Silent Creed (13 page)

I
t’s been a while since I’ve had to dig up a body,” Dr. Gunther told O’Dell.

Both were on their knees, carefully scooping. Ross and another guardsman took the plastic tub away when it got full, replacing it with a second one. The two men had the tedious chore of sifting through the mud for anything that might be considered evidence. O’Dell knew there was slim chance of that. No matter what had originally happened to these bodies—whether they were murdered or not—being caught up in the slide most likely had destroyed any trace evidence.

“I imagine you were surprised then when Mr. Logan called you for this project,” O’Dell said.

She restrained herself from simply coming out and asking the woman why in the world she was here for such a supposedly sensitive mission. However, something in her tone must have tipped off Dr. Gunther, because she shot O’Dell an irritated look.

“It wasn’t Logan,” she said. “I’ve never met the man. His boss and I worked together years ago.”

O’Dell nodded, satisfied. Of course it was something like that. It wasn’t much different from Ben asking her. Old favors. Funny how they could feel an awful lot like payback.

“Your forensic background,” Dr. Gunther began to ask, then she seemed to stop herself and reworded her thoughts. “I understand you’re an FBI agent. But you obviously have extensive experience in retrieving dead bodies.”

O’Dell hesitated, wondering if she should give the short, more appropriate answer. Somehow over the years, without a plan or strategy, she had become a leading expert in criminal behavior, specializing in dismemberment and ritualistic murders. Murders that often ended up being the work of serial killers. The doctor, however, was simply asking why she was a part of this mission.

“When you chase killers for a living, you find yourself examining their handiwork up close and personal whether you like it or not.”

“I don’t understand why they think this body is not a victim of the slide.” She wiped a cloth over his face and shoulder, careful to clean off the mud but not rub hard enough to disturb or break the flesh. “There’s very little decomposition.”

“The mud would slow it down considerably.”

At that moment Dr. Gunther grabbed for her flashlight.

“This is interesting.”

She flipped the switch and, instead of examining the shoulder more closely, the doctor pointed the light up higher, where something had caught her eye. Slowly she swept the beam over the portion of the man’s head that was exposed. They only had a side view. The other half of his face was still buried in mud.

He’d shaved his hair down to the scalp. Dr. Gunther’s cleaning efforts now revealed circular marks, slight indentations that showed up in the harsh beam of light. The three circles were a bit shinier than the rest of his skin, as if some kind of greasy solution had been used that prevented the dirt from sticking.

O’Dell waited, expecting Dr. Gunther to voice a theory, but the woman remained quiet. O’Dell could venture to guess the marks had been made by electrode pads. She wondered if his head had been shaved specifically for some kind of neurological test.

When Dr. Gunther still hadn’t said anything, O’Dell glanced at her. She could see the pinched furrow between the woman’s eyes. Her thin lips were pursed tight. Without comment she moved the beam of light back to the shoulder and began wiping the dirt away. This time her fingers appeared more hesitant. Even as an image started to reveal itself, Dr. Gunther slowed her movements.

Before the old woman had shifted her attention to the dead man’s head, O’Dell noticed the corner of a tattoo starting to reveal itself on his shoulder. She suspected the yellow beak of an eagle. She could make out the top of letters curved above it and guessed it read:
U.S. Airborne.

Tattoos were often valuable in identifying a corpse. Ink pooled deep into the dermis, so even during decomposition if the epidermis had been shed, the tattoo actually showed up more brilliantly. But O’Dell expected this one might simply indicate that the victim had served in the military.

Dr. Gunther stopped suddenly. Again she grabbed the flashlight with an urgency that warranted surprise. But again the woman remained silent and O’Dell was growing impatient. Was she not sharing her thoughts because O’Dell was an outsider? A federal agent?

“What is it?” she finally asked.

But now O’Dell saw what had grabbed the doctor’s interest. Lower on the arm, close to the elbow, the skin bubbled up. Mean streaks of red-brown imprinted the areas in between.

“Burns?” O’Dell asked.

The doctor looked up at her and nodded. “Maybe chemical burns,” she said.

O’Dell’s eyes darted around the area outside the screened-in tent. If the chemicals were still present, would they have smelled them? And why in the world had they not been warned?

