Waking the Dead (32 page)
She gave a hoot at that. “Son, with those looks of yours, you’ve likely been trouble all your life.”
Since there was more than a little truth to that, he just gave a shrug. And she and her friends went scrabbling over the rocks to disappear into the woods, seeking some privacy.
“Still having to beat them off with a stick, I see,” Pat jibed as he came over and squatted down next to him.
“I usually try to use a bit more finesse than that.”
“Oh, so maybe that’s where I’m going wrong.”
“That, and the fact that you still live in your mother’s basement,” Staci called from her perch on the edge of the nearest raft.
“A man who takes care of his mother is sensitive,” Pat responded good-naturedly. This particular discussion had been long running. “Chicks dig sensitivity.”
“You know what else chicks dig? Guys who can stay out past midnight without asking permission.” Kirby ducked the rock Pat sent whizzing by him, and popped back up again, grinning like a fool. “You might want to . . .”
The rest of his statement was lost as an ear-shattering scream split the air.
Zach shoved away from the boulder he was resting on and raced in the direction of the sound. It had been Marcy’s voice. He was almost certain of it. Then it was joined by a chorus of screeches as the rest of the women joined in.
Most wild animals were skittish when they smelled humans, so that wasn’t a worry unless they had a rabid creature on their hands. But they had their share of snakes in Oregon, a few of them poisonous. He had a snake-bite kit packed in their supplies, but if more than one woman had been bitten . . .
He skidded to a stop to where the women were huddled together at the side of the hot springs. “Is anyone hurt?” His gaze flicked over them. At least they were all standing. But Marcy pointed a shaking finger beyond him. “No. It’s in there.”
“I saw it, too . . .”
“. . . ohmygod, ohmygod, I almost touched it . . .”
“. . . I’m gonna puke . . .”
“What’s going on? What happened?”
Zach’s employees were on his heels. The male clients stumbling through the woods right behind them. He looked around, found a long stout stick. Turned in the direction Marcy was still pointing. Toward the rocks embanking the natural hot springs. They formed a small grotto around the natural pool, which was about five feet deep and would fit about four people. It wouldn’t be uncommon for snakes to seek out the warmth on the surrounding stones, but they’d shy away from the hot sulfuric water itself.
Stepping warily, he approached the springs, the scent of sulfur stinging his nostrils.
“There.” He heard Marcy’s voice quavering behind him. “Stuck in those boulders underwater.”
He sent her a quick frown before getting closer to the point she’d mentioned. In the water? Snakes wouldn’t . . .
“Jesus.” His involuntary step backward had him nearly knocking Kirby and Pat over, they were following so closely.
“Holy shi-i-i-t,” breathed Kirby, peering around his shoulder. “Is that . . .?”
“Yeah.”
They stared at the bones showing through the partially degraded garbage bag that bobbed and dipped in the water. Sulfur would eat away at the plastic, he thought in a distant part of his brain. Maybe the bones, too, given enough time. Continuous immersion in hundred-degree water was bound to destroy any evidence, wasn’t it?
A dull ache spiked through his temples. What had started out as a pretty decent day had just abruptly turned to shit. “Get the satellite phone. I’ll have to call this in.”
“Seems like you’ve got a knack, Sharper.” Andrews’s tone was a little too edged for humor. “You stumble on the damnedest things.”
“Yeah, I’m all kinds of lucky.” He didn’t bother to keep his sarcasm in check. “And I didn’t stumble on them. My clients did when they decided to take a quick dip in the springs. You spoke to them, remember? At least twice. And then you let my guides take them home hours ago. And yet I’m still here.”
He’d shed his helmet hours ago but was still clad in his wet suit and rubber booties while law enforcement did its thing with excruciating slowness. He hadn’t been able to get Andrews when he’d called the sheriff’s office, but he’d been routed to Barnes who’d instructed him to herd everybody back to the rafts but not to let anyone leave. That’d been midmorning. Full darkness would descend in another hour or so, and he couldn’t tell how close they were to being done. Although there were plenty of forestry and law enforcement personnel on the scene, seemed like some of them were all but tripping over each other as they went about their work.
And Cait seemed oblivious to it all.
Although his view from where he sat on a fallen log away from the scene was partially obscured by a spill of rocks, there were glimpses of her as she knelt for a time at water’s edge. Flashes of her when she’d rise and stride to the large bag of equipment she’d brought with her, and after rummaging through it, return to the springs. He had the thought he’d like to be close enough to watch her work. She looked competent, in her element, as she gave instructions to deputies assisting and to the pint-sized blonde who’d accompanied her.
“So how do you think these bones ended up in this particular place?”
He looked at the woman askance. “How the hell should I know? You’re the cop.”
“I mean,” Andrews’s voice was testy, “how well known is this place? You said you’d never been to that cave before. Is that true about this area, as well?”
“No. We make regular stops here if we’re on an all-day trip on this river. But the last time my outfit had a trip like that scheduled for the McKenzie would have been at least three weeks ago. We wouldn’t have stopped today at all except someone needed to take a leak.” And part of him wished that urge had occurred another half hour downstream. He didn’t need this. Andrews wasn’t having him hang around because she enjoyed his company. There was something else on her mind, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what it was.
“So it wasn’t your idea to stop here today.”
He blew out a breath, reaching for a measure of diplomacy that too often eluded him. “It wasn’t my idea to stop, no. But when my guide said someone needed a break, I’m the one that scouted out the nearest place to put into shore. Happened to be here.”
She half turned away to squint toward the area where her team was working. “Never been in this area myself. Is this a well-known place?”
“It doesn’t get the traffic you’d see in Belknap or Cougar. But it’s more popular with locals. Hard to access it except by water.” He nodded toward the dense thicket of brush and brambles and salal that grew up around the trees, providing a shield of privacy around the area.
