Chasing Shadows Page 9

  “It’s a shame they never finished. Wonder what happened to them that night they fled the house?”

  “Nobody knows. Like I said, the wife just cried and the husband wasn’t talking.”

  “Hmm.” Cam raised her camera and snapped off a couple of pictures of the hallway, with its closed doors and deep shadows. There was a window at the end of the hallway, but it obviously hadn’t been washed in a long time and let in only a little light. For the first time Cam noticed how quiet the house was.

  It was an expectant silence, almost as if the house—or someone in it—was listening to what they were saying. She shook her head at the fanciful thought and moved purposefully to the last door on the left, turning the doorknob. The door opened on slightly squeaky hinges and Cam stepped inside. The shades weren’t drawn, but the windows were just as clouded and dirty as the one in the hall, leaving the room mostly in deep shadows. Despite the murky light, Cam was surprised to make out the outline of a woman standing by the window, her back turned as she looked outside.

  Her first thought was that it must be some intruder. Some homeless person or squatter who had broken into the house. She took a quick step backward into Chuck, who had been coming in just behind her. She glanced back at him, but he gazed back at her blankly.

  “What?”

  “There’s a woman in here,” she said in a hoarse whisper, pointing at her, but he shook his head and looked puzzled.

  “What do you mean? What woman?” he said, peering past her.

  “That one!” Huffing out an impatient breath, she took a step back into the room, ready to take charge and call the police if Chuck wasn’t going to do anything.

  “Hello?” she said, surprised to find her voice a little high and squeaky. “Excuse me, but are you supposed to be here?” The woman didn’t even turn around. “I’m calling the police.”

  “Who are you talking to?” Chuck said, his eyes sweeping the room. “You’re kind of scaring me right now.”

  “Oh, for goodness sake…she’s right there!” she said, pointing again at the woman by the window. “Hey you! I’m talking to you. Who gave you permission to be in here?”

  “I-I don’t see anyone.”

  “What? How can you not s…”

  The woman was turning slowly around, and she began walking toward them. She had one fleeting impression of brown hair and eyes and a young face with a sad, forlorn expression, before she held out a hand to Cam. The woman opened her mouth as if to say something, but instead a torrent of muddy water gushed from her throat, splashing down on the carpeted floor in front of her.

  Cam screamed and fell back into Chuck, who grabbed her to keep her from falling. She twisted in his arms, desperate to get away from the woman who was still trying to stagger toward them, her hands outstretched and yearning. Cam realized then that she was not as solid as she’d originally thought, because she could see the outline of the window through her. That was when Chuck screamed, and she knew that he must have finally been able to see her, too.

  Chuck turned and ran, pulling her along with him, and they both stumbled down the stairs. Chuck was still screaming and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. There was a bad moment at the front door when Chuck couldn’t get it open, but then the knob finally turned and they burst outside onto the porch and down into the yard, leaving the horror behind them. Cam’s shoes slid on the gravel and she sprawled forward, falling down hard on her knees in the driveway as Chuck collapsed against the hood of the Tahoe, clutching his chest.

  Cam looked up at him and then back at the house over her shoulder, half-expecting to see the apparition coming out the front door after them. “W-what was that?”

  Chuck stared back, a terrified expression on his face. “How the hell should I know? You’re the damned ghost hunter, you tell me!”

  Chapter Nine

  Avery was a month into her rookie year with the Atlanta Police Department when she came across her first dead body. She and Carmen Mendez, the senior officer she’d been assigned to train with, had been dispatched to a home in the Summerhill neighborhood of the city for a welfare check. The out-of-state family of the home’s eighty-seven year-old owner had been unable to reach him by phone for several days and had finally gotten worried enough to call the police.

  Isaiah Warren—she’d never forgotten the man’s name—lived in one of the few older homes in what was a rapidly developing upper-middle class neighborhood. It was built before the advent of central heat and air and, like many such houses, used a window air conditioner unit. It was the middle of June and between her polyester uniform and ten pounds of bullet proof vest, Avery had been sticky with sweat all day. So much so that she was immediately struck by the silence coming from the a/c unit sticking out of the home’s front window when she and her partner arrived at the house.

