Torn - Cynthia Eden Page 0,36
shot a questioning glance toward Detective Black.
“Do it,” Dace said immediately, voice curt.
Damn straight the kid needed to do it.
Satisfied, for the moment, Wade followed Victoria under the tape and down the worn path. No birds called out this time, and the rising sun beat down on them with every step.
“When was the body discovered?” Victoria asked Dace, her voice devoid of emotion.
“Just after dawn this morning. A jogger thought he’d found trash on the path, but it . . . wasn’t.”
“We’ll want to talk to the jogger,” Wade said at once. He’d already told him on the phone. Hell, yes, he wanted to interview the man who’d found the remains.
Dace glanced back at him. “We don’t know that this is related to your investigation yet.” There was no missing the caution in his tone. “I called you in because I wanted Dr. Palmer’s expertise, not because I thought—”
“That you’d found Kennedy Lane?” Wade finished. “Seriously, man, you don’t need to bullshit me. This is the same place she vanished. You told me it was nearly the same spot where her ear buds were found. And on the five-year anniversary . . .”
Dace faced forward. A small huddle of three men and one woman were up ahead on the path. “I can’t speculate. I need to know for certain.”
And that was why he’d wanted Victoria.
She had worked for all the major universities at one point or another, lecturing, analyzing . . . and even the FBI had consulted her on numerous cases. When it came to identifying remains—especially remains that had been exposed to the elements for long periods of time—Victoria was the best, plain and simple.
“Dr. Palmer is here,” Dace announced as they closed in on the little group on the path.
Two men immediately backed away. Wade saw the gleam of the badges clipped to their hips—more detectives. A woman was still bent over, a short distance away from what looked like a large black duffel bag. But at Dace’s words she turned around, squinting up at them as the sunlight hit her face.
“That’s our M.E., Dr. Eleanor Chambers,” Dace said.
A few feet behind Dr. Chambers, a man was crouched, snapping pics of the remains. Crime scene tech. It was easy enough for Wade to place all the players at the scene.
Dr. Chambers rose and nodded toward Victoria and Wade. Her hands were covered in white gloves. “It’s good to meet you, Dr. Palmer,” she said, addressing Victoria. “I’ve been an admirer of your work for a long time.” Eleanor Chambers was an African-American woman in her mid- to early forties. Her heart-shaped face and wide eyes were solemn as she stared at Victoria.
“I . . . um, thank you.” Victoria tucked loose hair behind her ear. “What do you know so far?” The sunlight glinted off her glasses.
“I was waiting for you,” Dr. Chambers said. “The bag hasn’t been moved at all. The guy who discovered the remains—he said he didn’t touch it. Swears it.” Dr. Chambers motioned to the man with the camera, and he stopped taking his photos. He rushed forward and pulled another set of gloves out of a black supply box on the ground. “Thanks, Tommy,” Dr. Chambers murmured.
Victoria pulled on the gloves while she stared down at the bag. “He covered her up,” she murmured. “He left her face exposed but he brought in the blanket so that her lower body would be covered.”
Wade could see what looked like human hair blowing in the faint breeze. Hair and bones. Fuck.
“We can use the hair for DNA analysis,” Victoria said. “We can find out if it’s . . . Kennedy or if it’s someone else.” She looked over her shoulder, glancing up at Wade. “She’s been buried.”
He blinked.
“The dirt. The decomposition. This body was put in the ground, then dug up and brought here.” Her breath whispered out, “It’s deliberate. A message.” Her gaze said what she wasn’t saying.
I think it’s her. I think he brought her back because he wanted her body to be found on the anniversary of her disappearance.
Wade’s gut clenched. One body returned . . . and a new woman missing. Was that why Melissa Hastings had vanished? Because the killer had decided it was time to go out and get a new toy?
“I want to talk to the man who found the body,” Wade said again. Hell—body. There was hardly any body left. Just bones. And it fucking infuriated him. If he was staring down at Kennedy Lane, then