Waking the Dead Part 20

". . . I'm gonna puke . . ."

"What's going on? What happened?"

Zach's employees were on his heels. The male clients stumbling through the woods right behind them. He looked around, found a long stout stick. Turned in the direction Marcy was still pointing. Toward the rocks embanking the natural hot springs. They formed a small grotto around the natural pool, which was about five feet deep and would fit about four people. It wouldn't be uncommon for snakes to seek out the warmth on the surrounding stones, but they'd shy away from the hot sulfuric water itself.

Stepping warily, he approached the springs, the scent of sulfur stinging his nostrils.

"There." He heard Marcy's voice quavering behind him. "Stuck in those boulders underwater."

He sent her a quick frown before getting closer to the point she'd mentioned. In the water? Snakes wouldn't . . .

"Jesus." His involuntary step backward had him nearly knocking Kirby and Pat over, they were following so closely.

"Holy shi-i-i-t," breathed Kirby, peering around his shoulder. "Is that . . .?"

"Yeah."

They stared at the bones showing through the partially degraded garbage bag that bobbed and dipped in the water. Sulfur would eat away at the plastic, he thought in a distant part of his brain. Maybe the bones, too, given enough time. Continuous immersion in hundred-degree water was bound to destroy any evidence, wasn't it?

A dull ache spiked through his temples. What had started out as a pretty decent day had just abruptly turned to s.h.i.t. "Get the satellite phone. I'll have to call this in."

"Seems like you've got a knack, Sharper." Andrews's tone was a little too edged for humor. "You stumble on the d.a.m.nedest things."

"Yeah, I'm all kinds of lucky." He didn't bother to keep his sarcasm in check. "And I didn't stumble on them. My clients did when they decided to take a quick dip in the springs. You spoke to them, remember? At least twice. And then you let my guides take them home hours ago. And yet I'm still here."

He'd shed his helmet hours ago but was still clad in his wet suit and rubber booties while law enforcement did its thing with excruciating slowness. He hadn't been able to get Andrews when he'd called the sheriff's office, but he'd been routed to Barnes who'd instructed him to herd everybody back to the rafts but not to let anyone leave. That'd been midmorning. Full darkness would descend in another hour or so, and he couldn't tell how close they were to being done. Although there were plenty of forestry and law enforcement personnel on the scene, seemed like some of them were all but tripping over each other as they went about their work.

And Cait seemed oblivious to it all.

Although his view from where he sat on a fallen log away from the scene was partially obscured by a spill of rocks, there were glimpses of her as she knelt for a time at water's edge. Flashes of her when she'd rise and stride to the large bag of equipment she'd brought with her, and after rummaging through it, return to the springs. He had the thought he'd like to be close enough to watch her work. She looked competent, in her element, as she gave instructions to deputies a.s.sisting and to the pint-sized blonde who'd accompanied her.

"So how do you think these bones ended up in this particular place?"

He looked at the woman askance. "How the h.e.l.l should I know? You're the cop."

"I mean," Andrews's voice was testy, "how well known is this place? You said you'd never been to that cave before. Is that true about this area, as well?"

"No. We make regular stops here if we're on an all-day trip on this river. But the last time my outfit had a trip like that scheduled for the McKenzie would have been at least three weeks ago. We wouldn't have stopped today at all except someone needed to take a leak." And part of him wished that urge had occurred another half hour downstream. He didn't need this. Andrews wasn't having him hang around because she enjoyed his company. There was something else on her mind, and it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what it was.

"So it wasn't your idea to stop here today."

He blew out a breath, reaching for a measure of diplomacy that too often eluded him. "It wasn't my idea to stop, no. But when my guide said someone needed a break, I'm the one that scouted out the nearest place to put into sh.o.r.e. Happened to be here."

She half turned away to squint toward the area where her team was working. "Never been in this area myself. Is this a well-known place?"

"It doesn't get the traffic you'd see in Belknap or Cougar. But it's more popular with locals. Hard to access it except by water." He nodded toward the dense thicket of brush and brambles and salal that grew up around the trees, providing a shield of privacy around the area.

"So you're saying people in the region would know about it."

"The river rats probably do. And the outfitters who guide trips on the McKenzie, definitely. As for others . . ." He shrugged. "Who knows?"

