Boneyard (3 page)

Two

Kelly Jones peered out the window of the helicopter as it circled the site. Through the dense foliage below she could make out a long line of people hunched shoulder to shoulder, slowly forcing their way through the underbrush.

She tapped the button activating her mike. “Are those state police down there?”

The helicopter pilot shook his head. “From what I hear, local search and rescue is handling it. Berkshire State Police couldn’t spare the manpower.”

Kelly made a motion for him to drop down and circle. The chopper banked right. Sunlight glistened off the tops of the waves kicked up by their rotors as they dove past small beaver ponds. A few heads in the line tilted up to stare at them.

“Are we landing soon?” another voice chimed in.

Kelly half turned in her seat to regard the passenger behind her. Despite the fact that they were the only three in the chopper, Dr. Howard Stuart was perched dead center in the back, clutching the seat belts strapping him in, eyes squeezed tightly shut.

Kelly switched her mike back on. “My apologies, Doctor. Thought you’d want to see the scene, since you’ve come all this way.”

One eye cracked open a notch. “I’m not much for flying, I’m afraid.”

“Understood. One more pass and we land.”

Kelly settled back into her seat and sighed. Personally, she’d really enjoyed the chopper. They had left Boston forty-five minutes ago and were already arriving at the opposite end of the state. It had been a beautiful ride, too. All of Massachusetts appeared carpeted in green, a never-ending stream of trees gliding past below. As they approached the Berkshires the terrain started to roll in waves, hills rising up to lap at them as they passed overhead. It had temporarily made her forget about the grim job she was heading toward, and she made a mental note to thank McLarty for arranging it. Dr. Stuart was clearly not feeling the same way. She sincerely hoped the forensic anthropologist would prove useful so that they could get out of here quickly. He certainly looked as if he knew his way around a lab—judging by his pallor he hadn’t been out of a Smithsonian bunker in years.

They set down by a small picnic area, next to an open pavilion that swept to the edge of a large pond. It reminded her of a summer camp she had gone to as a kid. Gorgeous day like this, Clarksburg State Park should have been packed with people enjoying the last gasp of summer, Kelly thought. It was closed now, had been for a week, ever since the first remains were discovered. Today the picnic tables and deserted boat launch played host to a squadron of police cars and green forest service SUVs.

Kelly jumped lightly from her seat as the rotors slowed and strode forward. A group of Massachusetts state troopers were perched on the edge of one of the tables, sipping from Dunkin’ Donuts cups. Their chatter stilled as she approached.

“Special Agent Kelly Jones, FBI,” she said, flashing her badge. They gazed at her in silence. Inwardly she sighed. McLarty was right, she was probably going to have a turf war on her hands. “Mind pointing out who’s in charge?”

One of the troopers jerked his head toward the woods. “The L.T. is in there, supervising the search and rescue unit.”

“Just follow the trail,” offered one of the younger troopers, eyes glued to her chest.

She nodded briskly and turned toward the woods. As she walked off, the first cop called after her, “Mind asking when we can break for lunch?”

Yeah, because you’ve worked up such an appetite, Kelly thought to herself, already annoyed. This was her least favorite type of assignment, dealing with old remains when the killer’s trail had long since gone cold. Not to mention she’d be leading a task force comprised of cops from different jurisdictions in neighboring states. In cases like this the cops frequently split into warring camps, with everyone hoarding information and eyeing one another with distrust. Added to that was the fact that the murders had taken place in the Berkshires, a summer resort for old Manhattan money, so the media pressure was intense. Worst-case scenario, the investigation could drag on for months, years even. And, on top of everything else, she had a forensic anthropologist to babysit.

“Um, Agent Jones?”

She stopped and turned to find Dr. Stuart nervously tugging at the chin strap on his hat. Despite the fact that over the phone she’d advised him to dress for fieldwork, he was wearing suit pants, a short-sleeve shirt, tie and dress shoes. Apparently fieldwork for him carried different connotations.

“Yes, Doctor?”

“Would you mind terribly if I waited here? I neglected to bring bug repellent, and I understand the ticks can be quite vicious this time of year.”

“Why don’t you see if they have anything in transition from the site to the lab.” She nodded back toward the picnic tables. “I’m sure those officers would be happy to help you.”

