The body had been found in a makeshift grave in bramble, leaving much of it exposed to air, which had an impact on the rate of decomposition. Little skin was left, much of it like leather. Some of the bones were no longer enfleshed or connected by ligaments, which meant they’d been displaced. At first Compton theorized that a combination of decomposition and animal disturbance accounted for the displacement, but the scanning electron microscope pointed him to something chilling.
Further analysis revealed that the body had, in fact, been dismembered, postmortem.
He’d found marks left on the bones, marks indicating cutting.
With the higher magnification he was able to study the striations formed by the cutting teeth of the saw. The marks were unique in the push and pull strokes. This could point to a specific saw used. Compton was making notes for the report he would send to the FBI for its Firearms/Toolmarks Unit (FTU). The Bureau’s analysts could compare the marks and use their expertise and tool databases to point to the model and make of the saw used.
It would be a lead.
Compton removed his glasses, rubbed his tired eyes and reflected on the case. The killer had dismembered the victim after death and placed the remains in a shallow grave like pieces of a puzzle awaiting assembly.
Field of Screams is not that far off the mark.
We’ve got something evil at work.
Compton’s phone rang.
“Morton, Colin Hawkley in Albany.”
“Hey, Colin.”
“Got an ID on your female deceased, are you ready to take it down?’
As Compton reached for his pen he stared at his monitor. The magnified images were about to become more than bones. Soon they’d have a name; soon they’d be someone’s daughter or someone’s wife or someone’s sister.
They’d be a life to be mourned.
CHAPTER 30
New York City
A scream pierced the air.
It was followed with squeals of delight rising from crowds at the Children’s Zoo in Central Park where Kate had taken Grace.
This was one of their favorite places to go. Kate had even brought Grace here for her birthday a couple of months ago.
Now, it was after school and Kate had finished at Newslead, but she was anxious to hear back from sources and checked her phone often. There was nothing new from Goodsill in Denver on a link to Alberta and nothing from Davidson on reaching out to hackers. Looming over everything was Kate’s agitation while awaiting identification of the third victim at Rampart.
The fear that it could be Vanessa gnawed at her in ruthless juxtaposition to the park’s calming beauty, the trees arching over the sidewalk portrait sketchers, the vendors, and the young street artists creating huge iridescent soap bubbles. And there was Grace’s favorite, the musical clock tower with its animal band that circled while striking a classical tune every half hour.
Sometimes the songs were seasonal, like “April Showers” in spring or “Jingle Bells” in December.
“Look, Mom, they’re starting!” Grace pointed.
The musicians began playing the nursery rhyme, “Three Blind Mice,” with the hippo on the fiddle leading the elephant, the goat and the others. As the animals danced and Grace sang along, Kate’s phone rang. She took the call while keeping her eyes on her daughter.
“Kate, it’s Ed Brennan in Rampart.”
“Yes.”
“We’ve confirmed the identity of the third victim.”
In the moment before Brennan said another word, Kate gripped her phone and held her breath. Her world moved in slow motion—the penguin banging the drum, the bear tapping the tambourine. All sound suddenly deadened as if she was underwater, again, struggling to breathe.
“Kate? Did you hear me?” Brennan repeated. “It’s not your sister.”
“Yes.” She took a breath, sat on the nearest bench, dug out her pen and pad, looking at Grace as the clock played on. “Yes, can you give me the name and details?”
“We’re putting out a news release within the hour.”
“Can’t you tell me anything now?”
“We’re playing things pretty tight.”
“Are you any closer to finding Nelson, any leads?”
“Kate.”
“But you’re still looking for more victims, right?”
“I can’t discuss anything further. Watch for the release.”
The call ended, leaving Kate stunned.
Now, another family is going to be devastated. If it’s not Vanessa, then where is she? How many more bodies will they find?
Kate sat there, wondering. And as the clock’s tune played she recalled its haunting words.
They all ran after the farmer’s wife, who cut off their tails with a carving knife. Did you ever see such a sight in your life?
Grace ran to her.
“Mom, can I get a drink?”
“Sure, then let’s go home.”
* * *
In the cab, Kate alerted Newslead that she’d have a story coming on the third victim. Less than a minute later, Reeka called.
“We’re going to need something with an exclusive peg, Kate.”
“I don’t even have a name yet, Reeka. I’ll do what I can.”
Kate exhaled and shook her head slowly. When the cab got to their neighborhood, Kate and Grace picked up soup, salads and sandwiches from the corner deli for their supper. By the time they got home, the news release had been posted on the Rampart PD’s website. As they ate, Kate looked into the pretty, smiling face of the victim, then read the information.
She was Mandy Marie Bryce, aged twenty-six, from Charlotte, North Carolina, a dental assistant who’d been missing for four years. She was last seen at Virginia Beach, Virginia, walking from a restaurant to her hotel where she’d been attending a conference.
Rampart PD’s release provided few other details, so Kate went online, pulling older articles from the Virginia and Charlotte newspapers, gleaning data from them. She soon learned that Mandy had a little brother with Down syndrome and that she’d volunteered with many groups. She was engaged to a carpenter, who’d been cleared as a suspect, and had organized searches for Mandy in Virginia. To help their case, police had pinpointed Mandy’s last known whereabouts and released her last text to her boyfriend and his response.
Probably my imagination, but I think
