No Escape (7 page)

‘Try not to get too wild and crazy at this bachelorette party.’

‘It’s not me you have to worry about,’ Jo said. ‘It’s Cassidy.’

‘And I’m counting on you to be the levelheaded one that says no. Lara’s too nice.’

‘I promise.’

The forensic techs unloaded the ground penetrating radar, which looked much like a push mower with large wheels and a computer screen mounted on the handle. At first, progress was slowgoing, guiding the device through the muck, but the technicians soon had the machine past the line of police cars and worked their way toward what remained of the barn.

Brody and the Rangers moved closer to the search site. Jo straightened, trying to work the kinks from her back. As much as she wanted peace for the victims’ families, a big part of her hoped Smith had been lying. Logic suggested that the summons to West Livingston, the lies about the graves, and all his mind games were intended to stir trouble for trouble’s sake.

The slow and meticulous process of pushing the GPR in a gridlike fashion began, and Jo was left with the Rangers to stand and watch the process.

The barn had all but collapsed on itself though stubborn chips of red paint still clung to grayed and weather-ravaged boards that lay in a heap on the ground. Tall weeds peppered the land around the barn’s old footprint and had woven their way up through the boards. In five years there’d be no trace of the place.

Across the field Brody stood, his hands on his hips, as he watched the technicians work. Her mother would call her a fool for saying this, but she could see that he’d changed in fourteen years. He wasn’t the swaggering baseball player with a quick story or a joke. He was a serious man. Hard to be a Marine and a Ranger, witness what they did, and not grow up.

He’d been the lead for the human trafficking case last year. She’d watched the news, and camera crews caught a glimpse of Brody leading a twelve-year-old girl out of a storage shed. The girl had been crying and filthy, covered in weeks of grime. And she’d been wearing Brody’s jacket. He’d had his arm draped protectively around her thin shoulders, as a father would his own child.

She never stopped to ask if he was married now. He wasn’t wearing a wedding band but many cops didn’t. The less the bad guys knew about you, the better. Picturing him with a wife and children sent a flush of embarrassment racing up her neck and face. He’d been frozen in time for her these last fourteen years. She’d always pictured him surrounded by cheerleaders or, with her studying, trying to find a reason why he should care about Shakespeare. Or children. But because she couldn’t picture it didn’t mean it wasn’t true.

Emotion she’d not expected or wanted rose up in her, tightening her chest. Made sense he’d move on with his life. Most everyone had. Except her.

‘I think we found something,’ the technician called.

She shook off the sting of emotion and watched as Brody, Jim and Santos walked toward the GPR. The technician pointed to the screen and then at the ground, nodding his head sideways as if he were as surprised as everyone else.

The technician placed an orange flag in the ground and continued pushing the GPR over the soggy earth. Ten minutes later he raised his hand, indicating another hit. Another ten minutes and another hit. Three bodies. Just as Smith had said.

A deep sense of unease strengthened and coiled around her insides.

Brody spoke to the technicians and though she could not hear, it was clear from his expression he wasn’t satisfied. He wanted the land north of the barn also searched.

A grim frown deepened the lines on the technician’s face, but he pushed the machine through the muck.

Brody stood in the center of the first field, three orange flags circling him. He’d been trying to get answers for three families for over three years and now he was close.

However, his grim expression held no hint of satisfaction. He looked sad, and judging by the deep lines at his temples and the dark circles under his eyes, he was exhausted.

‘Winchester!’ the tech shouted. ‘I’ve found another one here.’

The hum of conversation silenced and everyone watched as Brody, Jim and Santos moved toward the site.

Four bodies. Not three.

They’d all expected Smith to lie.

And he had.

Robbie stared into the small television, which televised an image from a hunter’s camera secured high in the trees above his burial site. His plot of land now swarmed with a sea of cop cars and Texas Rangers. They’d found Smith’s bodies. And his.

He sat back, folded his arms over his chest and smiled. The fact that the cops were here meant that Harvey had sent them. No way they’d have found this place without Harvey.

Robbie smiled. Harvey had read his message in the classifieds, and he’d sent the cops. Not to punish him but to say,
I know, boy. I know.

Pulling in a satisfied breath, he was unable to tear his gaze from the images. For days he’d wondered if Harvey had seen his message. He’d feared his father would go to his grave never knowing that his creation had matured and become the man Harvey had intended.

He watched the cops, shovels in hand, hovering around Smith’s graves and his own. He touched the screen, wishing Harvey and he could share this moment together. The old man was sick, dying, and there’d not be many days left.