The woods were oddly silent. It was a beautiful day, a slight breeze stirring the leaves as she strolled down the path, knotting her hair in a ponytail as she went. The scent of pine and cedar coated the humid air. A half mile down the trail she came across two men. Hands on their hips, they watched the search and rescue line’s slow progress.

“Detective Lieutenant Doyle?” Kelly asked.

The taller man turned to face her. He was in his mid-forties with steel-gray hair boxed in a crew cut, sporting the standard-issue state trooper Ray-Bans and mustache. Instead of a uniform, he was dressed in khaki slacks and a white polo shirt. “You the Feds?” he asked through the piece of gum he was working over.

She nodded and extended a hand. “Fed singular, I’m afraid. My understanding is that you just need someone to help coordinate the task force. Special Agent Kelly Jones. How’s the search going?”

Doyle shook hands reluctantly and shrugged. “Just dandy, considering the animal activity, beavers rerouting the river and all. Most of what we’re finding is damned old—could be from an Indian burial ground for all we know. For the record, I think a task force is a waste of time. I figure we got a lost hiker on our hands.”

Kelly ignored the last part and turned toward the other man. He was dressed in an expensive pair of hiking shorts and an expedition shirt. He’d removed his sunglasses and was peering at her through warm brown eyes. “Nice to meet you, Agent Jones. I’m Sam Morgan. I’m helping Bill and Monica coordinate the search.”

“Are you a trooper?”

He laughed and waved a hand dismissively. “Me? Afraid I’m just a civilian. I’m a stockbroker who moonlights as president of the Berkshire Search and Rescue Unit.” Sam gestured toward the line of people retreating steadily away from them. “We’re an all-volunteer group, usually called in when a day-hiker doesn’t show up for dinner. This is pretty much the most exciting thing we’ve ever done, at least since I’ve been around.”

Kelly half smiled at his enthusiasm. “And you’ve been out here for about a week?”

“Six days. The first few days we were working the quadrant closest to the campground—that’s where we found most of the bones. Now we’re working known animal trails. They have standard routes to and from the lake to their dens. No luck today, though. If you’d like, I could show you on the topo map—”

“We got another one!” a voice called out excitedly.

Kelly glanced at the men. “Shall we?”

She led the way off the trail in the direction of the voice. The ground was slightly marshy underfoot, her hiking boots sinking into the lush carpet of needles blanketing the forest floor. The farther from the trail she got, the more the trees thickened until she was dodging branches. Not the easiest place to dump a body, Kelly thought to herself. Factoring in the hike from the parking lot and the terrain, it would have to be done at night, by someone who knew the woods fairly well.

The line of searchers had stopped a hundred yards off the path. A few of them stood silently to the side. They looked exhausted, Kelly thought sympathetically. Most were middle-aged men in sweat-soaked shorts and T-shirts. They probably never imagined when they signed up for the SAR unit that they’d be spending days searching for scattered human remains.

She squatted down and peered at the spot they were staring at. A small finger bone protruded from the moss; brownish-white, it pointed accusingly toward the sky. “All right. Let’s mark this one and get a few shots of it. You’re recording these on a central map?”

“Not my first dump site, miss,” Doyle mumbled at her shoulder.

“No, I’m sure it’s not. Just double-checking. When you’re finished, I’ll send my guy in for collection.” Kelly straightened up.

“Uh-uh.” Doyle shook his head vigorously from side to side. “We’re still on our side of the state line. Anything found in Massachusetts, stays in Massachusetts. I’m under orders to send all we get to the state lab.”

Despite the fact that he was right, she found his condescending tone grating. Unfortunately, she had no authority to order the remains sent anywhere until there was proof that something other than a bear had dragged the victim across the border. “I see. And where’s that?”

A smile played about his lips. “Sudbury.”

“Sudbury? Outside Boston?”

“That’s the only Sudbury I know of, miss.” Doyle rocked back on his heels, clearly enjoying himself.

“You swinging that dick around again, Bill?” asked a female voice.

The lieutenant’s smile instantly faded. “Thought we’d agreed to stick to our respective borders.”

A petite woman with blond hair cut in a bob had emerged from the woods and was standing behind them. Also in her mid-forties, her green eyes matched her uniform and shone through a healthy tan. She grinned at Kelly while waving a hand dismissively at Doyle. “Borders, schmorders. Don’t worry, honey, we saved some bones for you. Ignore Doyle, just this morning I caught him pissing on some bushes to mark his territory.”

