Waking the Dead (7 page)
“Maybe if we saw that with one set of remains. But for all of them . . .” She rounded the gurney to stand opposite Andrews. “If you look here”—she indicated the cervical vertebrae—“you’ll see breakage between vertebrae three and four. The separation marks occur on most samples around vertebra one or two, although two of the individuals had their skulls separated at a slightly lower juncture. But all have this fracture in nearly identical spots. Can I tell you with complete certainty whether the injury occurred posthumously or if, in fact, it caused death?” She lifted a shoulder. “No. But I find it suspicious.”
“The way I see it, we’re still a ways from determining violent death,” Barnes said mildly. Intercepting Andrews’s look, he held up a hand as if to stem her response. “I’m just saying this is pretty inconclusive at this point.”
“If you mean we need to continue our examination for definitive evidence, agreed,” Cait said. “But I want you to look closely at these specimens and tell me what you see?”
The man looked wary. “I see bones. What am I supposed to see?”
“You see very clean bones,” she corrected. “All of them likely underwent some kind of maceration process prior to discovery to get them this spotless. We aren’t done running tests, so we haven’t done any cleaning. There was very little tissue on any of them, even on the most recent set of remains, male G. We found no intact ligaments, either.”
Andrews’s eyes had narrowed. Whatever her deputy was thinking, Cait knew the sheriff was far ahead of him. “What are the possible processes for this maceration?”
“Typically boiling is used these days. It’s faster and less troublesome than other methods. But when we use it, we have to cut through joints to fit the skeleton into the container of water. None of the joints on any set of remains show evidence of that.” With the exception, of course, of the skull. “Which leads me to believe the bones have been cleaned by dermestid beetles. When we tested them, and the interior of the garbage bags, we found evidence of beetle frass.”
“That’s their shit,” Kristy threw in cheerfully from her stance at the counter. “We also found a few of their exoskeletons, so there is ample evidence of their presence in conjunction with the remains. The only other evidence of etymology was a few exoskeletons of cave crickets.”
“These are beetles found in the wild, though, right?” The sheriff squinted, as if thinking. “One of the last stages of decomposition if a body is left outdoors.”
“But these bodies weren’t left exposed,” Cait corrected her. “If they’d been out in the wild, accessible to the stages of animal and insect activity, we’d see evidence of animals having chewed on the bones. Many of the larger ones would be missing. They’d be more weathered from the elements. Nor is the cave a hospitable environment for the bugs. They thrive in temperatures of seventy to eighty degrees. I’d hazard a guess that this colony of beetles is domesticated, probably raised for one specific purpose.”
Barnes was looking a little sickly. His pale blue eyes widened incredulously. “You’re telling me we’ve got some psycho feeding people to bugs to strip them down to their bones quicker so he can get rid of the evidence?”
“Don’t be a . . .” Kristy caught Cait’s warning look in time to amend her words. “Don’t be ridiculous. Dermestids don’t eat live flesh. They don’t much like moist tissue, either. When we use them, we actually remove the organs, deflesh the bones, dry them for a while, and then allow the beetles to do the rest of the work. An active colony is amazingly effective.”
Kristy’s explanation hadn’t alleviated Barnes’s expression. But it was Andrews that drew Cait’s attention. “You say you’ve used them?”
She nodded. “Forensic anthropologists might utilize them to strip away excess tissue before examining bones, although as I’ve said, it’s more common these days to boil them. But the method of using the insects this way isn’t unusual at all. You’d also see them used in large veterinary schools, museums, by taxidermists . . .” She shrugged. “I’ve even heard of high schools ordering a colony for their science programs. They’re accessible to anyone. You can order them from some universities, although I’ve seen starter colonies for sale on the Internet.”
She shot a look at the sheriff. “Remember what I said earlier about some of the small bones being missing? The insects might have consumed them. Their activity has to be monitored closely. Or they just might have been missed by whoever scooped up the bones to put in the bags.”
“So if we accept that beetles cleaned the bones—and the evidence you’ve found makes that likely,” Andrews said slowly, pulling at her bottom lip, “it looks more and more as though someone was trying to cover up evidence of a crime.”
“We’re a long way from finished with all our tests.” Cait rolled her shoulders tiredly. “But based on what we’ve got so far, I’d theorize that we’re dealing with a serial offender.”
Barnes’s expletive was audible. And Cait found she much preferred his reaction to that flash again of unbridled excitement in the sheriff’s eyes.
She tried to give the woman the benefit of the doubt. The services of Raiker Forensics weren’t cheap. It was a sure bet that the county budget hadn’t been healthy enough to pay for bringing her in. More than likely the woman had tapped her rich daddy to ante up their fee. Couldn’t blame her for being glad the expense was justified.
But there was still something a little creepy about a law enforcement officer being so enthusiastic about the prospect of someone in her jurisdiction systematically murdering people and dumping their bodies.
She understood ambition. It had been just that quality that had led Cait to leave the Bureau’s labs behind without a backward glance to join Raiker Forensics. She was never going to get a shot from the feds to become an agent. But Andrews’s motivation still made her more than a little uneasy.
“We’re done with the bags.” She indicated the garbage bags the remains had been found in. “Do you want us to check them for prints, or will your department handle that?”
Barnes answered before his superior could. “We’ll take care of it.” His pale blue gaze was wary. “Sort of outside your area of expertise, isn’t it?”
Recognizing his territorial air she smiled easily, although she would have preferred to do the testing herself. “We’re equipped for it, but if you want, Kristy will box them up for you. In answer to your question, though, no. All Raiker’s employees receive thorough cross training.” At his curt nod, she sent her assistant a look, and the woman drew on gloves before picking up the folded bags to place in a plastic evidence container.