“Are you talking about chemicals leaked because of the landslide?”

“No, no. At least I don’t believe so.” The woman shook her head. “These would be serious chemicals administered to this individual to cause such a severe reaction. Most likely toxic.”

“Should we be in hazmat suits?”

But again Dr. Gunther shook her head. She switched off the flashlight and struggled to her feet. She swatted at the dirt on the knees of her trousers before glancing back up at O’Dell. And when she did, O’Dell caught a glimpse of something beyond anger in her gray eyes. Something that resembled fear.

“What is it? What are you thinking?” O’Dell prodded.

The woman was packing up her equipment as she said, “I think we need to have our young men here dig out this body as best they can and wrap him up. I’ll want to take a better look at him after I can clean him up somewhere other than this hole in the ground.”

“But should we be concerned about touching him?”

She stopped and looked to be pondering this, then she shrugged and said, “I have no idea. Perhaps you need to ask your Mr. Logan.” And she started packing again.

“He’s not
my
Mr. Logan,” O’Dell spit out, reacting more than thinking. She wanted to tell Dr. Gunther that she had never met or spoken to the man. But it wouldn’t matter to the woman. Instead she asked, “What about the body underwater?”

“Have them bag it up as well.”

“That’s it?”

“This is not the scene of the crime,” the woman told her. “What happened to these poor men didn’t happen here.”

“Can you tell me, at least, where he might have gotten those burns?”

“I might have more for you after I’ve had a chance to examine him.” She waved her arms to indicate their makeshift surroundings. “I cannot do that here.”

Before O’Dell could disagree, Dr. Gunther was calling to Ross and explaining how she wanted him to proceed. She didn’t even hesitate to check with O’Dell as she had earlier. Something had spooked the woman about the wounds, and O’Dell knew she wasn’t going to get any answers right now.

Dr. Gunther finished stashing her gear, her small hands moving quickly, dipping in and out of the pockets of her satchel. Without another word, she left on the same path they had used to come there—this time on the arm of a guardsman. O’Dell noticed the limp was more pronounced in her attempt to hurry away, as though she no longer had time or need to disguise the vulnerability.

As she watched the woman disappear into the fog, O’Dell could see the shape of a man coming up the incline. She caught a glimpse of the dog at his side and she felt an annoying flutter. But as he got closer she noticed the right sleeve of his jacket flapping in the breeze. It wasn’t Ryder Creed.

I
s Ryder okay?” O’Dell asked Jason as she petted Bolo. “I heard he got caught in a slide yesterday.”

“Oh, he got caught, all right. Completely buried. They thought they’d lost him.”

He must have seen her look of concern despite her best attempt to hide it. He quickly added, “He looks like hell. May have broken a few ribs. Otherwise, I guess he’s okay. He took Grace to look for an old woman who got lost in the storm.”

O’Dell thought of Dr. Gunther again. Was this case simply too much for her? Was she in over her head?

“So you’re stuck with Bolo and me.”

She glanced at him and noticed a defensive stance. O’Dell had worked with Jason and Creed just a month ago to locate a crime scene in the backwoods of Alabama. She knew the young veteran was capable, though he was still learning. If Mr. Logan wanted top-notch professionals he should have come to supervise himself. At this point, she’d take what she could get.

She stroked Bolo’s lean, strong muscles. She had seen the dog in action before, too, and knew he could follow a scent even over water. And yet she caught herself glancing up the path, disappointed. It had nothing to do with having capable help. It had everything to do with the annoying uptick of her pulse just from the expectation of seeing Ryder Creed.

She was stingy with her emotions and more so with her heart. After her divorce she had promised herself no more romantic entanglements, because that was exactly how she viewed them: entanglements that strangled and sucked the life out of her. Even with Ben, there were more times when she was relieved they weren’t “together” than there were times when she longed for him.

But Ryder Creed was a dangerous distraction. He had kissed her twice—once catching her off guard; the second time with purpose and intention. But it wasn’t just the physical attraction. There was a connection between them that she couldn’t explain, one that unsettled her as much as it excited her. So far, she’d managed to stay clear, as if doing so would avoid the sparks that would most certainly lead to some sort of electric shock.