  Mendez had known when they reached the front porch of the faded brick house, he later told her, because of the smell. It was a powerful, pungent odor that greeted them when Mendez pushed open the dry-rotted front door with two heavy hits of his shoulder, one that immediately caused Avery to gag. Isaiah Warren had died peacefully, sitting in his recliner watching television. Eight days of being dead, coupled with the hot Georgia heat, had turned his skin a sea-blue green color, and caused it to become a consistency that was no longer quite solid. That sight and the rancid, indescribable smell of decay mixed with cheap aftershave was one that Avery wasn’t able to shake for weeks afterward.

  Over the years, as she moved up the ranks of the APD, Avery was unfortunate enough to grow acquainted with the stench of death. Cause of death came in many forms and fashions, but the smell never changed.

  It was that cold, heavy smell that greeted Avery as she exited the Impala and walked up to the deputy leaning against the trunk of the Knight’s stolen blue Ford Mustang. She recognized him from around the station but had never caught his name. The deputy was young, younger than Hobbs, who stumbled in the grass behind Avery to avoid stepping in what looked to be vomit. The look on the young deputy’s face told Avery all she needed to know about what awaited them in the sparsely wooded area just to the right of the stolen Mustang.

  “You going to make it?” she asked, meeting his eyes with an empathetic gaze.

  The deputy wiped at the corner of his mouth and nodded wordlessly.

  “We’re over here Smith.”

  Avery turned toward the sound of the Chief Deputy’s voice. He and two other officers were milling around an irregular-shaped mound that lay between two dogwood trees. All three men looked grim.

  She motioned for Hobbs to stay back with the young deputy before taking a half-sliding step down the muddy, rolling drop-off that led to the woods. She counted twenty-one steps from the shoulder of the road to the dogwood trees. Far enough away from the highway so as not to be easily noticed, but not so far for someone carrying a dead body to walk.

  “Chief,” she said with a nod as reached the men. “Please tell me that my crime scene has not been trampled all over.”

  Chief Deputy Steve Ramsey removed his black “Sheriff Department” baseball cap with one hand and ran the other over his thinning brown hair. “It has,” he answered, fixing the cap back into place, “but not by us. Looks like dogs or maybe a coyote has gotten to the body.” He motioned to what Avery could see now was a green blanket surrounded by bloodstained grass and bits of dirt-covered flesh. “There’s not much left.”

  “The blanket?” She already suspected the answer. The green blanket looked too clean to have been out in the elements for very long.

  “Davis over there,” Ramsey said, gesturing to the deputy by the Mustang. “He was first on the scene. I’m not sure, though, if he covered the body before or after he threw up his breakfast.”

  “So what do we have?” She was itching to clear these men out of her crime scene so she could get to work. Looking down, she could see that all three wore muddy boots that matched evenly to the footprints peppering the ground around the blanket. There wa
s no telling how much evidence had already been compromised.

  The man to the right of Ramsey, who Avery recognized as one of the patrol sergeants, answered first. “Deputy Davis was set up running radar at the intersection of County Road 6 and Hill Street when the stolen Mustang blew by. He had just called in the pursuit when the occupants bailed at this spot. Davis says a bunch of teenagers were in the car and all fled on foot. He started to give chase and literally tripped over the body here.” The patrol sergeant coughed and put his knuckles to his nostrils as a passing breeze stirred up the smell of decaying flesh. “We’ve got a look-out for the perpetrators,” he continued. “Davis said that one of them was wearing a BC High varsity jacket, so it sounds like a bunch of local kids out for a joy ride.”

  “If it hadn’t been for Davis pulling over the stolen vehicle, we probably wouldn’t have found the body,” Ramsey added, looking around at the woods that surrounded them. “This is not exactly on the beaten path.”