Robbie tipped back his head and closed his eyes smiling.
Thank you, Harvey.

Years ago, Smith had tried to make him into a man and he’d failed. After a decade he’d finally proven himself to his father.

Harvey had said there was no sweeter rush than killing. Robbie hadn’t experienced a rush; however a deep satisfaction had washed over him when he’d shoveled the last bits of dirt on the grave.

Harvey’s days were down to a precious few. He had weeks at most.

If he didn’t delay, perhaps he could kill several more times before Harvey died. The old man could read about his exploits in the news and perhaps recapture the thrill that had given him such joy.

For Harvey, he would keep killing.

Sunday, April 7, 3:00
P.M.

‘We have three skeletonized remains,’ Marissa Reardon, the medical examiner’s assistant, said.

Brody hitched his muddied boot on the bumper of the medical examiner’s van as Marissa cradled a warm cup of coffee in her hands. Petite and in her early thirties, she wore her long, dark hair tied back in a ponytail. She was the only tech he’d met who always wore makeup, perfume and earrings no matter the time of day or weather conditions. Jokes painting her as a debutante made her laugh, but when she was on the job it was all about business.

Brody leaned in. ‘Just as we expected.’

‘There will have to be lots of testing at the lab when we get the remains back, but they’ve been in the ground a long time. You said Smith was arrested three years ago?’

‘That’s right.’

She sipped her coffee. ‘That would fit the initial findings here.’

‘Can you identify them?’

‘Seeing as you have three victims that were never accounted for, it will be easy enough to match dental records. And if we don’t have those records we might be able to pull DNA from teeth or bones.’

‘One of the victims suffered a fractured femur when she was eight.’

Marissa shrugged. ‘An X-ray can also assist with identification.’

A grim sense of satisfaction worked its way through his tense muscles as it did after a grueling workout. ‘You haven’t discussed the fourth victim.’

A sigh shuddered through her body as she stared at the grave she’d yet to unearth. ‘That’s why I decided to take a quick break. I’m tired, and I want to be on my game when we excavate the fourth victim.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘GPR suggests those remains aren’t old. It indicated the presence of flesh.’

‘Flesh. That can’t be right.’

‘I excavated part of the skull.’ Cradling her coffee in both hands, she took a sip. ‘From what I can tell, the deceased hasn’t been in the ground much more than a week.’

‘What?’

‘Your fourth victim couldn’t have been killed by Smith. Unless he found a way to sneak in and out of prison without anyone noticing.’

Brody’s frown deepened. Smith had mentioned an apprentice. Robbie. ‘When can you excavate that body?’

Marissa stared into her coffee cup, as if willing it to give her strength. ‘Give me a minute. The men and I will get started again soon.’

‘Thanks.’

In the last seven hours Brody had been so caught up in the crime scene he’d not been able to get back to check on Jo. Now as he moved away from Marissa he caught sight of her pale face, as she stood alone, huddling in her jacket. He now regretted not making the time to check in on her.

‘Jo,’ he said.

She raised her head. Recognition flickered in her gaze but there was no hint of a smile. ‘How’s it going?’

‘The forensic team is excavating the first three bodies.’

‘And the fourth?’

He tightened his jaw. ‘It’s not like the others.’

‘Meaning?’

‘This last victim was killed within the last week.’

Her head tipped, as it did when she was a teenager. The slight movement indicated she’d stepped back from emotion, and her brain had turned to computing the issue at hand. ‘Smith mentioned the apprentice. Robbie.’

‘I know. I wasn’t sure how to take the information.’

‘Did you check the paper for the ad?’

‘I did. Most look like typical ads, whereas a few appear to be messages.
“In it to win it”
was one.
Another was “Bluebonnets” and the last, “Call Rafe.”
Robbie and Harvey aren’t the only ones who use the classifieds for messages. We’re trying to trace all the purchasers of those ads. But each was paid for with cash.’

A furrow creased the delicate skin between her eyes. ‘I should go back and talk to Smith again. Find out what else he knows about Robbie.’

‘There’s time for that. First, we finish what we have here.’ He sure as hell wouldn’t let her go back to that prison alone. He’d hated the way that monster had stared at her through the glass. Crawled in her head. Whenever he’d dealt with Smith in the past he’d always been able to keep his cool. He could play nice with the animal in the hopes of getting answers. But he’d come close to losing his temper yesterday.

She raised her chin a notch. ‘This is your investigation, so I’ll take my cue from you. But I’m no kid. I know what I’m doing, and I can handle Smith.’

