If I Should Die_ A Novel of Suspense - Allison Brennan [36]
“Distracted how?”
A chill went down her spine. “The maggots. In her mouth.”
Sean ran his hand up and down her back. “You didn’t tell me.”
“I didn’t want to think about it.”
“What kind of flower?”
“It looked more like a weed, all dried out like that. But it’s clear—someone intentionally placed it on her chest.”
“As if visiting her grave.”
She shivered. That meant nothing—the killer might never have come back after leaving her here. He could have killed her and left the flower as a sign of remorse or part of some sick ritual. She wouldn’t know until she knew more about the victim herself.
She inspected the area closely with her flashlight. There didn’t seem to be any trace of bodily fluids or signs of blood or struggle. That didn’t mean they weren’t there, only that they weren’t visible to the naked eye.
However, where the woman’s head had been, Lucy spotted several strands of dark blond hair.
“Sean!”
He saw them, too. “Do you have plastic bags?”
“I can’t tamper with evidence.”
“I didn’t see any crime scene tape up. Or warning sign. And where are the cops?”
True. After talking to Deputy Weddle yesterday, it was clear that the Sheriff’s Department wasn’t taking Lucy’s statement seriously. Maybe they believed her, maybe they didn’t, but Sean was right: they weren’t here searching for evidence, nor did they blockade the area off.
She handed Sean her flashlight. “Shine the light there—I’m taking a few pictures.”
Though she had no cell phone reception, the built-in camera took photographs just fine. She snapped several of the area, then zoomed in on the hair. She wished she had a high-end digital camera for better quality, but her phone would have to do.
“Her head rested here,” she said.
Emboldened, Lucy gave the alcove a thorough examination, taking more pictures, before moving on to the area surrounding the slab. There were faint footprints in the hard-packed dirt, but there was no telling which ones might have belonged to the men yesterday or to whoever removed the body. A serious police investigation would get impressions and compare the footprints to those of the two rescue workers, as well as hers and Sean’s. If one set didn’t match anyone, it might lead to the person who had moved the body.
“A dead body isn’t easy to carry,” Sean commented.
“But not impossible. He was strong, or had a partner. There are no drag marks—dragging her body would be noticeable, even on this hard floor. If we assume she was here for a while and frozen—”
“It’s still twenty-eight degrees here, and it’s already nine,” Sean said, looking at his phone.
“Can you get historical data when we get back up?”
“Absolutely. What do you want? I’ll run it as soon as we get in the truck.”
“Temperature, high and low, for the last year,” she said, brow knitting. “I don’t know how to extrapolate it into underground temps, though.”
“I can write an algorithm for it, but it won’t be perfect. Underground, both heat and cold are retained, depending on the surface temps. You’d want a geologist to interpret the data, based on the location of this room, the type of rock, pulling in any data from when the mine was operational.”
“I’ll write down what I need if you can figure out how to get the information.”
“That I can do.”
“The maggots are important—if it was warmer, flies would breed and lay eggs at a faster rate. The maggots would turn into flies in days. But the cold inhibits them. They could have been dormant for weeks—months. It’s too cold down here for insect activity.”
“What are you thinking?”
She didn’t want to speculate, because she honestly had nothing to go on but conjecture. But Sean liked to brainstorm.
“This might sound stupid …” she began.
“Try me.”
“Under normal temperatures, the life cycle from egg to adult fly is twenty-four days. It’s very predictable. What affects their life cycle most are cold temperatures.”
“And it’s too cold here for a twenty-four-day life cycle?”
She nodded. “If she was killed here, then any flies would have remained dormant until the