a small opening in the ground. Diller bent down and held his hand to it. There was airflow coming out.
“Cave,” he said. There were more signs that something had been dragged into the cave. Something large that had, somehow, shrunk down to fit. The edges had that same foul stench.
Caught on the rock was a thin strand of golden hair.
The agent rocked back on his heels and paused for a moment, frowning. Then he blanched.
“Shit,” he muttered. “Son. Of. A. Bitch! I’m an idiot.”
“What?” the deputy asked. He was standing well back to avoid contaminating a possible crime scene.
“Nothing,” Diller said, standing up and backing away from the hole. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.”
“Sir, what’s wrong?” the deputy asked, looking around for the threat.
“You used to be a Marine, right?” Diller said, pulling out his cell phone.
“Shows, huh?” Randell said.
“Then understand this, Marine,” Diller said, turning around and pulling off his sunglasses. He looked the Marine straight in the eyes while dialing from memory. “You did not see anything unusual about this. We didn’t take this walk. If called to testify about anything, you will be as uncommunicative as a stone. Do you understand me?”
“No, sir,” Randell said, his eyes wide.
“This is Agent Diller,” the agent said into the phone. “The Claiborne case has Special Circumstances.”
CHAPTER TWO
Janea knew she shouldn’t enjoy shocking the hell out of the poor FBI agents she worked with. Among other things, they generally had the life expectancy of a gnat. But they were so mundane.
Besides, appearing to be a giant invitation to have sex was her Calling. It was a form of worship, as was the frequent, lustful and giving sex in which she engaged.
So she made a performance of getting out of the rented Taurus. One long leg out, slow and sensual, then the next, then roll to her feet with a little bounce to get the boobs jiggling. The agents clearly weren’t used to spike heels, a short, flirty miniskirt and a midriff top at a crime scene. Nor the sway as she walked over.
“Doris Grisham,” she said, holding out her hand to the stocky one. “Call me Janea.”
Janea was taller than either agent-at least with five-inch heels on-busty, curvy and redheaded. A former stripper and high-dollar call girl, she had found her Calling in the service of Freya, the Norse goddess of fertility and love.
The Foundation for Love and Universal Faith had, in turn, found her through Asatru connections. Since then she’d been working her way up through the Foundation and was now listed, just last week, as a Class Three Adept.
“Yes, ma’am,” Agent Graham said, clearly in shock.
“I understand you called for SC,” she said, posing. “Here I am!”
“Yes, ma’am,” Graham said, still in shock.
“Ma’am, we have a serious case here,” Diller said, breaking out first. “I’d like to brief you in.”
“Go for it,” Janea said, dropping the pose. “Two dead, kidnapping. Why SC?”
“This,” Diller said, walking over to the dragged patch. “This goes up to a small-very small-cave on the hillside. There were hairs there that appear to be from the kidnap victim. And there’s a smell…”
“Ichor,” Janea said, squatting down and suddenly all business. “Not demonic ichor, though. At least none that I’ve smelled. Can I get a sample here?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Graham said, going over to the FBI Forensics team that had taken over the investigation.
Janea knelt and sniffed at a dark patch, then shook her head.
“That definitely doesn’t smell like demonic ichor,” she said, frowning. “Are the victims still at the crime scene?”
“No, ma’am, they’re being moved to Quantico at this time,” Diller said.
“Here’s a scoop,” Graham said, handing her a scupula and a bag.
“Thanks,” Janea said, taking a sample of the ichor patch and handing it over to the agent. “Get that sent to Quantico as well, please. Mark, tag and photo. I’d prefer not to go hiking; any pictures of the cave?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Diller said, laying out the photos on the hood of her Taurus. “The pictures of the victims…”
“I quit puking a few investigations ago, Special Agent,” Janea said, smiling. She leafed through the photos and nodded. “These aren’t even bad. Picture of the girl? Maybe a personal item? I’ll need to touch it with my bare hands, so it’s going to be useless as evidence.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Graham said, walking off again.
“Going to try to get a psychic reading?” Diller asked.
“That didn’t even sound sarcastic,” Janea said. “I rarely can, I’m not that kind of Adept. But I sometimes get something, so it’s worth a shot. It will be forwarded to real psychics who will try harder. But mostly it was to give him something to do, since he’s clearly freaked out by me.”
