to mist as soon as we touch them.”
“Blind leading the blind,” she muttered.
“True.”
They shared a worried glance, both knowing they were in over their heads. Whoever was out there stalking the citizens of Pike was spiraling out of control. Not only because the kills were happening so quickly, but the method by which the bodies were being disposed had become an even more blatant challenge to the sheriff.
After unhooking her seat belt, Lynne clenched her hands in her lap. She looked as if she was trying to gather her composure. Or maybe her courage. “Did you notice anything when you were taking pictures?”
Kir hesitated. He sensed that Lynne was still in shock. Who wouldn’t be? It was bad enough to stumble across such a gruesome sight. He knew he’d be having nightmares for weeks. It would be much worse for Lynne, who’d had an intimate connection with the victim. Then again, they didn’t have the luxury of waiting until her raw feelings had healed. Not when the killer could strike again at any moment.
“He was like the women. Posed naked, although he had a red rope around his neck instead of a ribbon. I don’t know if that has meaning or not.” His mouth felt oddly dry, as if the horror was sucking away the moisture. “From a distance it was impossible to see specific injuries, but he looked . . .”
“Tell me.”
He shuddered. From where they’d first been standing, Nash had looked as if he’d been left to freeze in the snow. Once he’d gotten closer, it’d been obvious that he was bloody and broken in ways that made his gut clench.
“Bad. Really bad. I don’t know if he was beaten or hauled behind the truck while he was still alive.”
She released a shaky breath. “It doesn’t seem real.”
He reached to cover her hands with his own. “I’m sorry.”
She glanced out the front windshield, her eyes unfocused as if she was lost in her inner thoughts. “I know I should cry, but I’m numb.” She shook her head. “I can’t feel anything.”
“It’s the shock.”
A minute, then another passed before she finally glanced back at him. “Was there anything else?”
Kir shuffled through the limited information he’d gathered. He was a businessman, not a cop. He’d never learned how to spot clues. “The tracks had started to fill in, so I’m guessing the truck had to have been there for at least an hour or so,” he said.
She absorbed his words. “That would mean it was driven there around four a.m. The same time Ms. Randall’s body was dumped yesterday.”
He nodded in agreement. “There were footprints, but I doubt they’ll be much help with the blowing snow.” He tried to imagine the killer calmly arranging the body before strolling away from his grisly creation. “Do you know if there are any cameras at the school?”
She wrinkled her nose. “I doubt they would have them at the football field. We barely keep the school open, let alone invest in technology that isn’t absolutely necessary.”
He wasn’t surprised. Pike had never been a wealthy town, and recently it’d been devastated by the collapse of the dairy industry. But surely there were a few cameras around town that had captured the image of the truck being driven through the empty streets? He wouldn’t have access to them, but the sheriff would check. At least he hoped she would.
Something the killer would have to realize.
“It’s still risky.” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “Just like dumping Ms. Randall in the park downtown was risky. Either the killer is taunting the sheriff, or the danger of getting caught must add to his sick pleasure.”
“Or the places have a meaning,” she suggested in soft tones.
Kir studied her in surprise. He’d never considered the possibility. “Yes. Maybe it’s about where the bodies are placed and not who the body belongs to.” He considered the implications and then made a sound of frustration. “It still has no rhyme or reason. An empty pasture. A frozen lake. The park. The football field.”
“Nash did play football,” she reminded him. “Besides, it doesn’t have to have a meaning for us. Just to the killer.”
He continued to tap his fingers on the steering wheel. “If that’s true, then maybe the list my father gave to Pastor Bradshaw is the initials of potential dumping grounds, not people.”
He didn’t have to say that he desperately hoped she was right. If they were looking for places, not names, it might mean she wasn’t a target.
She