Alex Kava Bundle - Alex Kava [364]
“The monument’s closed this morning,” she told him, and immediately saw his expression change to anger.
“I’m not some fucking tourist. I’m here taking crime scene shots. Just ask Racine.”
“Okay, my mistake.” But his quick temper drew her attention, and she found herself assessing his bristled jaw and tousled dark hair, the worn knees of his blue jeans and the toe-tips of shiny, expensive cowboy boots. He could easily pass for a tourist or an aging college student.
“See, I could make a snap judgment, too, and wonder what a babe like you was doing here. I thought Racine liked being the only babe on the scene.” He returned her assessment by letting his eyes slowly run the length of her.
“New police procedure. We like to have at least one backup.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m the backup babe.”
He smiled, more of a smirk than a smile, and his eyes traveled the same path.
“Sorta like cameramen,” she continued. “Every police station needs a backup. You know, a second stringer, some lackey they call when they’re in a pinch and the real cameraman can’t make it.”
His eyes shot up to hers, and she could see the flash of anger return. This guy was as much a crime scene photographer as she was a police babe. What the hell was Racine thinking? Or perhaps that was the problem. Racine hadn’t been thinking, as usual.
“I’m tired of this fucking treatment,” he said, with his hands swiping the air as if to show her what he had endured. “I do you assholes a favor and what do I get? I don’t fucking need this shit. I’m outta here.”
He didn’t wait for a response. Instead, he turned on the heels of his polished boots and left with enough of a strut that Maggie knew he had gotten something for his early morning trouble. Just what, she wasn’t sure. Perhaps some promise from Racine, some token quid pro quo. The woman had it down to an art form. Maggie remembered the last time she and Racine had worked a case, not that long ago. It was still too fresh in her memory bank to shrug off the distasteful experience. She had almost found herself on the other end of one of Racine’s quid pro quos.
“O’Dell.” This time the voice came from above. Agent Tully leaned over the ledge. “I want you to take a look at this before they bag the body.”
“What’s the best route up?”
“Around the fourth gallery. There’s a set of rest rooms. Come all the way around them and to the back.” He pointed to a place she couldn’t see—too many granite walls. She found her way past another waterfall and more granite, then climbed a path that looked freshly made.
They were waiting for her, keeping their distance from the body, though Stan Wenhoff looked anxious to get on with his job. The forensics team was packing up what they had gathered so far in larger plastic bags. Maggie understood their urgency even before a low rumble of thunder came from overhead.
The girl sat against a tree with her back to the ledge of the monument. Her head lolled on her neck, exposing one side of deep raw tracks. Her eyes stared out despite the mass of whitish yellow in the corner of one. Without closer examination, Maggie knew the mass to be maggots. Her legs were extended straight out in front of her and spread apart. Black, shiny-backed blowflies were already taking their posts in her pubic area and up her nostrils.
The girl wore only a black bra, still clasped but pushed up to expose her small white breasts. A piece of gray duct tape covered her mouth. Her short dark hair was tangled with bits and pieces of dried leaves and pine needles. Despite the horror of the scene, the girl’s hands were folded together, lying neatly and calmly across her lap, resting just below the nest of blowflies. The hands reminded Maggie of someone praying. Was it supposed to mean something?
“We don’t have much time, Agent O’Dell.” Stan was the first to get impatient.
Poor Stan. Another early morning call-in for him in less than a week.
Tully was alongside her now, pointing to the ground in front of her.
“There’s these weird marks, circular indentations.”
At first she