  Avery gave a curt nod as she knelt into the damp grass and began slowly pulling back the blanket, somewhat surprised to see that it was a woman. Leaves covered the lower portion of her body. Whatever clothing the woman had been wearing was in shreds, as was the flesh that lay underneath. Most of her face and upper torso had been eaten away by some animal, ants covering the flecked, puffy tissue that had once been the woman’s esophagus.

  She swallowed, pushing back the taste of bile and willing her stomach not to betray her. Avery had the brief aftertaste of maple bacon and decided it would be some time before she ate meat again. She stood, dusting off the front of her slacks before asking, “Any idea who she is?”

  The deputy to the right of Ramsey shook his head. “No. I don’t recognize her as one of our regulars at the jail, and there haven’t been any missing person reports.”

  “Bishop said that his guess is that she’s some meth head that took a wrong turn and got lost,” the Chief Deputy said. “Probably just OD’d on some bad drugs.”

  Avery frowned. “Where the hell did he get that idea?”

  Ramsey shrugged. “That’s just what he said.”

  “You don’t agree?” the patrol sergeant asked.

  She shook her head at the question. “No, it’s too early to start making assumptions like that. The nearest house is five miles away. There’s no sign of her vehicle that I can see and I don’t think she’d get very far in those.” Avery pointed to the black high-heeled shoe that pointed out from the pile of leaves. “And I doubt that the dogs or coyotes or whatever got to her took the time to cover her up when they were through eating. That was someone’s attempt to hide the body.”

  Ramsey gave a slow nod. “I’d have to agree with that.”

  “Where is Bishop, by the way?” Avery found the absence of the department’s older investigator odd. He would usually be the first to jump on something as high profile as a case involving a death.

  “Do you need his help with this?”

  Avery tried not to bristle at the patrol sergeant’s question. “Not in the least,” she said evenly. “Just don’t want to step on any toes.”

  “You just missed him,” Ramsey said. “We had a call that someone’s found a body on the south side of the county. I sent him to respond along with both units from area three.” He darted his eyes to the woman’s body and grimaced. “Second of the day.”

  “Seriously?” Avery arched an eyebrow. “Is it a full moon or something?” Brooks County had its fair share of untimely deaths, but most of those occurred in car accidents or domestic disturbances of various sorts. Half-naked mutilated bodies were definitely not the norm.

  “Hell if I know,” Ramsey grumbled, taking a step back from the body. Avery noted that he was making an obvious effort to keep his eyes off of it. “What do you need from us?”

  “Not much, honestly. Me and my shadow,” she nodded back at Hobbs, “will document and clear the scene here—I assume the coroner’s been called?”

  “He’s on the way,” the patrol sergeant nodded.

  Ramsey stretched his neck to look past Avery. “So, how is my nephew doing?”

  She followed his gaze to stare at Hobbs, who was staring anxiously back from the side of the Mustang. She considered her words before answering, “He’s very eager.”

  Ramsey cracked a smile. “Very diplomatic answer, Detective Smith. I know he’s a talker. Hopefully he’s doing some listening as well. I went out on a limb for him with the sheriff for my sister’s sake.”

  “I don’t think you’ll be disappointed, sir. He’s a fast learner, or seems to be, at least.”

  “Good.” Ramsey turned to the patrol sergeant. “Have Deputy Davis get a tow out on the stolen car and have it taken over to impound.”

  “We’ll need to get hair and DNA samples from Davis if he touched the body,” Avery interjected. “And the clothes he’s wearing would be nice, too.” Eager to get the investigation started, Avery waved at Hobbs. “Go look in the trunk of the car and bring out the blue duffel bag.” Hobbs bobbed his head and sprinted back toward the Impala.

  “I’ll call dispatch on the tow,” the patrol sergeant said, “and get Davis down to the station to get everything you need.”

  Ramsey nodded and looked at the other deputy. “Stevens, you stay here and help maintain the perimeter while they collect evidence. I’m going to head back to the station and brief the sheriff.”

