Hidden Fire, Kobo (2 page)

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A familiar sense of apprehension filled
Randy as he approached the location Chief Laughlin had given him. The property,
a land development gone bust years ago, bordered on the city-county line. Over
the years, there was talk of turning it into a park, a campground, a resort,
and someone had even tried to convince the people of Pine Hills they needed a
mall out here. However, the absentee owner paid his property taxes, preferring
to leave twenty-five acres of Oregon the way Mother Nature had created it.

The portable banks of lights, five Pine
Hills vehicles, plus another three County Sheriff cars, yellow crime scene tape
and the CSI van filled Randy with his expected pre-case jitters. The sort that
honed his senses. The anticipation of the unknown, of a jigsaw puzzle dumped in
the middle of the floor with no picture to go by and you didn't know if all the
pieces were there, or if they even belonged to the same puzzle.

He eased his Ford F-150 behind a patrol
car and took a slow, cleansing breath. Then another, not so slow, when he saw
Salem's Channel Six News van pull up behind him. A camera-ready reporter,
microphone outstretched with a cameraman backpedaling in front of her, beelined
toward him. The cameraman was dressed for the wooded terrain, but the reporter
was having a hell of a time with the uneven footing. Randy didn't recognize
her—probably a newbie out to make a name for herself.

He rubbed his jaw. At least he'd shaved
before his date with Sarah. He'd look presentable while he told her where she
could stick that microphone. He shoved the truck's door open and strode toward
the patrol officer on perimeter duty, avoiding eye contact with either the
reporter or the camera. She pivoted to jog behind him, motioning for her
cameraman to follow.

Not slowing his pace or shortening his
stride, he begrudgingly acknowledged her approach.

"Detective Detweiler? Penny
Scholnik, Channel Six News. What can you tell our viewers?" She thrust the
microphone toward his face. Since she was barely five feet tall in her bare
feet, she had to stretch her arm to its full length to get the mic anywhere
near his mouth.

"Give us a break, Miss Scholnik,"
he said. "I just arrived. I'm not going to speculate before I get some
facts."

"Do you think this might be the work
of a serial killer?" she said, holding the mic in front of her mouth, then
extending it toward him.

He stopped dead in his tracks. She almost
collided with him. The cameraman's reflexes were a bit sharper. Too bad. Maybe
one less camera on scene would make his job easier.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Randy
turned and stared directly into the camera. "Right now, all we know is we
have a dead body. Until we determine how he died, we can't even say it was a
homicide. It's unconscionable to create unnecessary fear in the citizens of our
community for the sake of a story. When we have facts—facts we can
substantiate—I will be the first to let you know. However, at the moment, you
are interfering with a police investigation and I strongly suggest you and your
camera get back to your van. It's your job to report the news, not create it."

He spun on his heel and resumed his trek
toward the crime scene. He gave his name and badge number to the officer at the
edge of the yellow tape, who printed them on his clipboard in a neat, careful
hand, then turned it so Randy could sign. Randy scrawled his name, noting at
least a dozen names above his. Crap. Forensics had enough to do without
eliminating evidence from people who wanted a look-see. Many of the names were
unfamiliar.

"These all official?" he asked.
"No press, right?"

"Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir. They're
all law enforcement."

He took a closer look at the officer.
Brody. He searched his memory. Craig? No, Greg. A rookie. Redhead with freckled
complexion to match. Baby-faced. A little green around the gills. Probably sent
out here where he wouldn't embarrass himself.

"Tough scene?" Randy asked. "Your
first?"

"Yes, sir, to both." He stood
at attention, met Randy's eyes. "I'm fine, sir."

Did he detect disgruntlement in the
rookie's tone? "I don't doubt it. You're not being punished, Brody. Your
job here is vital. Every extra footprint, every bit of cigarette ash, fiber or
hair contaminates the scene and makes our job harder."

"Yes, sir. I know my job, sir."

