Alex Kava Bundle - Alex Kava [569]
Yes, Racine was right. This time they had lucked out. There would be enough tissue left for DNA samples. But more importantly, there might be telltale signs embedded or bruised or hidden in the flesh, the last remains of this poor woman to tell them what had happened to her in her final hours.
Unfortunately, though, for the crime scene tech, his greatest challenge would be to contain the head and maggots. It’d be so much easier to brush them off, rinse, spray, fumigate the head and be rid of the pesky things, but cleaning away the maggots could mean washing away evidence.
Maggie looked around for footprints, tracks of any kind.
“How do you think she got here?” she asked, remembering to personalize the victim instead of falling into Stan’s habit of using “it,” something that could simply be “scooped up.” But she knew it wasn’t irreverence as much as it was a coping mechanism.
The crime scene tech followed Stan’s lead. “It wasn’t tossed—not from the overpass, not from the ledge of the embankment. I can’t see any impact marks or skids in the mud. It looks like he simply placed it here.”
“So, the killer brought her down here himself?” She glanced back at the steep embankment, but saw only her own skid marks.
“From what I can tell.” The tech stood, stretched his legs and looked grateful for the distraction. “There are some footprints. I’ll make a plaster cast.”
“Oh, yeah, the footprints,” Racine said. “You’ve got to see this.” She stepped carefully, pointing out the remnants of the impressions in the mud.
Maggie stood up and looked to where Racine pointed, except it was almost fifteen feet from the victim’s head.
“How can you be sure they’re the killer’s?”
“We haven’t found any others,” the tech replied, shrugging. “It rained pretty hard two nights ago. He had to have been out here after that.”
“The prints come out of nowhere,” Racine said. “And get this—they seem to lead right into the river.”
“Maybe a boat?” Maggie suggested.
“Out here? And not be noticed? I don’t think so.”
“You said you had a tip?” Maggie examined the oversize prints. The tread marks were pronounced, but there was no recognizable logo.
“Yup,” Racine said, crossing her arms as if finally feeling more in control. “An anonymous call. A woman actually. Called 911. I have no idea how the hell she found out. Maybe the killer told her. Maybe he got tired of us being so slow in finding the other two.”
“Or maybe he wanted us to know the identity of this one,” Maggie said.
Racine nodded, instead of coming up with a competing theory.
“So what do you suppose he does with the rest of the body?” the tech asked both women.
“I don’t know.” Racine shrugged and began to walk away. “Maybe our anonymous woman caller can tell us. They should have her number tracked down by the time we get back.”
CHAPTER 3
Washington, D.C.
Dr. Gwen Patterson tried to see the crime scene from her office window, only she was on the wrong side of the Potomac. Even with binoculars the overpass blocked most of her view. But she could make out Maggie’s red Toyota parked up on the road next to the mobile crime lab van.
There was an annoying tremor in her fingers as she ran them through her hair. Was it excitement? Nerves? It didn’t matter. She knew the stress was starting to take its toll. And why wouldn’t it? Three weeks, three victims. And yet today she had expected to feel a sense of relief. She expected the tension to begin to leave. Except there was no relief. Instead, the knot between her shoulder blades only seemed to tighten. Maybe it was silly to think that just because Maggie was on the case she would feel she had gained some sort of control over the situation. How did she ever let it get this far?
She was meeting Maggie later for dinner at their favorite hideaway—Old Ebbitt’s Grill. She’d order the pecancrusted chicken. Maggie would have steak. Maybe they would share a bottle of wine, depending on Maggie’s mood. And her mood would depend on what she had seen down by the river,