Killing Hour - Lisa Gardner [74]
The area was sheltered, the thick canopy of trees making the path invisible at night. The path itself was wide enough for a car, but four tires would have definitely left at least a faint impression and there was none. No, their unidentified subject—UNSUB—had selected a spot half a mile from the road. And then he’d walked that half mile in pitch-black night while staggering beneath the awkward weight of a hundred-and-ten-pound body. Surely there were dozens of spots more accessible and less physically demanding.
So again: Why had their UNSUB chosen here?
Quincy was beginning to have some ideas. He’d bet Rainie would also have a few opinions on the subject.
“How are you making out?” Kaplan called out.
He was coming down the dirt path, looking fresher than they did, so wherever he’d been, it had had air-conditioning. Quincy found himself resentful already.
“Brought you bug spray,” Kaplan said merrily.
“You’re the king of men,” Quincy assured him. “Now look behind you.”
Kaplan obediently stopped and looked behind him. “I don’t see anything.”
“Exactly.”
“Huh?”
“Look down,” Rainie said impatiently, from twenty feet back. “Check out your footsteps.”
Rainie had pulled her heavy chestnut hair back in a ponytail first thing this morning. It had come loose about an hour ago and was now plastered in sweaty tendrils against her neck. She looked wild, her hair curly with the humidity and her gray eyes nearly black with the heat. Having grown up on the Oregon coast with its relatively mild climate, Rainie absolutely loathed high heat and humidity. Quincy figured he had about another hour before she’d be driven to violence.
“There aren’t any footsteps,” Kaplan said.
“Exactly.” Quincy sighed and finally pulled his attention away from the scene. “According to reports on the Weather Channel, this area received two inches of rain five days ago. And if you venture off the path into the woods, there are patches where the ground is still marshy and soft to the touch. The thick trees protect the dirt from baking in the sun, plus I don’t think much can dry out given this humidity.”
“But the path is solid.”
“Yes. Apparently, nothing hard-packs soil quite like the daily grind of a few hundred pounding Marine and FBI trainees. The path is hard as a rock. It would take more than a two-hundred-pound person, plus a hundred-pound body, to dent it now.”
Kaplan frowned at them both, still obviously confused. “I already said there weren’t any footprints. We looked.”
Quincy wanted to sigh again. He so preferred working with Rainie, who was now regarding the NCIS special agent with a fresh level of annoyance.
“If you simply walked off the road into the woods around here, what would happen?”
“The ground is still soft; you’d leave a footprint.”
“So to a casual visitor, the woods are marshy?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“And what’s thirty feet to my left?” Quincy asked crisply.
“The PT course.”
“The paved PT course.”
“Sure, the paved PT course.”
Quincy looked at him. “If you were carrying a body into the woods, wouldn’t you take the paved path? The one that offered you better footing? The one that would be guaranteed not to leave footprints, given the soft soil you see all around?”
“The wooded path has less traffic,” Kaplan said slowly. “He’s better hidden.”
“According to the ME’s report, the UNSUB probably dumped the body in the small hours of the morning. Given the late hour, the man’s already well hidden. Why take the dirt path? Why risk footprints?”
“He’s not very bright?” But Kaplan was no longer convinced.
Rainie shook her head impatiently, crossing over to them. “The UNSUB knew. He’s been on this path. He knew the ground was hard and would protect him, while the wide scope makes it less likely he’d bump the body against a tree limb or accidentally leave a scrap of fabric on a twig. Face it, Kaplan. The UNSUB isn’t some