"So first we have a secret cave dump site." Her pause seemed deliberate. "And now an out-of-the-way hot springs known only to locals. Seems odd."

"You expected him to dump the bones on Main Street during the Fourth of July parade?"

Her face was flushed. It couldn't be from heat, so he wondered if it was from temper. "I'm asking for your opinion, Sharper," she snapped. Temper it was, then. "Because it's looking more and more d.a.m.n unlikely that someone could waltz in here and discover these hidey-holes for stashing bodies without more than a little familiarity with the area."

"You're looking for a local," he allowed. Hadn't he said the same to Cait on more than one occasion? "Or at least, someone who used to be local. Someone who spent enough time outdoors in the area to become very well acquainted with it."

"That's exactly what I thought."

He didn't like the gimlet look she fixed him with then. But her next words were the most welcome he'd heard all day. "You're done here. You can head home."

Zach didn't need to be told twice. He pushed away from the log and suppressed the need to rub his numbed b.u.t.t. He threw one last look at Cait as he circled around the yellow tape the cops had placed around the scene. Found her bent over what looked like a body bag. Then he lost sight of her completely as he headed for the trees that thickened closer to the river-bank.

"What about the paintings? Any evidence of pictures on the inside of the scapulas?"

Andrews was standing so close that Cait b.u.mped into her every time she moved to reach for another bone. "That was the first thing I checked," she said patiently. "The UV lamp and magnifier didn't show any trace of it. The temperature of the water was one hundred five point three degrees. The invisible paints I'd ordered arrived today, right before your call. None of them claim to be water resistant. But given that the remains are minus the skull, I think we can safely a.s.sume the same UNSUB is responsible."

"So why would he have bothered with the images if he was going dump them somewhere they'd be destroyed?" Andrews whirled and began to pace the lab. "From what Sharper said, those bones couldn't have been there long. Not all summer. He claims those hot springs are known by locals, who prefer them to the more well-traveled ones in the area. Barnes is following up with other outfitters in the region to see if they've stopped there recently with any of their tours. But if Zach's correct, someone on the river would have stumbled on that skeleton if it had been there longer than a few weeks. Maybe less."

Cait wasn't ready to make a guess at how long the bones had been in the water. Certainly there was already some exposure of the spongy undersurface in some of the smaller bones. "The specimens will have to dry out completely before I can do close examination. And that process can take up to two days." And even then they might be in poor condition and need further treatment.

"You said the paintings on the bones were a major factor in his method of disposal." Andrews returned to her earlier subject as she turned to retrace her steps. "But by submerging them in hot springs, he all but guaranteed he'd erase them. It looks like he's changed his methods."

"His method of disposal maybe," Cait corrected. Gently she continued transferring the wet bones from the canvas body bag to the thick pad of newspapers she'd covered the spare gurney with. "But the paintings are part of his ritual, and he won't vary from that. He would have been compelled to follow the same pattern regardless of how he meant to get rid of them."

"They almost have to have been dumped since we found the remains in the cave," Andrews muttered. Her boots rang hollowly as she continued to roam around the room. When under stress the woman seemed to resort to compulsive behaviors, Cait noted. The pacing she'd seen before. The chain-smoking last night had been new. "The b.a.s.t.a.r.d is thumbing his nose at us. And I agree with Sharper. It's someone from the area. Someone who knows the region as well"-she shot Cait a grim smile-"as he does."

Cait digested the information silently. He'd expressed the same opinion to her on more than one occasion. She'd seen the sheriff talking to him before he'd left. From the expressions on their faces, it hadn't seemed like a pleasant experience. Plainly there was no love lost between them.

"So the UNSUB's dump site is discovered. He's forced to adapt. What I find most interesting here is that he didn't bury these bones." And she still couldn't get a handle on that. "In an isolated part of the forest he could have dug a hole deep enough so they wouldn't be found. h.e.l.l, he could bury them on his own property." She'd already concluded he had access to a place that allowed him privacy. "I'm beginning to think burial is significant to him in some way. And that it holds a negative connotation."

