But that meant people had gone overboard on decorating. Who would have noticed this display? Skeletons, witches, pumpkins, zombies, and you name it were set up in yards across the country.
“Leave it to you guys—which one of you found the body?” Marty asked.
“Neither.” Jackson told her. “Our son was walking by and smelled . . . death. He called me here, and I called you all,” Jackson said.
“You didn’t touch the body?” Marty asked.
“I know better and you know I know better. Medical examiner touches the body first,” Jackson said.
“Barry?” she asked the detective.
“Hey, I know better, too.”
“But you’re sure it’s human?” She asked, and then she shook her head, wondering at her own folly. “Yeah. Of course. You’re sure. You get to know that particular smell,” she said. “All right, well. You’re here. I guess you’re staying. Which is good. We just got word about a strange poem being sent to the paper. I don’t know if it’s associated, but . . . ah, hell. I used to love Halloween!” She shook her head again. “Can’t anyone decorate without a real corpse anymore?”
She left them, making her way to the porch and the costumed body. “What poem?” Jackson asked Barry.
“The paper called us; they received a weird poem. Postmarked three days ago. They said it was probably a Halloween prank, but they sent it to us anyway. May or may not be related. I’ll send it in an email to you both right away. And I . . . I’ll get the preliminary from Marty now.”
Barry walked away and Angela turned to Jackson.
“Neighbors,” she murmured. “I’ll start with them. Maybe Marty will find I.D. on him, or . . . is it a him?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Great,” she said. “You get to start with the body. I’ll take the block.”
She looked to the two houses next to the old Fillmore place. It was an affluent neighborhood and yards were big.
And decorated.
She glanced at Jackson. “Jackson—there could be more.”
“Right. But the Fillmore place is empty. When people are living in houses, something set up in a yard would be noticed by the owners.”
“Unless the owners are . . . well, we might find more,” she said quietly. “Jackson, it’s just today and then it is Halloween.”
“I know. And there could be . . . more.” He winced. They were both silent for a minute; watching as the police and a woman from the forensic team took pictures of the body as it was found, and then every step of the way as it was moved per Marty’s direction, the pumpkin head removed, and then carefully laid flat on the old porch flooring.
“We need to get D.C. police, Krewe, and everyone out on this. Jackson, we need an army to check out every Halloween creature mannequin out there,” Angela murmured.
“This is horrible, and we will get an army out there,” Jackson agreed. “For now,” he added softly, let your nose be your guide.”
She grimaced in return and then asked worriedly. “Jackson, do you think Corby is . . . going to be okay?”
“I think Corby is exceptional, and yes, he’s going to be okay.” He smiled at her. Through the years, since they had met and worked the first Krewe case in New Orleans, they had been through a great deal together. Much of it hard. But Krewe members knew they could make a difference. They could save lives.
“He’s young; we’re going to hope he has a great life. But he is one of us,” Jackson said.
He loved his wife. She had her blond hair queued back and was wearing a simple pantsuit, and she was still a striking woman. More. She could handle their work, their adopted son, and new baby daughter without being overwhelmed.
Of course, Axel Tiger’s Aunt Mary had made life easier for them both.
She smiled. “Yes. I guess we all went through something at one stage or another. And maybe it’s best when we start young.”
She smiled and headed off.
Jackson watched her walk away then made his way up the steps to the porch, keeping a distance to allow Marty and her people and the forensic team to work. He stood next to Barry.
“Emailed you,” Barry said. “You’ll have the poem the papers got.”
“Thanks,” Jackson said. Then he turned to Dr. Lopez, “Marty—”
“Male Caucasian, forty-five to fifty years old. No I.D. that I can find on him, but we’ve got his prints. Cause of death exsanguinations. Method—knife wound straight into the heart. Obviously, I can tell you more after autopsy and when all . . . this!” She paused, indicating the scarecrow costume, the jack-o-lantern headpiece, and the straw. “When all this has been analyzed.”
“Obviously, he wasn’t killed here, right? Knife wound to the heart—where’s the blood?” Jackson asked.
“No, he wasn’t killed here or dressed here,” Marty said. “There’s very little blood on the clothing or the costume.”
“And how long ago was he killed?” Jackson asked.
“Well, we all know there’s decomposition,” Marty said, wincing bleakly as she looked at him. “I’m going to say he’s been dead five to ten days, but again . . . temperature has been on the chilly side, so . . . I will hopefully know more. Barry, Jackson—I’m going to take him in now unless . . .”
She had been down by the body.
Jackson hunkered down by the body himself.
Decomp hadn’t been kind. The man’s face was a strange mottled color, insects still crawled over the face.
And even so . . .
“What is it?” Barry asked Jackson.
“I’ve seen this man. Somewhere.,” Jackson said. He pulled out his cell phone. There would be hundreds of crime scene photos—such was the digital age.
But he wanted one himself of the man’s face.
Because something about it—despite bloating and gnawing and all else that had befallen the man since death—he felt a nagging sensation.
He had seen him before.
“You know him?” Barry asked.
Jackson shook his head. “No, but . . . there is something familiar. I think he’s been in the news or on a magazine cover—or I’ve passed him at the grocery store. Anyway, we’ll hopefully have an I.D. soon enough.”
“That face,” Barry murmured, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, happy Halloween. That face is sure as hell going to be haunting me.”
“We’ve had to work cases with "display" killers before, and, of course, Halloween always brings out that kind of "crazy." Jackson stood, ready to join Angela in her door-to-door quest for information. Maybe she would recognize the man.
Chapter 2
Angela approached the door of the neighbor’s house while noting the yard display.
There was a hearse in the front yard, driven by a skeleton, carrying a skeleton. It was surrounded by pumpkins.
The good thing was it would have been impossible to hide a human body in the plastic bones, and she had recently seen the exact display at the hardware store when she and Jackson had picked up a new area rug for the baby’s room.