Hidden Creed Page 12

  “She’s still gooey,” Vickie announced. “Fair warning. I’ve seen this kind of stuff flip the cookies of some of the toughest cops I know.”

  It was too late for Brodie. She couldn’t take her eyes away. She could see bones as the medical examiner collected them one by one. Some still had tissue attached. Vickie lifted them up, and Maggie met her halfway with an evidence bag.

  “Mark it scapula and clavicle.”

  Her fingers went back in but this time she pulled on the shirt’s tag and it easily separated, coming free into her hand.

  “You asked how I could tell the victim was a female,” Vickie said to Brodie. “When we don’t have much left, we look at what we do have.”

  She stood and held up the tag.

  “This woman was short, perhaps a bit overweight and she shopped at JC Penney’s.”

  “Now you’re just showing off,” Maggie said.

  “You can tell all that because of the shirt she’s wearing?” Brodie asked.

  “Yup. It was a size 16 petite. And St. John’s Bay is an exclusive brand for JC Penney’s. Or it used to be.”

  “No shoes. No socks,” Maggie said. “Is it possible he took her from her home?”

  “Very good,” Vickie rewarded her with a grin. “Or it could just mean that her shoes were interesting enough for a predator to grab. I’m thinking that might be what happened to her head.”

  Chapter 36

  Blackwater River State Forest

  Coldwater Creek

  Creed trailered his boat to the isolated launch site where he and Maggie had found Hank. Earlier he had texted Mark Hadley with the GPS coordinates. He parked next to the Sheriff’s Department SUV and trailer. The men were about an hour ahead of Creed. From Hadley’s texts, it sounded like the trip up the creek was quiet and uneventful.

  Creed was still thinking about Hank. Dr. Avelyn had him resting comfortably. She had gone home shortly after midnight, promising to stop back after breakfast and insisting Creed do the same. After she left, he pulled the mattress from the office’s foldout sofa. He brought it in and placed it about ten feet from Hank’s kennel. It was close enough that he could hear if the dog was distressed. But Hank slept, not even noticing Creed or Grace.

  Hannah promised she’d check on the dog, and she reminded Creed that one of his many security cameras allowed her and him to see the dog in his hospital kennel no matter where they were. As long as he had cellular reception.

  By the time he put the boat in the water he’d already peeked in on the dog several times. He’d also called Hank’s owner and left a voice message. Dr. Avelyn had been able to access the owner’s contact information because of the microchip. The address listed was in Virginia. Hank was definitely a long way from home.

  Now that Creed and Grace made their way up the creek, he felt his muscles relaxing, his mind clearing. He tilted and twisted his neck and rolled his shoulders, trying to release the tension from the last twenty-four hours. He needed only one hand on the trolling motor to steer as he let the boat glide, sometimes squeezing along the high banks and zigzagging around debris.

  Grace sat across from him. Ears flapping back in the draft. It was early enough that the breeze brought some refreshing coolness off the surface of the water. Spring-fed, Coldwater Creek stayed surprisingly cool all year.

  He’d forgotten how the view from a boat presented an entirely different experience of the forest. White and pink crepe myrtles grew at the edge of the woods, their colors brilliant against the evergreens. Bluffs eroded by the wind showed off layers of red sandstone. The clear tea-colored water allowed a glimpse of the sandy bottom and creatures scuttling across it.

  Up above, a blue heron glided along with them following the line of the creek. Once in a while Grace’s head swiveled at the sound of something splashing into the water.

  “We need to do this more often,” he told the little dog.

  She adjusted herself and set her head back to catch the breeze again, as if in agreement.

  He kept track of the GPS coordinates and realized he was almost to the site. This was definitely a quicker and easier way in than trekking through the woods.

  He was bringing the boat to the crime scene in case they needed it to help carry remains. Creed also wanted to survey the banks along the way. So far, he hadn’t seen any areas with skid marks or worn-out patches of grass where a boat had been dragged ashore. But anyone could easily anchor a boat and climb up without much trouble.

