related to the Foster case, it meant a third crime scene was now in the lineup.
Zoe looked back at the motel, already wondering if there was security footage and how long the computer data would remain intact.
There was a growing collection of people across the street who had already gathered to watch, and she could not help but wonder if the killer stood among them. Some killers would return to their dump sites. In their minds, they shared an intimate bond with the victim because the killer was the victim’s last contact with the living. No one could take that away.
Once the techs were set up, both Zoe and Vaughan were given booties and closer access to the dumpster to view the body.
As she approached the open side door, the air filled with death. Bracing herself, she looked inside the door. The bin was filled with white trash bags as well as a collection of beer bottles and a couple of broken chairs. When she scanned the space, she saw the collection of gold bracelets ringing a discolored slim wrist.
The forensic technician took pictures to document the surrounding area as well as the interior. Knowing this would go on for at least a half hour before anyone crawled into the dumpster, she shifted her attention to the crowd, which had grown to nearly a dozen.
She raised her phone and took video footage of everyone before she crossed the parking lot and held up her badge to the group of onlookers. There were two couples, a group of four women, and three single males.
“Why are you taking our pictures?” The question came from a midsize man wearing faded jeans, a plaid shirt, and work boots.
“I’m FBI special agent Spencer. I’m investigating a murder.”
“But why do you care about us?” the man challenged.
“Perhaps you witnessed something. And your name, sir?”
“Rich Houston.”
“And what are you doing here, Mr. Houston?” The man smelled of cigarette smoke, fast food, and beer.
“Enjoying the show like the rest of the crowd. Why do you care?”
“Do you live around here?” she asked.
“I’m staying at the motel. I’m a truck driver and had to pull in here when my rig broke down.”
“How long have you been here?” Zoe asked.
“Three days. And before you ask, I didn’t see nothing.”
“Where are you based, Mr. Houston?” she asked.
“North Carolina. I make runs up and down the mid-Atlantic.”
“I saw something,” a woman to her left said.
Zoe kept her gaze on Houston a beat longer before turning. “And you are?”
“Theresa Kittredge. I work at the motel.” Kittredge was in her early fifties and had a thin, wiry build with hunched shoulders.
“What did you see?” Zoe asked.
“A guy lingering by the dumpster.”
She knew a dumpster in this area could easily see its share of illegal dumping. “What was he doing?”
“He opened the door and just stared inside.”
“Did he put anything in the dumpster? Did he take anything out of it?”
“No. He just stood there.” The afternoon sun caught the silver streaking her dark hair.
“When was this?”
“Yesterday.”
“Any alarm bells go off for you?” Zoe asked.
“No. We get all kinds around here. I thought at first he was dumpster diving, because restaurants dump here sometimes. But like I said, he didn’t take nothing.”
“Did he see you?”
Kittredge rubbed her hands over her arms as if chilled. “No, I don’t think so.”
“What did he look like?”
She shrugged. “Average. Wore a ball cap and a full jacket, so it was hard to tell. I remember thinking in this heat that the jacket must have been miserable.”
Eyewitnesses could be the most unreliable. Not only did people lie, but even the truth tellers did not always get it right. Human brains had a way of filling in details that fit their own personal worldviews.
Zoe scribbled down the woman’s name and contact information. She spoke to the others standing around, but most were passersby and had nothing to add.
She approached the dumpster just as the first technician crawled through the door and stood over the body, which was covered in debris. He snapped more pictures before he handed out the broken chairs to another tech, who set them on an outstretched tarp.
It took another half hour before the trash and debris were cleared off the woman’s body. The process was painstaking because the body lay under at least a dozen bags, which had to be carefully removed in case evidence was attached. Each sack was also opened on a nearby tarp and searched for any additional possible evidence.
The victim lay on its side,