Hidden Fire, Kobo (4 page)

* * * * *

"You have something?" Randy
asked Connor.

"Maybe." Connor crouched to the
ground about five feet from where the body had lain. With a gloved fingertip, he
scraped at the dirt, revealing a metallic gleam. He snapped a few shots to
document the finding.

"A key?" Randy said. "You
think it belonged to the vic?"

"Might have," Connor said. "If
they stripped him here, it could have fallen out of a pocket." He shot
another picture, then lifted the key from the soil. He angled his flashlight
for a better look. "Might have a partial. We'll see what we get at the
lab."

"Maybe they'll match the vic and
that's a start." Randy crouched down and examined the small, flat key
while Connor held it. "Safe deposit box? Mailbox?"

"I'm thinking padlock," Connor
said.

Randy rubbed his neck against the
beginnings of a tension headache. "I'll work my way outward with the metal
detector. Kovak's trying to figure out how they got the body in here."

"Sounds good to me. Keep looking for
a shell casing. Doc said her guess was a high-power rifle. I'll work out in the
other direction, check for anything out of place."

Connor retreated and Randy settled the
headphones over his ears.

An endless hour of listening to the
beeping metal detector had netted four dollars and seventy-two cents in change,
sixteen beer and soda cans, one silver chain, and a splitting headache. He
doubted any of it was related to the crime, but he'd found them within the
radius Connor had suggested as being most likely to have viable trace. But no
shell casings. Whoever shot this guy probably watched too much television and
took them with him.

Everything was photographed, bagged and
tagged. He pulled the headphones from his ears and wiped his sleeve across his
forehead. It took a minute for his hearing to readjust to the normal night
noises. Tree branches creaked and leaves rustled, but he heard no animal
sounds. Not unexpected. Between the banks of lights and the camera flashes, any
self-respecting creature would have found a nice, dark hole to curl up in.

The sound of a car engine approached,
stopped, followed by a door opening and closing. He turned. At last. The county
CSI team was here. Connor was already approaching them.

Randy hastened to join the gathering of
techs. "Glad to see you," he said. "You know Mike Connor, right?"

The men nodded.

"I'd like to collect as much as we
can tonight," Randy said. "I'll arrange to secure the scene, but it's
going to be tough to keep the entire property cordoned off. I appreciate the
extra effort."

The techs nodded, already looking around.
Connor started explaining what they'd done and Randy heard them talking about
alternative light sources and Luminol.

Randy pulled out his cell phone. His
finger hovered over the speed dial button for Sarah, but he resisted. He'd
probably wake her and hearing her voice would be too much of a distraction. He
looked at the phone before clipping it back on his belt. When it rang, his
heart jumped. He willed Sarah's name to appear on the display. Instead, it was
Charlotte's.

"Doc. You find something already?"

"Not yet. I wanted to let you know I'm
going to cut at eight tomorrow morning. This one's moving to the head of the
line. I'll get the DNA out to the state lab with a priority rush."

"Thanks."

"I've got the prints into the
system, too. If anything pops right away, I'll call."

"Another thanks."

"Think nothing of it. Whodunits are
the toughies, aren't they? And until we know who this vic is, we've got a
doozey."

He thanked Charlotte and disconnected.
For most crimes, the
who
did it was usually the easy part. Rival
gang-bangers, jealous lovers, family members—people known to the victim. The
challenge was making a case that would stand up in court. Knowing the victim
gave you the starting circle of suspects. He hoped this would fall into that
category. Solving a true whodunit where there were no clear suspects worked for
mystery books. In real life, they too often stayed in the open files.

He caught a glimpse of Kovak talking to
one of the county techs, most likely showing him what evidence he wanted
collected, or at least where he thought would be the best place to look.

Connor came over, putting fresh batteries
in his flashlight.

"How's it going?" Randy asked.

"We'll be awhile yet," Connor
said. "The vic wasn't wearing shoes and there are some spots clear enough
where we've got shoe prints, but none of bare feet."

Randy considered that. "So, he was
dressed when he got here."

"Or someone carried him in and then
shot him. But that seems like a lot of extra work."

"The techs are processing the shoe
prints. And maybe some facial bone fragments, if they can find them. A lot of
leaves on the ground, though, and the wind was pretty strong last night."

Randy blew out a slow breath and took one
more look at the scene. "Damn. It's not supposed to rain, is it?"

Connor shrugged. "Hey, this is
Oregon. It could rain anytime."

"Let's hope this isn't one of those
times. With luck, we'll get enough tonight, but plan on coming back tomorrow."

"You're the detective."

Which meant he was in charge, but he also
needed to work on the victim's identity. "And you know your job."
Randy dragged his fingers through his hair. "What do you think?"

"How about we go out about ten feet,
then if Kovak finds the entry point, we'll work that way."

Randy nodded. He respected the lab crew's
ability to know what was likely to be part of a crime scene and what was
superfluous. He trained his light on the ground as he walked back to where
Kovak was working. "Any luck?"

Kovak pointed to what looked like partial
shoe prints and dislodged rocks and branches. "This is my best guess."

"Why don't you go hit the computers?
I'll meet you in the office." He rotated his neck, working out the kinks. "I'll
update Brody and follow up with some of the neighbors."

"He did okay for his first scene,"
Kovak said. "You gonna keep him on all night? One officer isn't going to
be able to control the perimeter."

They walked back to Kovak's car while
Randy thought about the size of the crime scene he'd taped, considering the
options. "I'll get a couple of uniforms from the night shift. Neville, if
he's on duty. He's got that intimidation factor. And maybe having a cruiser
parked out here will keep the rubberneckers away. Brody's done enough for his
first homicide scene." And he wasn't about to leave a rookie out here
alone in case the killer came back.