Randy scanned the names again. He was
pleased to see Charlotte Russell, the medical examiner, near the top of the
list. Once she removed the body, they could work the scene in earnest.

"Yes, sir," Brody said again. "Sergeant
Kovak and Mike Connor are on scene." He stood even more erect and tapped
the clipboard. "A lot of these are from out of area. The Deputy Sheriffs
said it's close enough to the city-county line."

Randy resisted the urge to pat the kid on
the head. "Keep it up, Brody." He scanned the area for Kovak. He didn't
see his partner, but he did see Mike Connor, Pine Hills' head forensics
investigator. He moved toward the flashes from the man's camera.

Connor lowered the camera and turned,
catching Randy's eye. "Hey, Detweiler. Welcome back."

"Yeah, you guys know how to throw a
party." Randy stepped to Connor's side. "What do we have?"

"White male, five-eight, about
one-fifty. Shot in the back of his head, stripped to his birthday suit,
abdominal cuts, but the M.E. will have to determine in what order. Four kids
found the body and called it in. Kovak took their statements. Released them to
their parents, who are probably giving them holy hell for coming out here in
the first place. I've got names and addresses."

"The kids contaminate the scene?"
Nothing like puking on a corpse to mess up the evidence.

Connor shook his head. "They dropped
everything and ran." He pointed to three six-packs of cheap beer and a
stack of girlie magazines near a trail of trampled dirt and grass. "I've
already got finger and shoe prints for elimination and they said they didn't
get close to the body once they smelled it." He smiled. "They won't
be getting their beer back. Think I should give them the magazines?"

Randy chuckled. "They might need
them. I have a feeling they'll be confined to their rooms for a good chunk of
the foreseeable future."

"On the down side, no telling how
many other kids have used this place as a bedroom substitute. Once the body is
out of here, I'll be able to focus on what's in the immediate vicinity. I'd
hate to have to analyze twenty-five acres' worth of trace. Hell, the condoms
per square foot would keep the state lab working round the clock for a month,
easy."

"Where's Kovak?" Randy asked,
getting back to business.

"He and a couple of uniforms are
knocking on doors. This place is remote, but the M.E. says this is the crime
scene. Someone might have heard or seen something."

"ID?" Randy asked. "Cause
of death? Time? Anything?"

A woman's voice interrupted. "Based
on rigor and lividity, preliminary time of death is probably between eight and
midnight yesterday. Most likely killed here, judging from the blood. You'll
have the rest as soon as I know, Detweiler."

"Hi, Doc. Thanks for getting here so
quickly." Randy inhaled, exhaled, braced himself, then turned toward the
body.

Charlotte Russell rose. Her lips were
narrowed, her brow creased. "Sick bastards." In her late forties, she
was almost six feet tall and as strong as most of the men on the force. Fitter
than many. She covered the entire county and nobody messed with her—or her
bodies. "At least it's a decent hour. It's nice not to get dragged out of
bed for a change."

The stench of death—blood, decomp, and
assorted body fluids—was stronger here. He forced his gaze to the naked body
lying curled on his side in the dirt. Only the blood-matted hair at the back of
its skull gave evidence of violence. That and the fact that it was blood and
body fluids, not rain water, that turned the otherwise dry earth to mud around
the victim.

Although the soil soaked up some of the
mess, Randy agreed with Charlotte's assessment that the victim had been killed
here, not brought in. Not having to find a second crime scene made things
easier.

"Any idea who it is?" Randy
asked.

"You tell me, Detective. You ever
seen him before?" She stepped back, giving Randy his first close look at
the corpse. She shone her flashlight, better illuminating the man's face. Or
what used to be his face.

His dessert did a quick flip. Randy
swallowed at the sight of the bloody pulp. He let his eyes drift to paper bags
neatly securing the victim's hands. "No, can't say that I have."

"Give me a hand turning him,"
Charlotte said.

