a single daffodil had been placed in her light brown hair. Blood dried on her throat, and the bramble he’d wrapped around her neck was tied in a knot. Her eyes were so wide open that it looked as if she was silently begging for help.
“She didn’t deserve this,” Laney said quietly.
Ellie studied the victim for a moment. She was slender, her face oval-shaped, eyes a dark brown, darker than her hair.
As Laney began her initial assessment, Ellie leaned closer to photograph the bruises on the woman’s arms. A darker, deeper one circled her neck. The impression was so grisly that once again she was struck by the fact that the killer might have been into S and M… or… what if the collar was actually a dog collar? What if the killer raised and trained—or abused—animals?
Laney pointed to the woman’s fingernails, which were painted a shocking pink but were jagged on the ends. “Acrylic nails. Looks like he ripped some of them off. Her fingers are dark with blood.”
“He’s escalating. Growing more cruel. Time of death?”
“She’s not in full rigor yet,” Laney said. “So I’d say two to four hours at the most.”
Dammit. They were close again.
As she looked around the scene, wondering how recently he had been here, something caught her eye in a patch of weeds nearby. Walking over to look at it, with gloved hands and a pair of tweezers, she plucked it from the grass. It was a small piece of a fingernail, painted hot pink. Either it had broken off in the struggle or the unsub had dropped it after he’d clipped the woman’s nails.
Hope flared in her. If she’d scratched him, maybe they could get DNA.
Eighty
North Georgia
“This is Cara Soronto, your local meteorologist with an update of the storm system traveling through the southeast. Tornados have been spotted in Alabama and Tennessee with wind gusts of up to a hundred fifteen miles per hour. Thunderstorms are rolling through North Georgia and conditions in the next two days could be ripe for tornadoes in the mountain region. Stay tuned to your local news and weather station for updates.”
Ignoring the wicked-looking clouds gathering above, Derrick flipped off the radio, pulling his gun as he scanned the property north of Crooked Creek where Vinny had apparently been spotted. The clerk of the nearby country store had said the building he’d seen the man near contained abandoned chicken houses. The area was isolated, with tumbledown houses set miles apart, and many appeared to be abandoned.
Meanwhile, Sheriff Waters was going through the list of family members who’d lost children in the Ghost case, checking their whereabouts and alibis.
Looking around, Derrick didn’t spot any cars but saw an ATV parked to one side of the outbuilding. He remembered then that Hiram had used a similar vehicle to escape through the woods. Could it have been the same vehicle that had sped away the other day?
Slowly, Derrick crept through the property, shining his flashlight across the wild bushes and weeds choking the nearby farmhouse. Peeling paint and loose shutters gave it a run-down appearance and the sound of dogs barking echoed from a nearby barn. The outbuilding might be derelict, but the property wasn’t totally abandoned.
He inched up to the house and climbed the side steps to the porch, staying alert. The place sounded quiet, lights off, and looked deserted, but he eased to the door and carefully twisted the knob. A quick turn and the door opened with a groan. Derrick slipped inside, moving as quietly as possible, listening for sounds of Holcomb or a hostage in the place.
There was an old mattress where it appeared someone had been recently sleeping, and discarded food containers littered the room.
With the house empty, he headed back outside. Holding his gun at the ready, he crossed the yard to the barn. A rattling sound shattered the silence, followed by barking, and the noise grew louder as he approached. Pausing to peer through the cracks, he spotted several cages holding pitbulls. The animals were barking, howling and banging at the cages to get out.
Stepping inside, his senses were alert for Vinny, but the animals were the only creatures to be seen. A deep rage set in as he shined his light on the cages and realized that the animals had clearly been abused. Whips hung on a ladder propped against the wall, and the animals cowered as he approached. Their coats were missing patches of hair, burn marks and bruises marring their skin.
Someone