H seemed to relax a little. “It’s your show, Scott.” He then nodded to McGaven behind her.
“We are all on the same side,” said Katie. “I’ll tell you what I see so CSI can get started as quickly as possible.” It was better to include the detective than to alienate him or anyone else at the Pine Valley Sheriff’s Department.
Hamilton hesitated for a moment, and then accompanied Katie toward the sheet shielding the trench.
“Who found the body?” she asked, stopping to look at him.
Detective Hamilton turned and pointed. “The construction foreman; well, actually, one of his bulldozer operators.” He looked at his notes. “The foreman is Bob Bramble. He’s the short guy in the red shirt.”
Katie picked him out from the crowd, and then crouched to study all the heavy shoe prints around the area where she stood. “Did anyone go past this area?”
“I don’t think so. The foreman had enough sense to stop everything immediately and call the police,” the detective said.
There were several yellow markers at the edge of the property marking the beginning of the crime scene. They were at the side of the land farthest away from the house, overlooking the dense forest where the excess water was being redirected. It looked like the bulldozers were bringing more dirt in, in order to even out the area before the final grading and scraping, and the extra rain water had forced the older soil to collapse.
As Katie slowly walked to the edge of the property, she noticed that the earthmoving equipment stopped towering above the crime scene on the flat ground and about ten feet before the final resting place of the body. The activity from the large construction machines had caused the ground to separate. She limited her movement as she paused where she estimated the foreman and other workers had stood.
Pain pressed against her eyebrows as a slight vertigo washed through her vision for a moment.
Hamilton and McGaven waited patiently as she took a few steps to the left and then the right, studying the erosion of the hillside and how the body appeared to have tumbled out. It was unclear how deep the victim had been buried, but Katie wondered if it was a coincidence she was buried at an obvious drainage point.
“Is this extreme erosion after an extra rainy month? Or just the usual?” she asked, deliberately not looking at the body yet. No one offered any type of response, so she scrutinized the surroundings, looking for anything that might have either disturbed the area recently or been accidentally left at the scene.
Her heart pounded loudly in her ears. She felt her hands tremble so she curled her fingers against her palms to mask the movement. Her vision blurred slightly, causing things to appear dull and leaving her equilibrium somewhat off balance.
Not now…
An all-too-familiar prickly sensation travelled down her arms and legs, confirming her worst fear. Anxiety was the curse she carried with her after two tours in the army. Her post-traumatic stress was something she realized that she would most likely have to bear forever. Some days were easier than others—and she hadn’t had an episode in almost two months.
Nothing stays away forever…
Standing at the edge of the crime scene, she fought the invisible enemy that raged within her like a silent storm. If she gave in to it, a full force panic attack would ensue where she would not be able to conduct her investigative duties. She knew all eyes were on her, so she made sure that she breathed slowly and steadily. It calmed her nerves and brought down the adrenalin, but her sensations were still heightened, leaving her feeling unbalanced and totally vulnerable. She hated that feeling more than anything else.
This wasn’t her first crime scene, but she had only been involved in a handful. It wasn’t the thought of a dead body, but rather the reality of another victim. She had seen many victims on the battlefield, from both sides, and there wasn’t anything trivial about it. Every life was a story, just as every death was an ending.
Katie focused on the ground to steady herself. Water was still trickling from the opposite edge of the property and then down into the wooded area in several places. Five feet from the leveled edge was the nude body of a young woman, who appeared to have been dislodged and tumbled through a couple of revolutions before stopping in her current position. Twisted. Broken.
Katie reached into her pocket and took out a pair of plastic gloves. Pulling them on to her trembling hands, she prepared to descend the hillside. She took one step and realized that her running shoes would be ruined from the amount of water and mud she had navigated so far. She sighed but continued sideways and with caution, keeping a watchful eye for any evidence, but making sure that she didn’t take a fall down the hillside herself.
As she inched closer, something in the mud caught her attention. It was pink and the sunlight made it appear opalescent.
“I have something,” she said and leaned in to carefully remove the mud around the object, revealing a long, torn fingernail decorated with pink nail polish. It had been ripped from the cuticle at the base of the nail. It definitely looked real.
Katie looked up and saw John, the forensic supervisor, coming down to her with an evidence bag and a digital camera hanging around his neck. He carefully followed Katie’s footsteps in the mud.
Once by her side, he took several photographs for documentation. Behind him, Katie saw that Detective Hamilton was making notes and McGaven watched with intense interest as John expertly recovered the single fingernail and placed it into the evidence bag. He looked at it closely. “It looks like the nail from an index finger—right index finger,” he corrected. He looked at Katie, gave a brief smile, and then waited for her to continue before he started photographing the body.
Katie blinked twice, steadying her nerves, then turned her focus back to the body. Her mind whirled questions.
Did the victim fight until the very last moment? Was that how she lost her fingernail?
Why is she naked?
Wouldn’t it have been easier to bury the body in the woods where no one would find it?
Katie inched closer. The girl was partially decomposing. Flesh had rotted away from the upper arms, part of her breast and stomach areas, and one side of her face. The back molars were showing through the vacant patches of skin around the jawline.
She studied the girl’s face and head. There didn’t appear to be any type of blunt-force trauma or any other obvious injuries. She gently moved the long dark hair away from her face to look at the girl’s neck. A welted line common with strangulations was visible. She continued to examine the body and found that the girl’s right hand was missing the right index fingernail. Wrapped tightly around the left wrist were the remnants of what appeared to be thin twine—now darkened and deeply embedded into the remaining skin.
She didn’t want to move the body in any way until forensics took all the photos necessary to document the scene. She wasn’t sure how long it had been buried, but it looked to be six months or more, by the level of decomposition. That was for the medical examiner to conclude. The missing persons report Katie had looked over a couple of weeks back indicated that Candace Harlan was reported missing almost five years ago. If the body was Harlan, she definitely had not been dead for five years. More questions attacked her thoughts.
What was she doing back here?
Why?
The Elm Hill Mansion had been vacated for close to two years. Katie studied the area at the top of the property where the estate stood. The shell of the house looked like a prop on a movie set, and suddenly made the entire crime scene feel staged and strangely unreal.