than an overpaid driver. Jack had really hoped Richard Dick—aka Double Dick—wouldn’t show up at the scene, but the news media were involved, and the man was a media whore.
The deputy chief of police emerged from the back like a movie star—blond-haired, blue-eyed, tall and lean, every bit the Aryan poster child. He also wore formal dress blues, with a chest full of ribbons, spit-polished shoes, and, displayed on the shiny bill of his eight-point cap, the “scrambled eggs” that indicated the rank of a commanding officer.
Jack had given him the nickname Double Dick, not just because of his two first names, but because he was known to repeatedly “dick” those below him in rank. Dick nodded to Jack and Liddell, but the whole of his attention was on the news media in the distance. “Show me what we have,” Dick commanded.
Liddell snapped to attention behind the deputy chief’s back, giving an exaggerated salute. “She’s over here, Deputy Chief, sir.”
Sensing sarcasm, Dick started to turn in Liddell’s direction, but Jack stepped between them. “You’ll probably want to put some boots on. It’s pretty messy.” To which Dick made a dismissive gesture and nodded for Jack to lead on.
Dick followed Jack to the cordoned-off area. Jack stopped when they were almost on top of the decapitated head. Dick squinted in the bright sun, peering into the trash and weeds in the direction Jack was pointing. “What am I looking for?”
“The blackened area,” Jack said. “A woman’s head. Sergeant Walker found an arm next to the head.”
Dick moved forward cautiously, peering down, then stopped and gasped. He turned and rushed back to his car, crushing several of the markers underfoot on his way past.
“My God,” Dick said, leaning heavily against the car door.
Following behind, Jack felt no pity for the man. After all, he had insinuated himself into the crime scene. If he were anyone else, Jack would have told him to stay the hell out.
“We need someone to deal with the media,” Jack suggested, and wasn’t surprised when Dick quickly recovered his erect composure.
The deputy chief looked down at his dirty shoes, and Jack guessed he was weighing the impact they would make on the media. Not afraid to get his shoes dirty. Dick then snapped his fingers. “I’ll need some details.”
Liddell leaned down and, covering the side of his mouth, said, “We don’t want to give details yet, chief. If we catch the monster that did this, we want him to tell us the details.”
“Right. Good thinking.” The deputy chief slid into the backseat and the Lexus made a U-turn toward the gate.
“Nice move,” Liddell said as Double Dick approached the gathered media.
“Better him than us,” Jack replied.
They turned back to the waiting witnesses, Larry and Donita Cannon. Yet the couple didn’t have any new information that was helpful. They were mainly concerned that, because they hadn’t reported it right away—because they were illegally dumping the mattress—they would be considered accessories after the fact. Jack assured them that the police only wanted their cooperation.
Twenty minutes and as many questions later, Jack watched the Chevy truck drive away, the Cannons’ faith in police restored.
“They found the head about three o’clock this morning, and didn’t call nine-one-one until noon,” Jack said. “Nine hours. If Walker is right about the time of death, they just missed witnessing the killer in the act of dumping the body.”
Liddell joked, “Can you imagine his surprise when he tripped over the head?”
When they made it back, Jack found Walker splashing water from a bottle onto his face. Several white-clad crime-scene techs were in a line, carrying more little flags—yellow this time—and walking off a search grid. They had started one hundred feet from where the cut was made in the fence, and the techs on each side of the line had stuck a flag in the ground to mark where they had already searched. They were about halfway finished.
Jack noticed Little Casket’s Suburban was gone.
“In answer to your question, Lilly is taking the remains to the morgue,” Walker said. “And she’s calling Dr. John,” Walker added, referring to the forensic pathologist, Dr. John Carmodi, who performed autopsies for Vanderburgh County.
“Find anything else?” Liddell asked.
Walker pointed to a white truck parked near the entrance. “That’s the general foreman for the landfill,” he said.
Jack and Liddell went to meet him.
“Sherman Price,” the man said, pulling his bulk from the little truck and taking Jack’s hand. He obviously didn’t want to get any closer to where the remains were found.