“Bullshit.” A red flush rose up Doyle’s neck. “You know damn well…”

“Yeah, yeah.” She rolled her eyes and her grin widened. “Morning, Sam. Sam’s one of the good ones, aren’t you, Sam?”

Sam Morgan was hanging back, watching the exchange. “Awfully nice of you to say so, Monica.”

“Shame he lives on this side of the state line, that’s all I can say.” Monica turned to Kelly and explained, “Sam and I took a spelunking class together a while back and, let me tell you, this guy put the rest of us to shame. Sam, you belong in Vermont, you and that nice family of yours should look into property there. The schools are a damn sight better, not to mention the people.”

“Please, Monica, you were the star of that class,” Sam replied, grinning. “There was this one tunnel, it was just a foot high and went back a hundred yards before opening into a chamber. She was the only one of us to make it through.”

“Too bad she didn’t stay there,” Doyle grumbled under his breath.

Monica glared at him before shifting her attention back to Kelly. “Welcome to the party, honey, and about time you got here. Doyle has nearly driven me to my last nerve.”

Monica gripped Kelly’s hand firmly, almost crushing it. Kelly winced slightly.

“Oops, sorry about that, just so happy to see you. Lieutenant Monica Lauer, Vermont State Police, Bureau of Criminal Investigation. So, we found another one?”

“Looks like a finger bone,” Kelly said.

“Like a jigsaw puzzle, isn’t it? We got parts of one body in our lab, which—” she raised an eyebrow pointedly in Doyle’s direction “—is in Bennington, just a hop, skip and jump away. Ours is missing an arm, so we figure it might be the rest of the John Doe that hiker stumbled across. Massachusetts is sitting on four or five more, near as I can figure, but it’s hard to know what we’ve got when everything is scattered to the four corners.”

“Massachusetts has one of the top forensics facilities in the country,” Doyle snorted.

“Yeah? ’Cause last I heard your lab screwed the pooch on a whole bunch of DNA samples,” Monica retorted.

Noting the flare of Doyle’s nostrils, Kelly interceded. “I’d like to get a better sense of what we’re dealing with before we discuss the jurisdictional issues.” She was suddenly aware of the weight of dozens of eyes. The entire SAR team had stopped and was watching the discussion with interest. “Mr. Morgan, perhaps…”

“Call me Sam, please.” He raised his voice and clapped his hands together. “All right, everyone, why don’t we take a break for lunch, start up again in a half hour?” He led the team back toward the trail, leaving the three of them standing alone. Kelly looked from one to the other. Monica stood with her hands on her hips, while Doyle had locked his jaw in a grimace.

“So it looks like we have a lot to talk about,” Kelly said, leading them away as a forensics technician materialized and began taking photographs of the bone in situ. “Things here seem pretty much under control. Lieutenant, I’m guessing you can suggest a place in town for us to have lunch?”

They piled into Doyle’s squad car and slowly edged out of the lot. Monica Lauer was simmering in the back seat. Kelly could sense the waves of dislike emanating from her. She repressed the urge to gnaw her lip, which was already starting to feel raw. Obviously these two were clashing, and so far she hadn’t been impressed with the level of professionalism demonstrated by either of them. None of which boded well for the investigation.

A uniform up ahead eased a sawhorse to the side of the road and waved them through. Instantly, they were swarmed by a herd of reporters; four television station vans were parked along the road. Doyle brushed them off like gnats, but slowed as they approached a blond reporter at the far edge of the scrum.

“What are you doing?” Kelly asked, puzzled.

Doyle rolled down his window and smiled at the blonde, who leaned forward just enough to reveal a hint of cleavage. “Afternoon, Jan,” he said, grin widening.

“Lieutenant Doyle, good to see you!” Jan responded in a honeyed voice. “Anything new?”

In the back seat Monica muttered, “For Pete’s sake.”

“Lieutenant Doyle…” Kelly said warningly.

He ignored her. “Same as I told you earlier, we’re thinking maybe an Indian burial ground, or a couple of lost hikers.”

“Really?” Jan glanced at the other reporters, who had surged forward with their mikes and were pressing in on her. She shoved back at them with her hip and leaned in closer. “Because there are rumors that a serial killer might be responsible.”