“So you’re saying people in the region would know about it.”
“The river rats probably do. And the outfitters who guide trips on the McKenzie, definitely. As for others . . .” He shrugged. “Who knows?”
“So first we have a secret cave dump site.” Her pause seemed deliberate. “And now an out-of-the-way hot springs known only to locals. Seems odd.”
“You expected him to dump the bones on Main Street during the Fourth of July parade?”
Her face was flushed. It couldn’t be from heat, so he wondered if it was from temper. “I’m asking for your opinion, Sharper,” she snapped. Temper it was, then. “Because it’s looking more and more damn unlikely that someone could waltz in here and discover these hidey-holes for stashing bodies without more than a little familiarity with the area.”
“You’re looking for a local,” he allowed. Hadn’t he said the same to Cait on more than one occasion? “Or at least, someone who used to be local. Someone who spent enough time outdoors in the area to become very well acquainted with it.”
“That’s exactly what I thought.”
He didn’t like the gimlet look she fixed him with then. But her next words were the most welcome he’d heard all day. “You’re done here. You can head home.”
Zach didn’t need to be told twice. He pushed away from the log and suppressed the need to rub his numbed butt. He threw one last look at Cait as he circled around the yellow tape the cops had placed around the scene. Found her bent over what looked like a body bag. Then he lost sight of her completely as he headed for the trees that thickened closer to the river-bank.
“What about the paintings? Any evidence of pictures on the inside of the scapulas?”
Andrews was standing so close that Cait bumped into her every time she moved to reach for another bone. “That was the first thing I checked,” she said patiently. “The UV lamp and magnifier didn’t show any trace of it. The temperature of the water was one hundred five point three degrees. The invisible paints I’d ordered arrived today, right before your call. None of them claim to be water resistant. But given that the remains are minus the skull, I think we can safely assume the same UNSUB is responsible.”
“So why would he have bothered with the images if he was going dump them somewhere they’d be destroyed?” Andrews whirled and began to pace the lab. “From what Sharper said, those bones couldn’t have been there long. Not all summer. He claims those hot springs are known by locals, who prefer them to the more well-traveled ones in the area. Barnes is following up with other outfitters in the region to see if they’ve stopped there recently with any of their tours. But if Zach’s correct, someone on the river would have stumbled on that skeleton if it had been there longer than a few weeks. Maybe less.”
Cait wasn’t ready to make a guess at how long the bones had been in the water. Certainly there was already some exposure of the spongy undersurface in some of the smaller bones. “The specimens will have to dry out completely before I can do close examination. And that process can take up to two days.” And even then they might be in poor condition and need further treatment.
“You said the paintings on the bones were a major factor in his method of disposal.” Andrews returned to her earlier subject as she turned to retrace her steps. “But by submerging them in hot springs, he all but guaranteed he’d erase them. It looks like he’s changed his methods.”
“His method of disposal maybe,” Cait corrected. Gently she continued transferring the wet bones from the canvas body bag to the thick pad of newspapers she’d covered the spare gurney with. “But the paintings are part of his ritual, and he won’t vary from that. He would have been compelled to follow the same pattern regardless of how he meant to get rid of them.”
“They almost have to have been dumped since we found the remains in the cave,” Andrews muttered. Her boots rang hollowly as she continued to roam around the room. When under stress the woman seemed to resort to compulsive behaviors, Cait noted. The pacing she’d seen before. The chain-smoking last night had been new. “The bastard is thumbing his nose at us. And I agree with Sharper. It’s someone from the area. Someone who knows the region as well”—she shot Cait a grim smile—“as he does.”
Cait digested the information silently. He’d expressed the same opinion to her on more than one occasion. She’d seen the sheriff talking to him before he’d left. From the expressions on their faces, it hadn’t seemed like a pleasant experience. Plainly there was no love lost between them.
“So the UNSUB’s dump site is discovered. He’s forced to adapt. What I find most interesting here is that he didn’t bury these bones.” And she still couldn’t get a handle on that. “In an isolated part of the forest he could have dug a hole deep enough so they wouldn’t be found. Hell, he could bury them on his own property.” She’d already concluded he had access to a place that allowed him privacy. “I’m beginning to think burial is significant to him in some way. And that it holds a negative connotation.”
“And I’m beginning to think that maybe we’re overlooking the possibility that the UNSUB is a woman.” When Cait looked at her, Andrews held up a hand, as if asking her forbearance. “You’ve said yourself, the bones don’t weigh that much. What, twenty pounds or so?”
The estimate was close enough. “Approximately.”
“Woman in good shape can carry that easy enough. And if she’s familiar with the area she’s just as capable as climbing up Castle Rock as a guy is.”
“You’re thinking digging a grave is too much work for her, though?” Cait didn’t follow the reasoning.
“Maybe.”
With exquisite care, she removed a femur from the canvas bag and placed it on the mat. “Whatever the gender, the UNSUB may just have made a miscalculation. Could be he—or she—thought the combination of the temperature and the sulfur would destroy all evidence of the bones, given enough time.” If so, that had been a mistake. It would have taken days of submersion in boiling water to break the bones down. The waters of Mimosa Creek weren’t nearly that hot.
A thought struck her then, and she looked up, caught the sheriff’s eye. “Kesey mentioned seeing someone in the forest in the Castle Rock vicinity the night the bodies were recovered, remember? Someone carrying a pack.”
Andrews’s stocky frame went still. “Finding out that his hidey-hole had been discovered would have thrown him off his game. But you said Kesey couldn’t give you a description.”
Cait shook her head. And she was fairly certain they’d gotten all from the man that he knew. “It was too dark. But neither team has run across the other roamer Barnes mentioned. Lockwood. Maybe he saw something.”
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