‘This is no reflection on your professional talent.’

He’d never had doubts about her intellect. From the get-go, he’d known she was smarter than most, including himself, and could do or be whatever she wanted. ‘Trust me on this one.’

‘Of course.’

Stiff, professional, he understood her trust did not extend beyond work.

Marissa, who now worked on the fourth victim, motioned him to come.

‘I’ll be back as soon as I can,’ he said.

‘Let me have a look. I might see something.’

He frowned. ‘Suit yourself.’

When they reached the burial site roped off by yellow crime scene tape, Brody reached for plastic gloves in his coat pocket. He handed a set to Jo and called out to Marissa. ‘What do you have?’

‘I’ve cleaned off the face and upper body.’ She rose and stepped aside as a forensic technician snapped digital pictures. ‘But it’s clear she was young. I think her hair was blond. It’s so caked with dirt now.’ She hesitated. ‘I’m going to let the medical examiner do the cleaning. I don’t want to disturb any evidence.’

Brody raised the tape for Jo and the two ducked under. Immediately, the heavy scent of death rose foul and putrid from the ground. He’d smelled it enough times and knew he could handle it.

He knelt beside the body and stared at the dirt-caked face of the victim. A woman. No more than thirty. Likely, blond hair. High, sunken cheekbones. The expression frozen on her face telegraphed panic. This close, the odors were thick and heavy.

‘Smith buried his victims alive,’ Brody said. ‘Was she buried alive?’

Marissa shook her head. ‘I don’t know. There is substantial dirt in her mouth and nose but the medical examiner will have to open her up.’

‘Dr. Granger,’ Brody said without glancing back. ‘Any thoughts?’

Slowly she knelt beside him and cleared her throat. She lifted her hand to her nose. ‘Can you remove more of the dirt?’

Marissa nodded and with a small brush slowly brushed away the dirt. A half hour later, the victim’s clothed torso was exposed.

Jo cleared her throat, raised her hand to her nose. ‘Smith abused his victims physically and tied the victims’ hands at their sides, so they couldn’t claw free of the dirt. This victim’s bindings are consistent with Smith, but there is no bruising on her face.’ She swallowed.

Marissa cocked her head. ‘Dr. Granger, this your first crime scene?’

She moistened her lips. ‘Seen my share of crime scene pictures, but this is my first active scene.’

Jo’s face had paled to a pasty white. Her lips were drawn tight. She looked like she wanted to throw up.

Shit. He’d assumed she’d been to crime scenes. ‘You okay?’

Fire spit from her eyes. ‘I’m fine.’

Marissa cocked a brow, a hint of amusement in her eyes. ‘The first murder scene is always roughest. I threw up when I saw my first dead body.’

Jo moistened her lips again and stood, as if the mention of getting sick unsettled her even more. She backed up, creating distance between her and the body. ‘I’m fine.’

The strong, putrid scent of death rose up as Brody stood and took Jo’s elbow in hand. She looked as if she’d topple over. ‘Let’s step back and let Marissa finish her work.’

Jo resisted. ‘I need to observe. There could be valuable observations I’ll miss if I’m not here.’

‘They’re taping it all. We can check it out later.’

‘Seriously, Jo,’ Marissa said. ‘Don’t get sick on my scene.’

Persuaded by the logic, Jo ducked back under the tape and walked stiffly away.

‘She’s going to be sick,’ Marissa said.

Brody was already turning to follow Jo. ‘I know.’

Put one foot in front of the other. One. Two. Three. Jo counted the steps, grateful for each new one that put more distance between her, the body, coiling smells and the cops that would never let her forget this day if she threw up in front of them.

She made it beyond the line of cars and behind a bush before she lost control and vomited. Thankfully, she’d had little to eat today, but humiliation burned as her body took over control, leaving her helpless. When her stomach was empty, she wiped her lips with the back of her hand and straightened.

‘Damn it.’ At least she’d managed this humiliation in private.

She turned to find Brody standing several feet from her, a fresh water bottle in hand. Heat rose over her face. Shit. Shit. Shit. Why couldn’t he have left her alone? He knew she was sick. Just like Brody to push.

He held out the bottle to her. ‘Don’t drink it. Rinse your mouth out.’

She accepted the bottle. ‘Thanks.’

Carefully, she unscrewed the top and took a small sip. However, the idea of spitting in front of Brody bothered her more than her upset stomach. She swallowed and instantly regretted. She turned and vomited again.