  In Creed’s mind, Hank was proof that the killer had been using the same boat launch. He wished he’d thought of that before he drove his Jeep in last night. They could have staked out the place and waited.

  The guy would be furious that they had found it. But Creed was certain he’d easily find a new way to gain access. Gut instinct told him this killer wouldn’t stop just because he lost his boat launch.

  Chapter 37

  Maggie watched Norwich’s men wrap the sheet carefully and put the victim inside the second body bag. In the first one, they had already deposited as much of the woman victim as possible, including the pieces of clothing that clung to tissue and bone. It was obvious that scavengers had made off with some pieces that might never be found.

  Brodie and Vickie had another white sheet laid out and ready alongside the dead man Brodie had tripped over yesterday morning. Maggie took several last photos then waited for CSU tech Hadley and Deputy Danvers to roll the body over and onto the sheet.

  His eyes were still open.

  Unlike the other male corpse, the maggots hadn’t been able to gain access to this man’s nose, mouth or eyes. The wet mud had preserved his last look: panic, anguish, or simply pain. Take your pick. Whatever his last feelings, none of them were pleasant or peaceful.

  But there was another surprise.

  “Looks like he’s been shot or stabbed,” Vickie said as she started taking photos. When she finished, she squatted down close to get a better look.

  Maggie could see the bloody wound was caked with mud, but it had already stained his shirt down around his abdomen.

  “Let’s wrap him up,” Vickie said, gesturing for help.

  Brodie and Maggie stood back and let the experts do their job. Maggie put a hand on Brodie’s arm but the young woman continued to watch.

  “You okay?” Maggie asked.

  Without looking over at her, Brodie said in a calm and steady voice, “I swear if one more person asks me if I’m okay I’m going to scream.”

  Despite the calm tone, the words stopped everyone. Glances were exchanged, but Brodie silently stared straight ahead at the dead man. No one said a word and went back to work.

  Hadley and Danvers carried the body bags one at a time, down through the short stretch of woods to the water’s edge. Maggie had never seen a young man sweat as much as Deputy Danvers. She watched him closely, not wanting another heart attack or heatstroke.

  Vickie asked Brodie if she’d get them some water, and Maggie thought the medical examiner was worried about Danvers, too. But Vickie was unwrapping something from out of an evidence bag.

  “I don’t want to alarm everyone,” Vickie said. “Especially when I’m still speculating.” She brought out a couple of bones and held them out in her gloved fingers for Maggie to examine. “These fell just inside the woman’s collar. Can you see the striations along the edge?”

  Maggie didn’t have her gloves on, so she bent to examine them without touching the bones.

  “That doesn’t look like an animal’s teeth marks,” Maggie said. Unfortunately, she did have some experience recognizing cut-marks. These gashes and grooves were most likely man-made.

  “Again, I’m only speculating at this point,” Vickie told her, “But I’m guessing a serrated knife with this pattern of dips and points. A hacksaw makes a fine irregular line. And a butcher knife leaves a straight, smooth cut.”

  “Why dismember her if you’re going to dump her in an isolated part of the forest?”

  “That’s you
r job,” Vickie said.

  “He may have still wanted to remove her identity.”

  “But no one was supposed to find her.”

  “I think we’re going to discover that she’s different,” Maggie said. “She might be someone he knew.”

  Now, Vickie looked over Maggie’s shoulder and said, “Thanks, Brodie.” She slipped the bones back inside the evidence bag. “You’re a lifesaver.” She took one of the water bottles from Brodie, opened it and started gulping.

  Maggie was about to do the same when Scout came zigzagging out of the forest to greet her. She’d almost forgotten about Jason and Scout. The Labrador’s tongue was hanging out of his mouth and to the side. Drool dripped down.

  There was too much saliva.

  Maggie went to pet him, and he shook his head, sending ropes of saliva flying over his shoulders. She tried to calm him, putting her hands on each side of his head, but he shook her off. And he seemed to shake himself off balance, wobbling then swaying from side to side. That’s when she noticed his eyes blinking like she’d never seen a dog blink before.

