Alex Kava Bundle - Alex Kava [498]
“I’m sure you can, Sheriff Watermeier.”
“Well, point being that I know you’re out of Quantico. FBI’s looking for a missing person, and I’m thinking that missing person must be someone important, right?”
“Every missing person we look for is important to someone, Sheriff Watermeier.”
He stared at her and this time she thought she saw the beginning of a smile at the corner of his mouth. He didn’t press the issue.
“You ever have a case like this?” He started walking, slowing down when he realized his long strides were keeping her a step behind him. “I mean, there’s not some crazy bastard who’s been doing this in other states, too, is there?”
“I did check, but nothing registered on VICAP.”
“Dr. Stolz—” he pointed to a small-framed, balding man in a suit “—hasn’t gotten to the autopsy yet of the woman we found yesterday. You can join us for that later, if you’d like. She’s a mess, though. I’m not sure you’ll be able to do a visual ID.”
“I have some of her physical characteristics that might, at the very least, rule her out.”
“Right now, the M.E.’s having a hell of a time. We’re trying to figure out how the hell to contain the barrels that have cracked open. He’s thinking we may need to set up some kind of temporary morgue out here. On the other hand, if we just pull them out…hell, who knows. My quick reference check said you’d been with the bureau for about ten years. Have you come across anything like this before?”
“There was a case in Kansas. I believe 1998 or ’99, John Robinson.”
“I think I remember that one. The Internet wacko, right?”
“Yes, that’s right. He lured women via the Internet to his farm, killed them and stuffed their bodies into fifty-five-gallon drums.” Maggie watched her feet. Rocks protruded out of the ground and were hidden by knee-high grass. “I didn’t work that case, but if I remember correctly, I think the drums were found in a storage shed, so there wasn’t as much risk of jostling things around as you’re dealing with here. Do you have any idea how many barrels there are? And how many are filled with bodies?”
“Could be as many as a dozen barrels. Maybe more. Doesn’t mean they all have dead bodies. But we’ve seen inside several of them. Weird crap, really weird.” He tilted his hat back and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “In one, it looks like there’s just a pile of bones, but in the other one…” He shook his head and pointed to the barrel he wanted her to see first. “In the other one, the body looks pretty well preserved. From what we can see. Either way, we’ve got one sick son of a bitch on our hands.”
He stopped in his tracks and Maggie waited. They were about a hundred feet from the commotion. A group was hunched over a barrel that had been brought down from the rock pile. Close by, several crime-scene techs searched the area on their latexed hands and padded knees, working their grid over the rocky surface. Maggie was impressed with the sheriff’s careful handling of the scene. Too often small-town law enforcement officers allowed unnecessary civilians within the perimeter. They couldn’t see the harm in letting the mayor or a local city councilor take a look. What they considered a smart move politically—sheriffs were elected, after all—oftentimes ended up contaminating a crime scene.
Suddenly, Maggie realized Watermeier was waiting, as if weighing what he wanted to ask or tell her before they joined the others.
“I spent over thirty years with the NYPD, so I’m not a rookie to messes, okay?” He met her eyes and held them, waiting for acknowledgment—a brief nod from Maggie—before he went on. “My wife and I moved here about four years ago. She’s part owner in a nice little bookstore in downtown Wallingford. The locals elected me because they wanted somebody with some real experience. We like it here…a lot. This is where we wanna retire in a few years.”
He stopped to watch his men, looking around him as if to take count. Maggie crossed her arms and shifted her weight from one leg to