Drawing in an irritated, shaky breath, she straightened. This time she took a sip, but after swishing it in her mouth, spit.

‘You always were stubborn,’ he said.

‘Hardheaded was the word you used.’

He smiled as if a memory drifted out of the shadows. ‘You’d been trying to teach me a poem.’

‘Thematic construction.’

A dark brow cocked. ‘I didn’t want to learn, and you refused to sign the sheet releasing me to play ball until I did.’

She moistened her lips, wondering if she could find a ginger ale. ‘You learned it.’

‘Forgot it as soon as I took the test.’

‘But you earned a C minus on the test.’

‘Enough to play ball. I’m surprised you remember.’

‘I should be saying that to you. I’m the one with the great memory. Mindful of trivia you once said.’ They stood poised at memory lane, ready to travel. Mentally, she stepped back as she raised her water bottle, pointing to the scene. ‘Sorry about that. I thought I could handle it.’

‘I should have asked you if you’d been to a crime scene before. I assumed you had.’

She’d foolishly assumed that the hundreds of gruesome crime scene photos she’d seen were enough prep for real life. ‘Like I told Marissa, I’ve seen lots of pictures.’

Brody eased his hat back with the edge of his finger. ‘It’s the smell that got me the first time.’

‘You threw up?’

‘Hell, no.’

‘Oh.’

He chuckled. ‘Don’t take it so personally. Not everyone has a cast-iron stomach like me.’

‘Right.’ Damn, why couldn’t she have kept it together?

‘Why don’t I take you home?’

Her fingers tensed around the bottle. ‘Absolutely not. You’re working.’

He shook his head. ‘You’ve been out here for over seven hours.’

‘As have you and everyone else.’

‘We’re used to it. You’re not. Call it a day, Jo.’

Brody’s kindness flew in the face of angry memories she’d carried of him for too many years. But if she dug deep enough, she remembered that Brody could be nice when it suited. When he’d needed to pass the English exam, he’d called her freckles cute. When he needed his paper edited, he’d called her brilliant. When he’d wanted sex, he’d talked about her hot body.

He was past writing college papers and taking tests now, and considering he’d watched her get sick, she doubted he had sex on his mind. But he wanted insight into this killer. And though she had a weak stomach, she read people especially well.

She scraped her thumbnail against the water bottle’s label. ‘I’m used to working long hours.’

Amusement lightened his gaze and eased some of his stiff formality. ‘Inside. Behind a desk. Different when it’s cold and smells like death.’

She raised the water bottle to her lips, thought better of another sip and recapped it. ‘Point taken. Look, I’m fine. You go back to what you were doing. I am not leaving until the scene is processed.’

‘Stubborn.’

‘I think we covered that ground.’

He looked as if he wanted to speak but thought better of it. ‘Take it easy.’

Her stomach was settling. ‘I’d also like another look at the body.’

Brody raised a brow. ‘Really think that’s a good idea?’

This wasn’t about pleasing Brody, as it might have been when she was eighteen. This was about proving something to herself. ‘I promise not to ruin Marissa’s crime scene. Before my stomach got the better of me, a detail caught my eye.’

Doubt darkened his gaze. ‘You’re sure?’

‘Yes.’

He adjusted his hat back over his brow and extended his hand, indicating the path back to the crime scene. ‘Lead the way.’

When they reached the body this time, the medical examiner’s attendants were preparing to lift the body from the ground. The face and hair were still badly caked in mud and dirt, rendering them unrecognizable. This time she breathed through her mouth and eliminated the smell.

One of Jo’s greatest assets was that she could distance herself from horrific images or a client’s wild emotions. She’d come to understand that if she could remain free of emotions, she could really see the facts and sift efficiently through the data. Moments ago, the smell had gotten the better of her stomach, but she was prepared to pull back and really observe.

Holding the water bottle close to her chest, she studied the victim and the crime scene. However, this time Jo convinced herself she was looking at evidence. This time she focused not on the girl’s humanity but on the details that needed cataloging.

The victim was dressed. A peasant blouse made of a gauzy, green synthetic, likely from a high-end store. Tattered, stonewashed designer jeans that hugged narrow hips, fashioned to look old but in fact were expensive. Detailed black cowboy boots that cost five hundred plus dollars. Remnants of pink nail polish on long fingernails.

‘She came from money,’ Jo said. ‘This girl did not live on the streets.’ She leaned closer, zeroing in on a tattoo on the inside of her left wrist. ‘Can I get a better look at that tattoo?’