then she saw the forearm and hand sticking out of the dirt, bone glowing, patches of flesh having rotted away.
Sixteen
The night was alive with lights now, and people.
There were far more than four bodies to be discovered.
Keenan stood with Stacey, aware that the four ghosts stood just behind them, watching all that went on as well.
The bodies were in various stages of decomposition. Some were little more than bone fragments; others retained flesh. All had been covered in lye to help with the process—dust to dust.
The dogs found another spot in the woods, and then another.
Jackson had duly served the warrant—to the housekeeper, not Dr. Lawrence. His housekeeper had been completely flustered.
She couldn’t find Dr. Lawrence. He had apparently suspected he was being watched, slipped out the back and made his way through the heavier woods behind his house.
A manhunt was on.
As the hours went on toward morning, the area was flooded with police officers and agents, then the medical examiners and, finally, forensic anthropologists.
Angela remained with the housekeeper; the woman appeared to be at a total loss. She swore she’d thought that Dr. Lawrence had been working in his study. She’d had no clue that he’d left. He couldn’t have gone far. He only kept the one automobile. It remained in the driveway.
Because of the scope of the investigation, Dr. Beau Simpson was called down, along with Dr. Bowen out of Alexandria. Detectives Fred Crandall and Jean Channing arrived.
Something big had broken.
“That’s... I think they found me,” George Seasons murmured. “I’m...bone. Bits of bone. I guess... I guess I’ve been here a long time.”
“I’m still rotting,” Tim Dougherty said. He sounded angry.
“But you’ve been found,” Stacey said gently.
Dr. Beau Simpson had hunkered down by a grave in the woods closest to the house where it seemed that Ronnie and George and Tim had been buried.
Beau stood and looked at Keenan and Stacey grimly, brushing the dirt off his knees with gloved hands. “At this moment, we believe we’re going to find over a dozen bodies, several male, but there are young women here, too. Bones and bone fragments...and, trust me, enough so that this county is more than happy to have federal intervention and help from anywhere.” He hesitated, looking at them. “The bodies are so decomposed, it’s hard to say...but on a few, yes...it appears that vital organs have been removed. Cause of death, from what I’ve ascertained so far, appears to be blunt trauma to the head. This is preliminary, of course, but the damage on some of the skulls is evident.”
“Oh, Lord!” Tim whispered behind Keenan.
“So, it seems that this has been going on a long time—murder committed to steal organs, most probably for illegal transplants,” Keenan said.
“Either that,” Beau agreed, “or we have a tribe of cannibals who aren’t interested in consuming anything other than human organs.”
“That’s sick!” George breathed behind Keenan.
Yes, sick. But so was killing one man to possibly let another one live.
“This is amazing, what you’ve discovered,” Beau told Stacey. “Now, if they can just find Dr. Lawrence and bring him in...”
He turned away and headed back to the closest patch of graves.
“You have to catch that bastard!” Tim said, pain in the whisper of his voice. “Oh, God! All these people. Me!”
“He’s out in the woods. So are dozens of police officers and agents. He will be caught,” Keenan said. But he was restless. He knew that other law enforcement—good cops, good agents—were on the hunt. He and Stacey had done their part.
But he couldn’t just wait any longer. No, he didn’t know these woods or anything about the surrounding homes or estates—all of them on good stretches of property. But he couldn’t stand still.
He turned to Stacey. “Listen, I’m going to—”
“Not without me,” she said.
“Stacey...”
“I move damned fast, and you know it. Please, Keenan! I’ll never have any peace. If we can get Henry Lawrence...just get him locked up...maybe the dream will stop because we have taken the steps to change what might have happened.”
He looked at her skeptically.
“We’ll take Butch,” she suggested.
“Butch is busy—”
“No, they’re trying to make sure that the dogs don’t disrupt the scenes now. Brutus will stay with Raina and be here if they need him. Butch can come with us.”
“All right, all right, wait!” Keenan said. He strode over toward the closer gravesite. Raina stood there with the dogs, behind the work being done by Beau, Dr. Bowen and the local ME.
“Bodies are fresh enough here—forensic anthropologists are deeper in the woods, places Stacey and