Alex Kava Bundle - Alex Kava [401]
As she continued toward the entrance, she checked the area, aware of the noisy traffic overhead, flashes of headlights between six-foot guardrails. The smell of diesel emanated from the bus terminal on the other side of the small empty parking lot where engines were left running and several mechanics climbed in and around the Greyhound buses. About a half-dozen broken-down buses lined the chain-link fence, blocking a direct view of the viaduct’s entrance.
Except for where the mechanics worked, the place was badly lit. It was dark and noisy, but deserted, and Maggie wondered why anyone would come here voluntarily. Except that the arch of concrete—more a tunnel than an arch—would provide shelter from the wind, if not some warmth. She could understand why it might be an enticing spot for someone looking to set up her cardboard home. Also an enticing spot for someone looking for a victim.
“Oh, good! You’re here.” Racine appeared and held up a section of crime scene tape for Maggie to crawl under.
Maggie could smell the body as soon as she walked into the tunnel. Racine led the way, carefully stepping around two crime lab technicians, one crawling the grid pattern with a flashlight, brush and plastic bags while the other set up several spotlights.
At the other opening, leaning against the cold concrete wall, sat a naked woman, stark and gray in the sharp glare of a spotlight. Her eyes were wide open, the corners already filled with white clusters of maggot larvae. Her head lolled to one side, revealing several ligature marks across her neck. Her dirty-and-smudged face was bloated, her mouth duct-taped shut. Her hands were folded into her lap, the wrists facing forward as if to show off the welts from where handcuffs had restrained her. Maggie noticed the insides of her elbows were clean, no track marks from needles. She hadn’t been lured here by the promise of drugs. There was no cardboard box, no shopping cart, no other personal belongings, other than the carefully folded rags stacked about a yard away.
“What do you think?”
She realized Racine was watching her and waiting while Maggie examined the scene, careful where she stepped and letting her eyes collect the evidence.
“The posing of the body looks very similar.”
“Looks fucking identical,” Racine said. “Although I get the idea we won’t find any ID stuffed down her throat.”
“She certainly doesn’t fit the victimology of our guy,” Maggie said, squatting in front of the body to get a better look. She was staring directly into the corpse’s empty eyes. The woman had been dead for more than thirty-six hours, the rigor mortis already leaving the body pliable again. Maggie could tell this by gently lifting one hand and carefully letting it fall back into place.
“I wish the hell you wouldn’t touch the stiff,” Prashard said from the entrance, making his way inside, staying close to the concrete wall.
“But she’s not stiff anymore. She’s been dead for a while. You have any estimates?” Maggie asked without getting up.
“I’m guessing forty-eight hours, but it’s a major guess since I haven’t been able to touch a fucking thing yet.” He shot a look at Racine, but she wasn’t paying attention. Instead, she was still watching Maggie.
“Check this out,” Racine said, bringing out a penlight and shining it at the dirt floor of the tunnel.
Maggie got up and went to Racine’s side. About five feet in front of the body was what looked like a circular indent in the dirt, although it and the area around it looked scuffed on purpose as if in an attempt to erase it and possibly other marks like it.
“Tully’s signature,” Racine said. “I don’t know what the hell it is, but tell me that’s not the exact