Dead by Midnight - Beverly Barton [116]
Mike dropped to his haunches and surveyed the woman’s butchered remains. Salty bile rose up his esophagus and lodged in his throat. Although Jack didn’t seem fazed by the gruesome sight, Mike suspected that this type of bloody mutilation disturbed even a seasoned soldier such as Jack. It sure as hell disturbed Mike.
“Call Andy.” Mike barked out orders, demanding the site be secured and sending all but a handful of deputies to regulate the flow of foot traffic into and out of the woods. It was only a matter of time before word of the grisly murder spread throughout the county. Reporters would eventually arrive, as would curious neighbors. Buddy Pounders and Ronnie Gipson would remain at the scene with Mike until Coroner Andy Gamble and his two-person crew arrived.
“Whoever did this didn’t put a mark on her face,” Mike said. “He wanted us to be able to identify her.”
“Cut up the way she is, there’s no way to tell for sure what actually killed her,” Jack said, studying Shelley’s body. “But my guess is that he slit her throat to finish the job.”
Mike nodded. “Jack, I need you to go back to the house and talk to Lorie. Tell her that we found Shelley and she’s dead, but leave out the details.”
“Yeah, sure. And I’ll contact Maleah. The Powell Agency needs to know. But God help us, they’re going to descend on us like a swarm of killer bees.”
“Tell Maleah to have Mr. or Mrs. Powell contact me directly. And I need for you to call Hicks Wainwright and let him know what’s happened. My gut tells me that this has nothing to do with the Midnight Killer, but I’m no expert by any means.” Mike took a deep breath. “As soon as you can, get back here.”
“Want me to call Wade Ballard, too?”
“Yeah. Let him know that all hell’s about to break loose.”
Mike rubbed the back of his neck as he stood on Abby Sherman’s doorstep. It had been a long, difficult day and it wasn’t over yet. He hadn’t stopped for breakfast or lunch, had drunk too much coffee, and had finally gobbled down a sandwich Jack had brought him around four that afternoon. As his mama would say, he felt like death warmed over.
He had left the crime scene secure. Dozen of officers, from his department and the state boys to the FBI, had gotten in on the act. He just hoped he was doing a halfway decent job of coordinating the various investigators. Andy Gamble, the county coroner, had turned Shelley Gilbert’s butchered body over to the state, but not before he had examined the body at the site and taken it away in a body bag.
“We’ll know more after the autopsy,” Andy had told him. “But I’d say that the person who attacked her came up from behind and stabbed her in the back several times and possibly hit a kidney. The blood on the porch is from those initial stab wounds.”
“He left a trail from the house into the woods,” Mike had said. “Apparently he dragged her to the riverbank.”
Andy had nodded. “And that’s where he finished her off. He stabbed her repeatedly and then slit her throat. But even after she bled to death, he wasn’t finished with her. He sliced up her arms and legs postmortem. I’ve never seen anything like it. He carved out little pieces the way you’d carve a pumpkin to make a Halloween jack-o-lantern.”
From hip to ankle on both legs and from shoulder to wrist on both arms, the killer had carved pieces of flesh from Shelley Gilbert’s body. Thank God, she’d already been dead when her killer had etched the bloody, triangular designs.
Mike had finally left the crime scene once everything that could be done there had been done. Every precaution had been taken to protect both the back porch of Lorie’s house and the area surrounding where the body had been found on the riverbank. The porch, back door, steps, and railings had been dusted for fingerprints. Soil samples had been taken from the yard, the