“Detective Scott,” said John.
Katie looked over.
“You need to see this,” he said. His voice was anxious and that was out of character for the usually unflappable forensic supervisor.
Katie hurried back up to see what he was referring to.
“Look,” he instructed and pointed to the victim’s back where a word had been carved with deep cuts to the flesh, but it also appeared as if some type of ink was used. The letters were crudely cut, with some exaggeration on the tail of the g now blackened, but still clear enough to read.
“What is it?” asked McGaven at the top of the hill.
“I’m not sure,” said Katie slowly. She shuddered to think. “I think it says something like ‘raccoglitore’.”
“Is that Italian?” asked John.
“I’m not sure,” she said again. “Wait… there’s more.” She carefully crumbled away the mud as more letters appeared beneath.
“What is it?” said Detective Hamilton.
“It says,” she began slowly. “It says ‘raccoglitore di cacciatori’.” Katie thought about the words. It sounded familiar to her, but she wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t gibberish. It meant something. She said, “Does anyone know Italian, or maybe Portuguese?”
“Wait a minute,” said McGaven as he retrieved his phone. “Repeat again slowly.”
“Raccoglitore di cacciatori,” Katie said enunciating the best she could.
McGaven typed in the words on his cell phone and waited. He quickly read the results, stopped and looked at the detectives.
“What does it mean?” asked Katie. Her heart beat faster, not from anxiety but from anticipation of a message from a killer.
“It means… ‘hunter-gatherer’.”
Four
Monday 1230 hours
The words “hunter-gatherer” echoed through Katie’s mind in a strained whisper as she continued searching, but the fingernail and body were the only things identifiable at the scene.
Everyone remained quiet while she worked.
“Detective,” Katie finally said when she was sure that she’d missed nothing. “You want to come down here?”
Detective Hamilton hesitated and then said, “No, the least amount of disturbance would be best. John, go ahead and document.”
Katie thought it was strange that the detective didn’t want to be more involved, but was happy that the scene would not be disturbed any further. She decided to continue down and circumnavigate the hill in order to have a closer look around the surrounding area.
“Thanks, John,” she said as she passed him, moving down the hillside until she reached flat ground.
Standing at the edge of the vast landscape, Katie wanted to get a sense of the area at eye level, which appeared to go on forever. She had known about the existence of Elm Hill Mansion for as long as she could remember, but had never been to the property—there had been no reason.
In fact, there had been stories of sightings of female ghosts dressed in old-fashioned clothes seen roaming the property when she was in school. No one she knew had the courage to visit. As she got older, the stories seemed to dissipate. It was nonsense, of course, but as she looked around at the isolation caused by endless woods and the sorry state of the house, she saw how it could conjure up those images.
If she recalled correctly, it had been a private home for a long time, and then the owners left and dedicated it as a home for displaced teen girls in foster care. From the style of the building, she estimated that the mansion was early 1900s, but she would find out for certain when she returned to the office. She looked up the hillside, past the body and crime scene, to the dilapidated estate standing watch over the valley below—it was as if it held the secrets to everyone that had ever lived there.
Katie made a slow 360-degree turn, studying the terrain and access areas. It wasn’t an easy approach to the property from the wooded trails. The nearest track led west toward a road, which was a solid half mile. The road leading to the driveway would be optimum but the gate below had been locked for some time, so the only other way would be to walk up the steep hill carrying a body. Not likely.
Instinct told her that the house was significant and held many answers to her questions.
Katie walked toward the southern end of the property where a slightly grooved path crossed the open hillside to the level area, which was behind the house. She quickly moved up the path. Weeds had overgrown it but it was still clear to see it had been traversed many times.
She now looked at the back of the house, noticing where the woodwork appeared newer, darker than the front, still had most of its paint and jutted out instead of sitting flush to the back of the house. It was common to add on a bathroom, laundry area, or even extra storage to a house of this age, but she was certain she was looking at the entrance to a basement of some sort. Getting closer, it appeared it had been used as a secured storm door during bad weather, but had become severely neglected over the years.
Katie hesitated a moment as an uncanny sense overcame her. Maybe it was something to do with her anxiety, maybe it was the reaction of being present at the old decaying house, but she wondered if Candace Harlan had used the basement for her escape. She imagined her breaking out in the middle of the night through the basement door and disappearing.
After taking a few photos with her cell phone, Katie pulled open the basement storm door and looked down into the darkness as a musty odor drafted upward, making her take a step back. Wanting to find something that appeared out of place, she decided to take a quick look around.
Katie moved carefully, her sodden running shoes slapping on each wooden stair as she turned on the flashlight application and pointed her cell phone around the room.
Nothing unusual. Cobwebs, dust, and rotting wood. There wasn’t anything on the walls or the narrow shelves lining one corner, which were made for mason jars filled with vegetables and fruits. For due diligence, she took a few photographs before turning back.
Back on the hillside, the team had removed the body and were loading her onto a gurney in a body bag before wheeling her toward an unmarked van.
Katie jogged around the property this time and re-entered the restricted area. As she bent down to slide underneath the yellow tape, she glanced at the crowd. She quickly tallied the onlookers and found that there were eleven people. Most bystanders were talking among themselves while the rest were watching as the gurney slowly made its way to the van.
Acting on instinct, Katie took two quick photos of the group with her cell phone. They were all men, but she could easily differentiate the construction crew from the others by their work clothes and heavy boots. There were seven by her count, making it six more men than happened to be near when the police arrived. Two had baseball caps and their hoods pulled up so it was difficult to see their identity easily.
“Hey,” said McGaven as Katie arrived back beside him. “Find anything?”
Taking one last glimpse at the crowd, she said, “No. I just took a quick walk around the mansion.”
Detective Hamilton caught Katie’s attention.
“Here we go,” she said, dreading having another conversation with him, knowing that the sheriff wanted her and McGaven to take over the case. It wasn’t the first time.