Randy held his breath as he helped
position the body on its back. Charlotte moved the light down over his torso. "These
cuts are post-mortem. And deep. Like the killer was angry."

Randy leaned closer at three Xs sliced
into the victim's abdomen, above a horizontal line. Curiosity replaced his
queasiness. "Ever seen a pattern like that?"

"No."

He withdrew his notebook and copied the
pattern. "Did Connor get pictures?"

"Yes, he did. I'll get prints and
dental records started. I think there's enough of his lower jaw left, but if
you can find any bone fragments, pick them up for me." She waved her
flashlight around the area. "If the critters haven't already scattered
them, we might get enough to create a sketch. There's also a lot of dirt under
his fingernails that doesn't seem to match the terrain. I'll let you know when
I'm ready to do the autopsy—or will this be Kovak's case?"

"I got back in town a few hours ago,"
he said. "Call either of us—we'll coordinate." Penny Scholnik's
serial killer question swam to the front of his brain. "Wait. Did any
reporters get back here?"

Charlotte shook her head and stepped away
from the body. "Not while I was here. But no telling what happened before
then." She raised her arm and motioned with her fingers. "Let's go,
gentlemen." Two uniforms came over with a body bag.

Randy glanced back to the perimeter of
the site. Reporters, both print and television, had gathered behind the tape.
He got on his radio. "Brody. They'll be bringing the body out soon. Keep
the newshounds behind the line. The victim is a person, not a story."

"Will do, sir."

"Did any reporters get to the site
and see the body before you secured it?" Randy asked.

"No, sir. They got here after I did.
They tried, but I wouldn't let them through."

"Very good, Brody." He turned
to Charlotte. "Can you pull your van around to that clearing?" He
pointed to a spot about twenty-five yards from where they stood. "Kind of
like the back door."

"No problem. I'll go throw the
reporters a bone and keep them occupied while we get the body loaded." She
pulled off her latex gloves and stowed them in a pocket of her blue jumpsuit.

"Thanks, Doc." If anyone
respected the dead, she did. Until they had an ID on the body, the field was
wide open. He set off to find the county deputies. Maybe they had information
he could use.

"Hey, Jim," he said when he
found the small cluster of deputies standing outside the tape. "What gets
you out from behind your desk?" He'd worked with Jim Eldridge before the
man had been promoted to lieutenant, and if things didn't fall in place
quickly, he might be needing county help.

"Randy." The man nodded and
stepped away from his colleagues. He lowered his voice. "Looks ugly. Not
your typical Pine Hills crime."

Randy couldn't tell if Eldridge meant he
thought the Pine Hills police weren't up to handling a high-profile violent
crime, or if he was sincerely offering to help. He decided to go with the
latter until there was a reason to think otherwise. If Eldridge wanted to diss
his small-town force, he would have done it loud and clear in front of his men.
This was no time to get into a pissing contest.

"Agreed. I'd like to close this one
out fast. Anything you have, I'm open to it. Can you get your CSI team out
here?"

"Already called them, at Connor's
request, Detweiler. Kovak approved it. Or is this your case?"

"To be honest, we haven't discussed
it. Kovak can have the lead if he wants. Hell, we don't even have an ID yet."

"Yeah, no face can be a problem. You
have any missing persons reports that match?"

"I've been in 'Frisco for six weeks.
Haven't had time to hit the station for updates."

Eldridge rubbed the back of his neck. "I'll
check on my end and let you know. The CSIs should be here soon. Need anything
else tonight?"

Randy hesitated, but homicides in Pine
Hills were rare—so rare he could only remember three in his ten years on the
force—and none was a premeditated murder. His stomach did a little twist as he
remembered being responsible for a shooting death himself. It was justified,
since the man he killed was robbing a bank and was going to shoot a hostage,
but he'd still taken a life.

He shook off the memory. "Our guys
are out knocking on doors. If you've got any manpower to spare on your side of
the line to see if anyone heard something, that would help."