path: the sparse brown grass, the weather-roughened wooden steps, the hood of Tasha’s car, and Tasha herself.
The driver hopped from the cart and retrieved a toolbox and cylinder-shaped car part from the rear flatbed. He nodded to Tasha as he set the box and part on the edge of the porch. “Are you here for the alternator?”
Before she could answer, the elder Coone spoke. “She’s police. Here about the car.”
Tasha showed her badge and introduced herself. “You made the call, Mr. Coone?” she asked the younger man.
“Yes, ma’am. Found it sitting in the back this morning when I went to pull a radiator. It’s definitely not one of ours.”
“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but how can you tell?” she asked, glancing over the rows of rusting shells and partially stripped hulks.
The older man snorted and the younger chuckled. “We keep track of all vehicle identification numbers. When a new one comes in, we log the number into our computer system. Anytime we pull a part we enter the part into the system and which VIN number it came from. Saves us a lot of time searching for viable parts.”
“That’s how you knew this vehicle wasn’t one of yours.”
Buddy Coone nodded. “Plus this car stinks to high heaven. Smells like something big crawled up in it and died.”
“Did you open the car?”
“I didn’t touch it except to check the VIN number through the windshield. Couldn’t stand being that close to it.” He gestured to the cart. “We can take a ride out there in the Mule and you can see for yourself.”
Tasha joined him in the cart and winced as they bounced over the poorly maintained pathways of the salvage yard.
Buddy pointed to a sturdy grab bar attached to the cart’s metal frame near her head. “You may want to hold on to that ‘oh shit’ bar. This is going to get a little rough.”
She barely had time to catch the bar before he guided the Mule into a shallow gully. Muddy water splashed up from the wheels, spattering her pants with brown and orange.
He gunned the engine and spurred the vehicle up the opposite side and back onto an overgrown path. They slowed as a chain-link fence and a row of metal frames that had once been cars came into view.
Buddy stopped beside a section of the fence sporting bright red stakes woven through the links and driven into the ground. He pointed to the stakes as he and Tasha stepped from the cart. “Before I found the car, I noticed the fence here had been cut and pulled back. See these tracks?” He waved his hand over the ground in front of them.
Tasha noted the wide swath of grass and weeds that appeared to have been crushed. “Looks like something big was pulled through the fence.”
“My guess is whoever dumped the car here cut the fence and either pushed or dragged it in.”
“And the stakes in the fence?”
“Temporary repair. I’m going to have to replace this entire section here but at least this keeps the deer from wandering through.”
“Who owns the property on the other side?”
“That’s part of the old Cottonwood Plantation. It used to belong to Benjamin Corman but he passed away a few years ago. I’m not sure who owns it now.”
Tasha nodded, making a mental note to visit the plantation.
Buddy motioned for her to follow him. “After I saw the fence, I followed the tracks and found the car over here.”
As they approached a battered dark blue Ford Focus, the slight wind that had been rustling the dried leaves of a nearby sweet gum tree picked up, carrying with it the unmistakable odor of decay.
Tasha grabbed Buddy’s arm, halting him. “I need you to stay back here.”
He covered his nose with his hand and nodded, his face pale.
A gnawing sense of dread ate at her brain. She drew her sidearm, startling the salvage yard owner. Tasha picked her way through the tall grass toward the Ford, keeping her nine-millimeter Beretta pointed toward the ground but poised to swing into a firing position at any moment.
She studied the vehicle as she carefully approached from the side. It sported heavy dents in the sides, roof, and hood. The windshield had been shattered from what appeared to be multiple impacts. A quick glance showed glass shards on the floor and backseat as well as dark stains on both front bucket seats.
She moved to the trunk, and the stench of rot worsened, forcing her to fight against her