The Soul Catcher - Alex Kava [42]
He started down the path, knowing without looking where to step so he wouldn’t slip. Before he turned around the granite boulders, he glanced over his shoulder. Racine and the rest of them were already occupied with the medical examiner. Ben stuffed his hand deep into his pocket, found the smooth cylinder. Then he smiled as he squeezed the roll of film into the palm of his hand. Poor Racine. It had never occurred to her that he may have taken more than one roll.
CHAPTER 22
Maggie felt an immediate sense of relief. How awful was that? She preferred examining a dead body to having breakfast with her mother. Surely, that had to be a mortal sin for which she’d burn in hell. Or perhaps she’d be struck by lightning—maybe by one of the thickening gray thunderheads gathering now.
She flashed her badge to the first uniformed officer blocking the sidewalk next to the information center. He nodded, and she ducked under the crime scene tape. It was her first visit to the monument, though it had been finished and dedicated in 1997. She guessed she wasn’t much different from other District suburbanites. Who had time to tour monuments except on vacation? And even if she took vacations, she certainly wouldn’t choose to stay in the District.
Unlike the other presidential monuments, the FDR Memorial included trees, waterfalls, grassy berms, alcoves and gardens, all spread out over a long, expansive area rather than grouped in one imposing structure. As Maggie walked through the galleries or rooms, she paid little attention to the sculptures and bronzes. Instead her attention went to the granite walls, the ledges above and behind. She noticed plenty of trees and bushes. From down here, the area looked like a private haven for murder. Had the designers not given that a thought or had she simply become cynical after years of trying to think like a killer?
Maggie stopped at the bigger-than-life bronze of the seated Roosevelt with a little bronze dog next to him. She checked the position of the spotlights around it and wondered how far up they would shine. If the sky continued to darken, perhaps she’d soon get her answer. However, the granite walls had to be ten to fifteen feet tall. She doubted the lights illuminated any of the trees and bushes above and behind. From where she stood, craning her neck, she wondered if it was possible to even notice someone in those woods? She could faintly hear the commotion of detectives over the rushing sound of the waterfall. The voices came from above and farther in the bushes, but she couldn’t see them. Not a single motion.
“The little dog’s name is Fala.”
She startled and turned to find a man with a camera hanging from his neck.
“Excuse me?”
“Most people don’t know that. The dog. It was Roosevelt’s favorite.”
“The monument’s closed this morning,” she told him, and immediately saw his expression change to anger.
“I’m not some fucking tourist. I’m here taking crime scene shots. Just ask Racine.”
“Okay, my mistake.” But his quick temper drew her attention, and she found herself assessing his bristled jaw and tousled dark hair, the worn knees of his blue jeans and the toe-tips of shiny, expensive cowboy boots. He could easily pass for a tourist or an aging college student.
“See, I could make a snap judgment, too, and wonder what a babe like you was doing here. I thought Racine liked being the only babe on the scene.” He returned her assessment by letting his eyes slowly run the length of her.
“New police procedure. We like to have at least one backup.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m the backup babe.”
He smiled, more of a smirk than a smile, and his eyes traveled the same path.
“Sorta like cameramen,” she continued. “Every police station needs a backup. You know,