  “Something’s wrong with Scout!” she shouted.

  Again, she tried to hold his head to see if he was injured, but now he staggered, suddenly too weak to stand.

  “Scout!” Jason came racing from the woods.

  As he weaved between trees, Maggie could see him struggling to pull off his daypack.

  “Hold him,” Jason yelled. “Don’t let him run off!”

  That wasn’t a problem. Just as Maggie grabbed the handle on the dog’s vest he collapsed to the ground.

  “What’s happening?” Brodie yelled. She dropped to her knees and put her arms around Scout’s neck.

  Maggie kneeled to hold him from the other side.

  “A trash dump,” Jason said. “He found a two-liter soda bottle.”

  He fell in place beside them, out of breath, his face slick with sweat. He was still fumbling with the pack, unzipping and digging.

  “I think it was a shake-and-bake bottle,” he told them. “It was capped, but there was other stuff. Patches, eye droppers, nasal spray containers.”

  “Shake-and-bake?” Brodie asked.

  Jason found what he needed. He ripped open the pouch.

  “Brodie keep holding him,” he told her. “Don’t let him go. Maggie, can you tilt his head up and facing me.”

  The dog wasn’t responding, but his eyes were open. She clamped her hands on each side and lifted his head in Jason’s direction.

  Jason grabbed the dog’s big snout, wrapping his black, mechanical fingers around it to close Scout’s mouth but not so tight that the drool couldn’t still spill out.

  Maggie watched Scout’s eyes. No more blinking. Now they were wide and watching his handler. They were the only part of him that seemed to be working.

  “You’re gonna be okay, buddy,” Jason told him using a calm tone. To the rest of them, he said, “I didn’t even realize what he’d found until it was too late. I’m pretty sure he already inhaled some of it.”

  This time Maggie could hear the panic in Jason’s voice.

  Maggie and Brodie tightened their grips.

  He continued to hold the dog’s snout. With his other hand, Jason took what looked like a nasal spray with an injector. He adjusted it between his forefinger and thumb then placed the tip inside one of Scout’s nostrils. Keeping steady, he pushed the plunger in one even motion.

  When he finished, he tossed the empty container into his pack and pulled out a basket muzzle. He slipped it on without Scout making a fuss.

  Then Jason dragged a sleeve over his sweaty forehead. His hands came up under Maggie’s, relieving her. He held his dog’s head in his big hands, caressing the temples and rubbing his ears. The whole time, Jason kept watching the dog’s eyes.

  “You’re such a good boy,” Jason said, his voice a bit steadier now, but still on edge.

  Scout wasn’t moving. Brodie scooted around so that the dog’s body leaned against her. Now with her hands free, Maggie moved one under the dog’s chest until she could feel a heartbeat. It seemed a bit slow. So did his breathing.

  “Maybe he needs another dose,” Jason said quietly, but Maggie could hear the hitch in his voice. “I’ve never done this before. Just watched training videos.”

  “You’re using naloxone?” It was Vickie, standing above them.

  “Yes. Naracon naloxone. The intranasal spray.”

  “Do you have another dose?” she asked. “From what I remember there’s no downside to using more.”

  “We always carry two doses. One for our dog, one for ourselves.” But now, Jason didn’t hesitate. He plucked up the pouch and pulled out another container. He removed the basket muzzle and administered the second dose, then replaced the muzzle.

  Maggie kept an eye on her watch. With her hand still flat against Scout’s chest, she started counting heartbeats. Thirty seconds went by then sixty. It felt like an excruciatingly long time. She couldn’t bear to look at Jason, so she focused on Scout.

  Seventy-five seconds...ninety.

  A slight increase in beats.

  One hundred seconds...one hundred twenty.

  Scout groaned softly. He started to sit up. His big head swiveled around to look at all of them. His tail thumped against the ground once then began a slow wag. He twisted his head to see something behind Jason. The tail wagged more.

  Grace pushed her way into the circle, and the Labrador tried to get to his feet then changed his mind.

  “What’s going on?” Ryder called out.