“The bags themselves are a useful lead,” Cait continued. “Black garbage bags have only been around a few decades. If testing shows the material is biodegradable, for instance, that narrows down the age of them considerably. They might even be able to discover the manufacturer. None of them have degraded much since being put in that cave.”
She saw the look exchanged between the two law enforcement officers, but Andrews said only, “We’ve been promised expedited assistance through the state police crime lab in Springfield.” The sheriff gave a small grim smile. “The criminal investigative division of the Oregon State Police has offered their help, as well. I’m hoping with you here, that won’t be necessary.”
More likely she was hoping that the investigation would be successfully concluded in a manner in which the woman could claim the credit, Cait thought cynically.
But she’d developed diplomacy early in life. It came in handy when dealing with her mother. She said only, “We also found traces of sediment in the bottom of some of the bags. When we tested it, we detected a high sulfur content. The scrapings I took from the cave walls and the chamber don’t match those findings.” Noting the look exchanged between Andrews and Barnes, she paused. “That obviously means something to you.”
“Oregon has several renowned examples of hot springs, many of which are tourist destinations,” Andrews explained. She started to prop her palms on the gurney at her side, before appearing to remember the bones at her fingertips. “There are several in the general area. Bagby’s one of them. Terwilliger at the Cougar Reservoir. Bigelow. But the closest one is probably Belknap Hot Springs, near McKenzie Bridge.”
The words had Cait’s pulse quickening. “How close to McKenzie Bridge?” The cave had been only a couple of miles.
“Six miles, give or take,” Barnes said, correctly interpreting his boss’s glance. “It’s sort of a summer resort community, with a lodge, hotel, and cabins. The guests come to enjoy a variety of outdoor activities, but the springs are always a draw.”
Cait nodded, already making plans. “Do you know if your county’s Natural Resources Conservation Service has a current map of soil samples for Lane County?” The expression on Andrews’s face and Barnes’s silence gave her the answer. “Well, it’s easy enough to call and see. If we get lucky, we’ll be able to score a map of soil samplings from the entire county.” High sulfuric content would be most likely to occur in areas with acidic soil, which should be indicated on the NRCS maps.
“And then what?” Barnes demanded. “There are smaller springs on private property scattered around the area and throughout the state, too. Even if we could get access to every piece of property around with the right soil sample, what would we be looking for?”
“For starters, we look for the missing bones.” Cait rounded the nearest gurney to stand at the head of the third one. “For instance, these remains are minus several of the smaller bones from each hand and a couple for the toes. It’s possible the beetles destroyed them. Equally possible that they were missed when the UNSUB was transferring the remains into the garbage bags. If we discover the primary scene for these homicides, chances are we find the offender, too.”
Barnes still looked unconvinced. “Do you know how long it’s going to take to cover every spring in this part of the state? And we can’t get access to those on private property without a warrant, which we don’t have grounds for.”
Undeterred by his skepticism, Cait addressed the sheriff. “We don’t have to cover the entire state, or even the entire county. We start in the area closest to where the bones were found and establish a grid around it, working outwards in each direction. Many of the private homeowners may well allow us on their property. It’s a starting point.” She cocked her brow. “Unless you have a more pressing lead to follow.”
The expression on Andrews’s face was answer enough. “Lots of folks in the more rural areas value their privacy. They might not be as cooperative as you think.” But it was clear she was considering Cait’s suggestion.
“We’ll explore other avenues simultaneously, of course.” Cait went to get the documents Kristy had prepared and walked back to hand one to each officer. “I’ll start feeding preliminary descriptions of the victims, at least height, sex, and approximate weight, into the National Crime Information Center database for missing persons and see what we get for hits.”
Seeming to come to a decision, the sheriff nodded and looked at Barnes. “Keep tracking down those with violations listed with the Forest Service. Check out those individuals for criminal records. Cait can follow up on the soil samples. With the forestry agencies busy with that fire in the Cascades, we can use Sharper to get her where she needs to go.”
Her satisfaction at the sheriff’s words was more than a little dampened at the thought of spending more time in Sharper’s company. But Cait made sure her reluctance didn’t show in her expression. It had been a long time since a man had been allowed to affect her in any but the most superficial way.
Zach Sharper would be no different.
Chapter 4
Zach managed to refrain from voicing the questions swirling in his head. He may not like playing chauffer for Caitlin Fleming at Sheriff Andrews’s demand, but he told himself it could be worse. He could be forced to spend this much time in the sheriff’s company instead. Or be paired with Deputy Tony Gibbs, a horse’s ass if he’d ever met one. At least Fleming didn’t make him want to punch her.
She did, however, leave him wanting to punch
something
. It would be a welcome outlet for the simmering tension that increased with every hour spent in her company.
something
. It would be a welcome outlet for the simmering tension that increased with every hour spent in her company.
To divert himself from the unwelcome sexual attraction, he seized on the curiosity that revved to life whenever he saw her studying a map from the sheaf in her lap. It wasn’t one of those available from the forest station of nearby wilderness areas. The initials across the top of the first page gave that away. NRCS. What the hell would she be doing with maps from the soil conservation agency?
Because he knew she wouldn’t tell him if he asked—and damned if he’d ask—he kept his mouth shut. Before the end of the day, he’d figure it out on his own.
Pulling off the highway to the access road, he took the quarter mile drive up to the Springs Resort before coming to a stop. “This is it.”
“I may be a while.” She gathered up a bag, smaller than the backpack she’d had the last time they’d been together, and went to open the door.
“Listen . . .Caitlin.”
“It’s Cait.” Her backward glance over her shoulder was half wary, half quizzical.
He had a feeling he was going to regret what he was about to say. “I might be more help if I knew what it was you were looking for.”
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