Kovak nodded. "Probably save the kid
a few nightmares, too. Nothing like being alone in the woods somewhere you've
seen a dead body."

"There is the scary movie factor,
yes."

"Right. See you later." Kovak
said.

"Hang on a sec." Randy got into
his truck and rummaged through his suitcase for the bag of designer coffee he'd
bought for Kovak in San Francisco. If they were going to pull an all-nighter at
the station, at least they wouldn't be drinking sludge. "Here you go."

Kovak's eyes lit up. "Thanks, big
guy." He slid into his car and drove off.

Randy ran what he had through his head as
he went to check on Brody. The key was a start.
If
they could tie it to
the victim. On television, they'd take the key to the lab, stick it in a box,
punch a button and in seconds, a computer would spit out what the damn thing
unlocked and who owned it. Probably what he'd had for breakfast.

Why couldn't it have been a wallet? A
nice smooth leather wallet covered with prints and filled with ID.

Yeah, right.

Randy sat at his desk and stared at the
pictures of his faceless victim. Not exactly what they'd put in the paper with
a "Do you know this man?" caption.

"You think it was a mob hit?"
Kovak asked. "The vic was shot in the back of the head."

Randy looked up from the monitor. "The
mob? In Pine Hills? What the hell for? And why strip him?"

"Harder to identify?"

"If that was their goal, why leave
his hands? Charlotte's already sent his prints to the network." He
swiveled his chair and faced Kovak's desk. "It's the abdominal carving
that worries me. What if we
do
have a serial killer here?"

"Why did that reporter bring it up
out of the blue, anyway?" Kovak asked.

"Good question. I've never seen her
before and I thought I knew them all."

"Let me call her station manager and
do some checking."

Randy went over to the whiteboard on the
wall and started a timeline. He taped a photo of the victim to the board, front
and center as a grim reminder of his job, which was making certain the victim
had a spokesperson.

"I think I got it," Kovak said
from his desk.

Randy snapped his head around. "Our
victim?"

"No, our reporter. She hails from
Portland, worked at the newspaper. Wanted the fame and glory of television,
moved to Salem. The Portland paper's been running a series of articles on
serial killers. Our little Miss Penny was way out of line, even for the
television news standards. She'll be duly chastised for her attempts at
sensationalism."

"Okay, then she's got serial killers
on the brain." He stepped across the office and sank into his chair. "I'll
check the newspaper archives. See if I can match our victim to one of the
articles they ran." He scrolled through the articles, aware of Kovak
standing over his shoulder.

"Look at that one," Kovak said.
"The Triple X Murders. You think our victim's part of it?"

"Shit, I hope not." Already his
belly was protesting against what it must know was going to be a diet of
caffeine and little else for the next few days.

"I'll send what we have to ViCAP,"
Kovak said. "See if they have anything similar." He was already at
his computer.

Randy's lips twitched at Kovak's
eagerness. Then again, how often did the Pine Hills Police Force see anything
worth reporting to the Violent Criminal Apprehension Program? "And I don't
need to tell you the pattern—hell, even the fact he was cut—does
not
leave the office."

"No, you don't." Kovak clicked
his mouse, then gave Randy a contrite look. "Hey, I didn't mean I liked
the idea of someone getting murdered. But come on. We don't get this kind of
crime here. This is—well, tell me your adrenaline isn't pumping. And that you're
not looking forward to using what you picked up in San Francisco."

"What I learned in 'Frisco is that
we'll be lucky to solve this case and we'll lose a lot of sleep trying. But let's
give it our best shot. And, as I recall, that ViCAP form's going to take a while
to fill out. You work on that, I'll see what I can do with missing persons reports."

* * * * *

Connor rolled in at about three a.m. "Damn,
that coffee smells good."

"Kona. Compliments of the big guy,"
Kovak said. "Help yourself."

Connor disappeared, then returned with
his Garfield mug. He stepped to the file cabinet where the office coffeepot sat
and poured himself the rich brew.

Randy let him savor the coffee before he
spoke. "Anything good to report?"

Connor shook his head. "Way out of
our league here. The county took the evidence to their wizards. I can do some
print work and look at the pictures, but we didn't find anything conclusive.
Any leads on who the guy is?"

"Only who he isn't," Randy
said. "No hits on his prints from the Western Identification Network
database yet. I'm hoping we get something to go on from the autopsy before we
have to start searching farther out. Seven states is enough."

"Strange," Connor said. He took
another slug of his coffee. "Someone shot like that, you'd think he'd run
in circles of the unsavory sort. I'd have bet my shirt he had a record."

Randy glanced at Connor's shirt and
smiled.
My Search Engine Ran out of Gas
. "I'd have taken the
bet—but right now, your shirt says it all."

Connor glanced down and grinned in
return. "I'm happy to relinquish it."

"I'd rather not be reminded of my
failures. Thanks anyway."

Connor slipped back to the coffee pot and
topped off his mug. "I'm going to see if I can lift any prints from that
key, then call it a night. I'll let you know."

While Kovak went to brew a fresh pot,
Randy clicked open another search engine and settled in. He spent a few hours
on what he convinced himself was productive work—after all, eliminating
possibilities
was
part of the process—then stood and twisted the kinks
out of his back. It was almost dawn. Connor had found a clear partial print,
but it, too, wasn't in the fingerprint database. It would be weeks, maybe
months before the CODIS system gave them anything on the DNA, assuming the man
had a record. Randy extended the scope of missing persons reports to five
counties, with nothing matching the vague description of their victim. But with
a body dead barely a day, it was possible nobody had missed him yet.