each tape on fast-forward as they ate while watching the screen.
The stationary camera had only picked up the part of the room that showed the information desk and about fifteen feet of tiled floor in front of it. Many people passed back and forth in the room and the fast-forward made them appear to be involved in some complicated dance, sometimes appearing to twirl in the center of the floor when they were consulting monitors mounted around the room.
Angie stopped the first tape several times for false alarms; women who looked like Patterson on fast-forward but then were revealed to look completely different once the tape was put on play. There was no sign of a man cleaning the floors as King was alleged to have been doing that day.
Then Angie exclaimed, ‘Whoa!’ and rewound the tape. ‘You said Houston described a big off-white handbag in the shed at King’s house? I think I just saw one.’ She pressed
At first, the image was just the floor, the desk, and the man working behind the desk. Then a woman came into the shot from the right, the airport terminal side, and she stood in the center of the floor, turning slowly as if deciding which way to go. Angie paused the tape while the woman was turned toward the camera. The time marker read 16:22:12. Eric looked at the portrait on the projection screen and then back at the frozen CCTV footage.
‘That’s her,’ he stated.
‘Yeah, definitely. Same square jaw, same features, same type of hair. Big, pale bag.’
‘Play it, Angie.’
As they watched, Eleanor Patterson turned and walked to the information desk. She kept her handbag tucked under her arm as she stood talking to the attendant. It was while she was doing this that another man entered the shot from the left at time marker 16:26:34. His head was tilted down and he was walking backwards slowly, which was confusing until it became clear he was mopping the floor, shuffling backward so that he wouldn’t walk on areas he’d just cleaned.
‘Shit,’ Angie hissed.
The man with the mop passed close behind Patterson while she was leaning into the counter to look at something. He paused as though to stretch his back and pulled a kerchief from a back pocket. As he wiped his forehead, he glanced at her. At the moment he put the kerchief back in his pocket, Eric pressed
‘That’s him. That’s King, the sonofabitch.’
‘She doesn’t even know he’s there.’
‘He means nothing to her at this stage. If she even noticed him. He’s just the guy cleaning the floor. We have to see how he gains her trust.’ He restarted the tape.
King carried on mopping until he was out of the shot to the right. Patterson finished the conversation at the desk and walked out of frame to the left, toward the curb pick-up and bus stop area. The time marker read 16:31:02. Then King was back, now entering from the right and working backwards. He seemed to be mopping faster. At 16:40:36, he was no longer visible on the CCTV footage.
Angie exchanged the tape for one that showed the exterior of the same area. They would examine the rest of the interior tape later. She fast-forwarded the tape to time marker 16:30:00 and they saw Eleanor Patterson walk out of the building at 16:31:01, cross a few lanes for other buses, then stand at the third island across. They had a clear view of her. Over a period of 24 minutes, four buses came and went and Patterson didn’t get on any of them. Once, she waved at someone on a bus who may have spoken to her and she held up three fingers as if to suggest she was waiting for the Number 3.
At time marker 17:03:00, she appeared tired of standing and sat on the bench, keeping her handbag close to her body. And at time marker 17:07:20, a van pulled up to the bus stop. It was pale but it was otherwise a match to the gold van Eric had spent two days watching in Mesa, Arizona. In the passenger window was a neat, hand- lettered sign:
The agents watched her go from waving the van off to shrugging to scanning for the bus again . . . and then someone opened the passenger door from the inside. Eric lunged forward to hit
Eleanor Patterson got into the van and closed the door behind her. After exactly three seconds, at time marker 17:08:10, the brake lights on the back of the van went off and it pulled forward, its Georgia license plate clear. It accelerated at a sedate pace until it was out of the frame.
Eric fast-forwarded the tape until they saw the Number 3 bus arrive at the stop four minutes later, belching exhaust and canting to one side. He didn’t know how late the bus was but it was too late for Mrs Patterson.
TWENTY-NINE
When Greg Parker, the archaeology professor, hailed them, Jayne and Steelie came over from where they had been training his graduate students to discriminate between human and non-human juvenile bone. Greg was using a trowel to expose a partial, skeletalized hand. The arm it was attached to still had some tissue adhering to the bones and it disappeared into the wall of the depression Greg had created in accordance with the grid pattern laid over the yard. When he had the hand sitting on a pedestal of soil, he leaned back on his heels, holstering the trowel on his tool belt. ‘Take a look.’
Jayne got on her knees and peered at the bones. ‘Can I borrow a brush?’ He handed her a small paintbrush. She gently brushed the cut edge of the bones and confirmed what she thought she had seen: a bright, dry cross- section and a general absence of fractures radiating from the cut edges. Then she let Steelie take a look.
In short order, Steelie said, ‘Postmortem cuts.’
Jayne nodded and they all pulled down their masks, sitting back on undisturbed soil.
Greg launched in. ‘As you can see, I came at that hand from this side of the grid, so I know the fingers aren’t here. They’re gone. And this isn’t the first area of the yard where I’ve come across this.’
Jayne asked, ‘You’re thinking someone dug through this body when digging another hole?’
‘Maybe he wasn’t paying attention where he buried previous bodies and he hit things with his shovel as he buried someone else?’ Greg offered.
Steelie weighed in. ‘This actually reminds me of some of the graves around Zvornik.’
Jayne knew what she meant. They hadn’t worked directly on the Drina River flanking Serbia but it was common knowledge that mass graves there had been ‘robbed’ of the bodies of people killed near Srebrenica. Someone had attempted to remove the bodies and hide them in a second location but, because the exhumations were done hastily, perhaps at night and with the clumsy broad strokes of a backhoe bucket, body parts or fragments of clothing were left behind.
Jayne looked back at the hand in question. She could see that there was nothing beyond their cut edges, just soil all the way to the fence-line. Greg Parker had done a nice job of isolating the feature.
Steelie explained to Greg, ‘I don’t think this is someone accidentally cutting through previous interments. I mean,
Dr Penman had joined them. ‘Are you saying we might dig up this whole yard and not find all the parts of a single body?’
‘I’m saying it’s a possibility,’ she replied. ‘I’m not up on serial killer behavior but I’m not sure that the person who wants to kill and dismember is the same person who wants to go back and move already-buried decomposing parts around his backyard just for fun.’
‘Yeah,’ said Greg with a little laugh. ‘The latter sounds more like what you guys are known for.’
Jayne glanced at Steelie and they stood up. An uncomfortable silence followed that Greg tried to fill.
‘Like the Body Farm,’ he said uncertainly. ‘At UTK . . .’
Dr Penman was staying on topic. ‘What do you recommend?’
Jayne looked around the site. ‘Look, you were always going to have to grid off the whole yard. I’d suggest that you carry on with that process but be alert to any remains that show disturbance or fragmentation from postmortem damage, then carefully go from the known to the unknown wherever you see it. Since you’re likely dealing with already dismembered bodies, it’s going to take just that much more attention to whether the cuts are