She introduced Jason to Ross, interrupting him as he continued to unearth the body under the tent. One of the guardsmen had accompanied Dr. Gunther. The other two had left to make arrangements for the equipment they’d need.

The floodwater continued to gush and churn, carving an even wider path. It moved fast despite being muddy and dragging debris as it washed over rocks and chunks of concrete. There was no telling how long it might last or if this would now be a new channel of a river from farther up the mountain.

O’Dell watched, standing silently beside Jason and Bolo. She realized it was ridiculous to expect a dog to sniff out a body believed to be somewhere under the floodwater. Unless they were able to successfully divert the water, there was no way to recover anything that might be buried there.

“One of the first things I learned from Mr. Creed is never to send a dog into a dangerous situation,” Jason finally said, even as he noticed Bolo’s nose held up high and working.

“Is it possible he’s getting a scent? Or is it the body inside the tent?” O’Dell asked, although their backs were to the tent and Bolo looked to be sniffing the air over the water.

“From what I understand, all of this flowing in front of us could be carrying human scent.” He glanced at O’Dell before adding, “You probably know that landslides can rip apart a body, right?”

Actually, she didn’t know that. Outside of hunting a killer during a hurricane, O’Dell had never worked a disaster site. This was supposed to be a favor to a friend. Just go check things out.

“It’s tough on a dog,” Jason explained. “Slides can unearth graveyards, too. Bolo’s trained for both rescue and cadaver recovery. How long have these bodies been dead?”

“The one we started to dig up looks like less than a week. But that’s my guess. You met the medical examiner leaving when you came up. She decided she didn’t care to stay.”

She saw a hint of a smile as Jason said, “I’m not surprised. North Carolina’s medical examiners’ system has some challenges.”

“What makes you say that?”

“A buddy of mine died in a car wreck a few months ago. They said he lost control, slammed into a ditch culvert. Wasn’t wearing a seat belt. Makes sense, right? Auto accident. No-brainer. The funeral director found four stab wounds in his back. One deep enough it punctured a lung.”

Those cases always made her stomach slide a bit. But they happened everywhere. “Mistakes happen.”

“
Charlotte Observer
did a whole investigation. Found a lot more. Interviewed me, since I was one of the last ones to see him alive. His wife was arrested, though I never heard him say a single bad thing about her.”

“I’m not sure Dr. Gunther is negligent.”

“Maybe not, but how long did you say the body in the tent’s been dead?”

“I can only guess, but definitely less than a week.”

“But probably not from the slide, right?”

She didn’t want to admit that just yet. “I’m not sure.”

“So if they didn’t die in the landslide, where did these bodies come from?”

She ran her fingers through her hair, slick with moisture from the fog. She couldn’t tell for sure whether this man had been at the research facility just because the body of a murdered scientist had been found close by. Didn’t Ross tell her earlier that objects could be moved up to a mile from where they were when the first slide happened?

And if this man was in the facility, she had no way to determine if he was also murdered. Besides, there was no way a killer could have predicted the landslide and hoped that these bodies would be treated as casualties. Now O’Dell wondered if the scientist could have been killed in an impulsive reaction to the disaster. Perhaps the murderer was taking advantage of the chaos. Attempting to protect something, or someone?

“That’s what I’m here to find out,” she told Jason, but she was starting to realize that Benjamin Platt owed her an explanation.

O
’Dell expected to leave Ben a message. She was surprised when he answered on the third ring.

“Maggie, are you okay? I just saw the newest weather forecast and was thinking about you.”

“Look, Ben, if you’re holding back any information about these bodies, now would be a good time to tell me.”

She was up to her ankles in mud, and the damp fog had changed to a cold drizzle. If she wanted the latest weather report she wouldn’t have been calling him. Yes, she was a bit impatient with him. Okay, maybe a little angry, too.

“I told you what I know. What’s going on?”

“One body is literally stuck in the mud. The other is buried underneath what now looks like rapids. This is not a ‘go down and check it out’ situation.” She let that sink in before she added, “And I think you already knew that.”