  With that, the three men broke off from underneath the dogwood trees and began walking toward the line of patrol cars parked on the shoulder of the road. Hobbs slid down the incline holding the blue duffel bag in one hand, nearly tripping in his haste. Avery watched with mild interest as the Chief Deputy paused along the way to speak to his nephew. Hobbs nodded his head vigorously a few times in response to whatever Ramsey was saying to him, and then both men continued on.

  “Here’s the bag, Detective Smith,” Hobbs called out, his boots crunching in the leaves as he neared the dogwood trees. “I tried to move as fast as—” He broke off suddenly, covering one hand over his face, nearly dropping the duffel bag. His eyes fell on the corpse and then, making a noise that was somewhere between a cough and a gag, he staggered back. The color left his face, causing Avery to mentally will him not to vomit.

  “There’s a jar of VapoRub in the side pocket of the bag,” she said, striding toward him. “Put some under your nose, it’ll help with the smell.”

  Hobbs dropped to one knee, casting furtive glances at the woman’s body as he fumbled with the bag. Finally seeming to remember how to work a zipper, he pulled it open and retrieved the dark blue jar from just inside the bag.

  “Here,” Avery said, holding her hand out to him. “Let me have it.”

  He handed her the jar and stood. He opened his mouth to speak and then closed it just as quickly. He put a fisted hand over his mouth and then nodded as if to assure himself. “I’m okay now, Detective Smith.” He swallowed hard before continuing, “I’m sorry.”

  “There’s nothing to be sorry for. Have you ever seen a dead body before?”

  “We had a dog get hit by a car when I was in middle school. He made it most of the way home and died in our front yard.”

  “But no people.”

  “No,” Hobbs shook his head, his eyes darting past Avery’s shoulder to the body. “No people.”

  She twisted the lid off the jar. “Take two fingers’ worth and smear it just under your nose,” she said, as she did just that. “It’ll help kill your sense of smell for a while.” She held the jar to Hobbs and waited while he did as she directed before putting the lid back on. She bent, placing the container back in the duffel bag’s side pocket, and then removed a box of blue nitrile gloves from the depths of the bag. She pulled out a pair of gloves before tossing the box to Hobbs. She slid on the gloves, watching his face as she asked, “What questions do you have?”

  “A lot,” he answered, putting on his own pair of gloves before dropping the box back into the open bag.

  At least he’s hon
est. “Okay,” she continued, moving to stand beside him. “When you look at the body, what is the first question that comes to mind?”

  Hobbs chewed on his lower lip while he stared at the woman’s corpse. Finally, he said, “Why is it green?”

  “There is no it, Hobbs,” she frowned. “That woman over there was someone’s daughter. Maybe someone’s sister or wife or mother. The minute you stop thinking of her as anything other than that—than a life who has been stolen—you lose your connection. It’s our job to stay connected, to find out who or what did this to her.”

  “I’m sorry, Detective Smith. Why is she green?”

  Avery gave a small nod. “Good question. It’s the bacteria in the body breaking down tissue, organs, what have you. It turns the skin an aquamarine color. That helps tell us how long she’s been dead.”

  “How long has she been dead, Detective Smith?”

  “At least thirty-six hours. That we know because she’s out of rigor mortis…she’s not stiff. When the coroner arrives, he’ll get a body temp, and that’ll help us narrow down time of death.”

  “Okay. So what we do first?”

  “You’re going to stay right here until I tell you otherwise,” she said firmly. “No offense, Hobbs, but when we catch the person who did this and get them to trial, I’d rather not have a defense attorney picking apart your lack of investigative expertise in front of a jury.”

  “None taken.”

  Avery reached into the bag and pulled out a small black digital camera. Looking at the camera as she turned it on and began to adjust the settings, she said, “Your job will be to stand here and write down whatever I tell you to in your little notebook, and hand me what I need from the bag.” She looked back up at him. “Got it?”