Silent Victim - C. E. Lawrence [131]
Vines, twigs, and leaves had been piled on top of his body, some arranged in such a way that they looked as if they were growing out of his mouth and ears.
“Okay, Doc,” Butts said, looking at Lee. “What’s with all the foliage? What does it mean?”
All at once, Lee realized saw the connection.
“He’s the Green Man,” he said. “His killer is mocking the whole idea of it, by turning Perkins into one after killing him.”
“Oh, yeah,” Butts said, bending down to examine the body. “I think you’re right.”
What Lee wasn’t prepared for was the smell. The odor of blood—so much blood—was unlike anything he had experienced. It seemed to penetrate a part of his brain, causing an aversion, a deep-seated feeling of distress that he thought must be genetic, ancestral. Ancient hominids, coming across this terrible and terrifying smell, must have taken flight immediately, knowing instinctively that death lurked around the corner. But he couldn’t flee, much as he wanted to. He continued to stare at the body until he heard Officer Anderson come up behind him.
“Jesus,” Anderson said softly, and Lee realized this was his first murder scene. He looked at Butts for help, and the burly detective took charge at once. He beckoned them all to stay out of the room; putting his gun back in its holster, he proceeded to investigate the crime scene.
Butts was in his element. Lee watched with admiration as the detective examined the body without touching anything, then managed to move around the room without transferring any of the blood to his shoes or in any other way compromising the evidence.
After a few minutes he joined the rest of them in the hall.
“No sign of the murder weapon,” he said, “though from the shape of the blows I’d say it was somethin’ long and narrow—a cane, or a thick stick of some kind. No sign of defensive wounds—looks like he wasn’t expecting this attack. You got CSIs on duty around here?” he asked Anderson.
“Uh, in Trenton—that’s the nearest city,” the young officer replied, obviously shaken.
“Then I suggest you call it in ASAP,” Butts said. Looking down at Perkins, he shook his head. “Whoever did this wasn’t looking to make a statement,” he said. “He just wanted Perkins dead.”
Looking at the body sprawled on the floor in front of them, Lee had to agree. If ever he had seen a rage-driven homicide, this was it. Whoever had killed Martin Perkins was now spinning dangerously out of control.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
“What now?” Diesel asked as the three of them stood looking at the body while Officer Anderson reported the murder to his station house, which would then call the crime unit in Trenton. Butts had already called Chuck Morton to inform him, though there was little he could do at this point.
“I think whoever did this has Charlotte Perkins,” Lee said.
“Unless she did this,” Butts remarked.
Lee had to admit that wasn’t completely unrealistic. She obviously had great resentment against her brother, with good reason—and it wouldn’t be the first time a victim of domestic abuse snapped and murdered her abuser. Lee wasn’t sure their relationship fit the legal definition of abuse, but he didn’t like what he’d heard from her. And so now Perkins was dead—Serves him right, he thought uncharitably—but where was Charlotte? And even more puzzling, assuming she was still alive, where was Krieger?
“You think a—a woman could have done this?” Officer Anderson said, with a naïveté that was touching.
Butts frowned at him. “Kid, one thing you learn when you’ve been a cop as long as I have is that anyone can do anything to anybody.”
Anderson’s pale eyes widened. “But—I mean, wouldn’t it take a lot of force to deliver blows like this?”
“Yeah,” Butts said. “But when a person’s angry