  Then Maggie could hear his footsteps quicken as he raced across the scrub grass.

  “What happened?”

  “A trash dump,” Jason explained. “I think there were fentanyl patches. Other stuff. I didn’t even recognize what it was until I saw a shake-and-bake bottle. I gave him one dose of naloxone and he didn’t respond. I just gave him another about two minutes ago.”

  “Do you know if he inhaled the meth, too?” Ryder asked

  Maggie knew shake-and-bake was a homemade method for making methamphetamine. Drug users put the necessary ingredients into a regular two-liter soda bottle, replaced the cap and shook it until the desired chemical reaction occurred.

  She understood it was probably dangerous for dogs to inhale, but it wasn’t an opioid like fentanyl. Most likely Ryder was asking because it might require something different than the dosage of naloxone.

  Ryder had his cell phone out and was already keying in a message.

  “The cap was still tight on the bottle,” Jason said. “I double checked.”

  Ryder’s head jerked up. “You touched it?”

  “I didn’t know what the hell any of the stuff was.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m okay.”

  “We need to get you checked, too.” Ryder told him. “We’ll take the boat. It’s faster. Dr. Avelyn’s already at our place. We need to get Scout in quick.”

  “He seems to be doing okay,” Vickie said.

  “Treat and transport,” Ryder told her. “The in-field dosage is enough to block the effect of the opioid. Depending on how much he inhaled, he might need an intramuscular injection of naloxone.”

  Maggie recognized that Ryder was using the same gentle tone he used with his dogs, but she could sense his underlying panic.

  They all helped get Scout to his feet. Ryder started lifting the dog, when Jason stopped him.

  “Thanks, but I can carry my own dog,” Jason told him.

  “The effects of the drugs might not have hit you, yet,” Ryder said. “You might start feeling it in the next several minutes. Let’s just get you guys out of here.”

  Jason nodded. He didn’t look offended, but he didn’t look happy. Ryder lifted Scout into his arms then up over his head and across his shoulders with Scout’s legs dangling over each side of Ryder’s chest. Maggie had seen photos of soldiers carrying their K9s this way, but she’d never seen it personally. Scout had to weigh si
xty or seventy pounds.

  Maggie and Brodie went ahead of them, following Grace to the water while they pushed low hanging branches out of the way. After Jason, Scout and Grace were safely in the boat, Maggie caught Ryder’s arm.

  “You must be exhausted,” she said to him. He looked like he hadn’t slept. “I can come along and drive.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be fine.”

  It sounded a bit dismissive, but when she met his eyes, she found something entirely different. He brought the palm of his hand and caressed her cheek. She caught herself leaning into it, and suddenly realized how much she had needed the reassurance, not just that he was okay, but that they were okay.

  Chapter 38

  Blackwater River State Forest

  Udie wanted to shout and laugh, but instead, he stayed where he was. He pressed the length of his body against the huge branch in the live oak. Its thick canopy made it difficult to see everything, but it also kept him hidden. This time he wore his green work trousers to make sure he blended in.

  He waited for all of them to leave and help get the black dog through the woods to one of the boats. When the last of them disappeared between the trees, Udie slid out of the tree and headed in the opposite direction.

  He knew there had to be a way to get these dogs out of here. He just didn’t realize it would be so easy. The trash bag full of drug garbage was one of his more brilliant ideas.

  Instinctively, he rubbed at the rash on his neck. Those stupid patches were the worst. If they did this to his skin, he figured they’d probably affect the dogs or maybe one of the people collecting the stuff.

  That it knocked that big dog off his feet was a huge score for Udie. A few more “accidents” like that, and maybe they would stay the hell away from here.

  After the thunderstorm had chased everyone out of the forest yesterday, Udie waited it out. He planted several trail cams in the trees overlooking the clearing and then a few more along the creek. They were wireless and cellular. They activated by motion and were able to transmit real-time alerts to his new iPhone.

  Electronic gadgets were always something he had a knack for. And hiding cameras in a variety of places used to provide a natural high for him. That was until he started getting the stream of easy and cheap drugs.