Silence. Was he irritated about her accusation or feeling guilty that he’d sent her down without telling her what was going on?

“I’ll see what I can find out,” he finally said. Before she could get irritated with that response, he added, “Are you okay?” The tone was sincere and genuine, a concerned friend.

“I don’t like to be left in the dark, Ben.” She took her anger down a notch, but she knew there was still an edge to her voice.

“Understood.”

“And why isn’t Logan down here?”

“He isn’t there with you?” This time he couldn’t disguise his surprise.

“I haven’t seen him and I’m at the site.”

Silence again. Enough this time that she pulled her phone away from her ear to see if she still had bars for reception. One. Maybe she’d lost him. She put the phone back in place and waited.

“Let me see what I can find out. I’m sure Logan must have gotten held up somewhere. I’ll call you as soon as I know something.”

She almost pushed
END
when she heard him say, “Maggie.”

She brought the phone back up and suddenly found herself holding her breath. “Yes?”

“Be safe, okay?”

That was it? Why did she think it would be something else? Something like “I love you”?

“Okay,” she answered, rolling her eyes for no one other than herself, thinking “Okay” was as lame as “Be safe.” What the hell was wrong with them? Were they both so gun-shy, so emotionally battered that neither of them could stand to bare their souls?

She pocketed the phone, jamming it deep, as if that would mean something. When she looked up she noticed that Jason and Bolo had wandered almost a hundred feet away to search the area alongside the floodwaters. Jason was staring at the ground. The big dog’s tail was swishing back and forth in a rapid motion.

They found something!

O’Dell started walking toward them, dread filling her empty stomach. Ross noticed. He spun around to see what had her attention. Then he said something to his partner and left the tent. He trekked uphill, a diagonal line to O’Dell.

Jason’s eyes darted up and found hers. He yanked at his jacket pocket, suddenly desperate to get Bolo’s rope toy free. The dogs expected and needed to be rewarded. She’d seen Creed do it as soon as he knew it wasn’t a false alert. From the look on Jason’s face, this was definitely not a false alert. But even as she approached she still couldn’t figure out what the object was.

Jason tossed the toy to Bolo and he caught it, prancing off, proud and pleased. O’Dell and Ross arrived at the same time. Both stopped within three feet of Jason and both stared at the ground.

There was a snarl of twigs and wet leaves. O’Dell anticipated another partially buried body. Something comparable to the one under the protection of the tent—face half stuck in the mud. But this was already unearthed except for the twigs and leaves.

The hand was severed just above the wrist and the fingers were still balled up in a fist. It almost looked like its owner had grabbed hold of something and had been wrenched away. Maybe washed away.

She glanced at Jason. The color had drained from his face but his eyes were intense and focused. She remembered his empty sleeve, and suddenly she felt a rush of heat crawl up her neck.

“Are you okay?” she asked him.

“I’ve seen worse,” he assured her, and stared down Ross when the guardsman noticed the connection.

She wouldn’t insult him with any more attention. Instead she said, “Are those teeth marks?” She squatted down for a better look. Both men joined her, though more slowly and apprehensively than O’Dell. Already she was yanking out her cell phone and taking several photos.

“Coyotes run in pretty much every county in North Carolina,” Ross said.

O’Dell slipped her phone back in her pocket and pulled out a fresh pair of latex gloves from another pocket of her windbreaker.

“That’s probably what this is, right?” With a protected index finger she poked at the puncture marks on the back of the hand. They looked very much like impressions made by an animal’s teeth.

“Would it rip it from the body like that?” Jason asked.

Dirt and dried blood prevented O’Dell from examining the dismembered area. All she could be sure of was that it hadn’t been cut clean.

“You said earlier that landslides can tear a body apart,” she reminded Jason.

“It’s just that it looks like the poor bastard was hanging on to something for dear life.”

She couldn’t argue that point.

“Coyotes won’t eat fresh meat,” Ross said.

“Excuse me?” O’Dell thought she might have heard him wrong.

“They’ll usually leave it for days, maybe even a week, sort of let it ripen. I guess it’s easier on their digestive systems. Probably why they left it.”

It confirmed what O’Dell already believed—that whatever had happened to these men must have occurred just before the landslide.