Something, probably coyotes, with the help of ravens and magpies, had made a mess of the body. The woman’s eyes were missing, and the body had literally been torn apart and mostly eaten from the inside out. Like that of the Native woman found earlier, this woman had long black hair. But there were no other distinguishing marks or clues that might tell if she, too, had been Native American. She definitely could have been, but she also could have been of Mexican or Central American descent, or a white woman with black hair.
McCain looked closely at the body and concentrated on the chest area. He knew how scavengers fed. They would get into the main body cavity to eat the organs first. He couldn’t be certain, because the body had been ravaged, but it looked like the chest of this woman had been partially sliced open. McCain recalled the body of the other woman and remembered thinking that her torso might have been cut open prior to being scavenged as well.
The county coroner had found no clear cause for death of the Pinkham woman, and it was McCain’s opinion he would have trouble determining a cause of death for this woman too. The coyotes and birds had pretty much made sure of that.
“The crime lab folks are on their way,” Williams said. “And dispatch said the FBI agent wants to see the body before it is moved.”
“A regular alphabet soup of investigators,” Stratford said. “YSO, WDFW, FBI.”
Williams just looked at the young deputy and then back to McCain and said, “So, any thoughts McCain?”
“Not really,” McCain said.
“I’m guessing this was a hiker who got lost and succumbed to the elements,” Stratford said.
“Could be,” Williams said. “But you don’t see many women hikers out here on their own.”
“My friend Ashley goes hiking by herself all the time,” said the very pale Mandy Spiers. “She hikes all over these mountains. She’s like that woman who hiked the Pacific Crest Trail from Mexico to Canada. You know the one they made the movie about that starred Reese Witherspoon.”
McCain felt like asking if her friend had long black hair but refrained.
“Well, I’ve seen all I need to see,” said McCain. “Why don’t you folks hike back to the rigs with me and Jack and leave the deputies here to do their job?”
He whistled for Jack, who came back with the two golden retrievers in tow, and McCain and the shed hunters and the three dogs headed up over the ridge toward the vehicles.
Chapter 6
McCain had driven most of the way down the mountain when his phone rang.
“This is McCain,” he said into the cab of the truck.
“Officer McCain, this is Agent Sinclair. We met the other day at the meeting down in Toppenish.”
“Yes, Agent Sinclair,” McCain said. “How may I help you?”
He wondered what happened to all the crap about keeping things on a first name basis, but he guessed this was official business.
“I hear you’re up at the body of a woman that some people found in the mountains.”
“I was up there,” he said. “But I’m on my way back down to town.”
“Any chance you’d be interested in going back up there?” she asked. “I’d like to see the body for myself, before it’s transported to the morgue.”
“Sure, but you’ll have to ride along with my yellow Lab, Jack,” McCain explained. “He’s not too much of a bother. Where are you right now?”
“I’m on I-82, just passing the Selah exit.”
“Okay, get off on the next exit, get on North Wenas Road and follow it all the way north until you leave the pavement. I’ll be waiting for you there. I’ll be in the tan Ford F-150 with a yellow dog sticking his head out the window.”
“See you soon,” the FBI agent said. “Oh, and by the way, I love dogs.”
Agent Sinclair showed up in a black Chrysler that screamed law enforcement. McCain figured that driving those cars was mandated as part of the purchase plan by the federal government back when some of the car companies were failing.
“Do they make you drive that rig?” McCain asked as Sinclair walked up to him where he sat on the tailgate of the pickup. “Or did you choose that one out of the motor pool?”
The image of the dark-haired agent in the black rig again reminded him of the actress in the Men in Black movie. What was that lady’s name?
“Hey, I like this car,” she said. “It’s got plenty of power and, while the gas mileage sucks, I can get to where I want to be plenty fast.”
“Well, they will see you coming from six miles away,” McCain said.
“And they can’t see you coming with that giant badge on the doors and the extra-large radio antenna on the roof?” Agent Sinclair extended her hand, and said, “Thanks Luke, I really appreciate it. Now where is this dog I’ve heard so much about?”
Oh, so now we ARE on a first name basis, McCain thought to himself. He was okay with that.
The last time McCain had seen Jack he was tearing around a giant ponderosa, hot on the heels of a gray squirrel. He whistled, and a moment later Jack came running up a dry creek bed, tail wagging and tongue dragging.
“He looks like he’s having a good time,” Sinclair said.
Jack came over to the person who had magically appeared while he was off chasing the forest creatures. He sniffed Sinclair, and then he let her scratch his ears.
“Okay, you’ve passed the Jack test,” McCain said. “Anyone who is okay by him is okay by me. Let’s load up. We’re burning daylight.”
On the jarring ride back up the road, Sinclair started peppering him with questions. Since they hadn’t had a chance to talk about the discovery of the first woman’s body, she asked him to give her all the details. He started at the
