“We saved many,” she whispered, giving the ghastly place another look. Where there used to be scattered bones on the ground, now crime scene markers littered the area, not enough of them available, some used multiple times with Post-it notes affixed on top and scribbled with Sharpies, going well into three hundred. Had no one murdered his daughter, Bill Caldwell could’ve carried on forever, killing runaways like Kirsten in the house no one ever visited. Girls like her just vanished, never to be seen or heard from again, too many of them having met their fate at the bottom of that ravine.
She walked over to Doc Whitmore, who was closing another case filled with bones.
“How are you holding up, Doc?”
He sighed, a cloud of mist forming around his face. The temperature had dropped below freezing. “At least eighteen bodies, not counting him,” he gestured toward a black body bag laid on the ground by the wall of the ravine. “There might be more. There’s no telling how far the coyotes and bobcats have scattered the bones throughout these woods. But I found eighteen skulls, all female, all teenagers. It will take me months to reconstruct and identify all these bodies.”
He carried the case next to the wall, where the firefighters lowered the rescue basket and lifted body bags and cases from the abyss, before loading them into the medical examiner’s van. Then he returned and set another plastic case on the ground, and started filling it with bones. “I think this is the last one,” he said, carefully placing tags with numbers that matched the crime scene marker associated with the respective bone. Doc Whitmore was nothing if not thorough, considering the scene had been completely compromised by wildlife scavengers.
Several of the deputies had gathered around the sheriff, trotting in place, their job done, most likely eager to go home. It was as good a time as any. She counted silently, making sure no one was missing. The entire team was there, including the receptionist, who’d been asked to assist with marking and tagging.
She approached the sheriff and said, “Sheriff, may I ask, have you received a letter informing you that one of your employees is an abusive man who is beating his girlfriend routinely?”
He seemed confused for a brief moment, then a hint of recognition glimmered in his eyes. He threw his team a stern look, then replied, “No, I have not.”
“But I have,” Elliot announced, pulling a folded piece of paper from his pocket. “Imagine my surprise, when I don’t even have a girlfriend,” he said, immediately blushing. Few noticed in the fluorescent light coming from the numerous work projectors scattered at the bottom of the ravine, throwing shadows everywhere. “I found this in my office inbox.”
“Interesting fact about that letter,” Kay said, then turned quickly and picked up the UV flashlight from the doc’s kit. “May I?” The doctor nodded, inviting her to proceed with a hand gesture. She turned it on and approached the group of deputies. “The letter was treated with a chemical that sticks to your skin and makes it light up under UV light.”
She studied the group. Most of them had shoved their hands into their pockets, but that was understandable at below freezing temperatures. One deputy was trying to distance himself from the group, walking slowly toward the back of the ravine.
“Daugherty,” Sheriff Logan called, “Get here. Let me see your hands.”
The man froze in place, then turned and approached slowly. “I don’t know anything about no letter,” said Daugherty. “This is such bullshit.” He kept his hands in his pockets still.
She knew him, and had thought differently about him; she’d been wrong. He’d bought her drinks that night at Hilltop, seemed to be a fun-loving guy. Bulky and sporting a Duck Dynasty beard, she’d rarely seen him without his sunglasses on. She’d never looked into his eyes.
Kay flipped on the flashlight, and pointed it at Elliot’s hands. “My partner touched the letter, and he’ll glow under this light for a few days, even if he washed his hands really hard.” Elliot’s fingers lit up, appearing almost white under the light.
“Show us your hands, Daugherty,” the sheriff ordered. He complied, muttering an oath and shooting her a venomous glance. His fingers lit up just like Elliot’s had.
She looked at the sheriff and asked, “May I?” Logan nodded, his expression grim, disappointed.
“Deputy Daugherty, I’m placing you under arrest for the federal crime of mail theft, and obstruction of government administration. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will—”
“Oh, shut up with the rights already. You set me up!” he shouted, while Elliot cuffed him. Then the sheriff ordered him taken away. Two deputies escorted him up the rocky path out of the ravine.
“Now you two,” Sheriff Logan called, looking at Kay and Elliot, “go home, get some rest.”
“Yes, sir,” she replied, suddenly aware of the throbbing pain in her shoulder and the tiredness in her bones. She turned to Elliot and said, “I need a drink. Badly.”
“Absolutely, whatever the lady desires,” he replied, the crooked smile touching his eyes. There was a heat in those eyes she was still afraid of.
She remembered how she’d wanted to kiss him in the Hilltop parking lot after she’d had a few drinks, and her smile withered. She wasn’t going to follow in her father’s footsteps, getting drunk, then flirty. Maybe a drink, under the circumstances, was a bad idea.
And there was also Jacob.
“You know what? I think I’ll settle for tea instead, and take a raincheck on that drink.” He frowned a little, not understanding her change of mind. “Take me to the hospital, please. I’ll stay with Jacob tonight. They told me they’re still keeping him sedated.” She paused for a bit, holding back tears that threatened