"And I'm beginning to think that maybe we're overlooking the possibility that the UNSUB is a woman." When Cait looked at her, Andrews held up a hand, as if asking her forbearance. "You've said yourself, the bones don't weigh that much. What, twenty pounds or so?"

The estimate was close enough. "Approximately."

"Woman in good shape can carry that easy enough. And if she's familiar with the area she's just as capable as climbing up Castle Rock as a guy is."

"You're thinking digging a grave is too much work for her, though?" Cait didn't follow the reasoning.

"Maybe."

With exquisite care, she removed a femur from the canvas bag and placed it on the mat. "Whatever the gender, the UNSUB may just have made a miscalculation. Could be he-or she-thought the combination of the temperature and the sulfur would destroy all evidence of the bones, given enough time." If so, that had been a mistake. It would have taken days of submersion in boiling water to break the bones down. The waters of Mimosa Creek weren't nearly that hot.

A thought struck her then, and she looked up, caught the sheriff's eye. "Kesey mentioned seeing someone in the forest in the Castle Rock vicinity the night the bodies were recovered, remember? Someone carrying a pack."

Andrews's stocky frame went still. "Finding out that his hidey-hole had been discovered would have thrown him off his game. But you said Kesey couldn't give you a description."

Cait shook her head. And she was fairly certain they'd gotten all from the man that he knew. "It was too dark. But neither team has run across the other roamer Barnes mentioned. Lockwood. Maybe he saw something."

The sheriff grunted. Began moving again. "Nearly two weeks since we hauled those bodies out of that cave and we still have a whole lot of nothing. I'm getting buried on the publicity surrounding this thing. What am I supposed to tell the press when they catch wind of this latest set of remains we found? That I'm following up a lead on the d.a.m.n garbage bags? I need something solid."

Although she could have pointed out just how much they'd put together in just a few days, Cait remained silent. She understood the frustration felt by the lead law enforcement officer who'd catch every piece of flack, whether from politicians or the media. "I tested three samples of paint this morning and more arrived while I was gone today. Since there are a limited number of suppliers, I'm confident I'll find a match. And unlike garbage bags, paint is something that can't be kept around for long periods of time." Andrews looked a little more cheerful at the words. "It'd probably need to be reordered, especially if months or years transpired between kills."

"You're right. And if that turns out to be . . ."

The fax machine on the desk began to whir. Cait went still in the process of removing the sternum from the canvas bag, staring in the direction of the desk. Drecker had promised the lab would fax Recinos's mother's DNA profile when it was finished.

Andrews strode swiftly over to the machine, started picking up the pages as they spit out into the receiving plate.

Cait laid the bone on the newspaper and followed the sheriff to the desk. She flipped through the file folders she had in the plastic organizer on its corner until she found the one containing female C's DNA profile. Opening it, she took the sheets from Andrews and laid the profiles side by side, leaning over to peruse them.

The other woman crowded by her side, although to Cait's knowledge she had no scientific background, and the profiles were likely Greek to her. To Andrews's credit, though, she didn't prod, although impatience all but radiated off her.

Cait compared the profiles once. Twice. Again. Finally, she blew out a breath. Straightened.

"Looks like you've got something solid at last. These profiles match at seven markers." She looked up, excitement spurting through her veins. "We can be reasonably certain that we've identified female C. She's Marissa Recinos of Seattle, Washington."

Chapter 15.

Barb Haines's carca.s.s would take several more days to dry. He tested the screens covering the shed's loft doors to be sure they were secure. The bits of rotting tissue that still adhered to the skeleton would attract insects if he wasn't vigilant about keeping them away. The industrial-sized fan he had aimed at the bones would help dry them out more quickly, reduce the odor, and discourage any insects that might creep in.

He climbed the ladder down from the loft. Before slipping outside to cross the yard back to the house, he checked on his beetles. As always, their busyness enthralled him, but that piece of racc.o.o.n roadkill he'd prepared for them wouldn't hold them for long. He had such a large colony that it took him hours every week to keep them in food. Sometimes he thought they were insatiable.

Sometimes he wondered the same thing about Sweetie.

The thought seemed a betrayal, and automatically he shook it off. Sweetie was the planner. The one who had all the ins and outs figured. But first there were only going to be five to kill. Then it was seven. With Barb Haines they were at eight.

And that made him ask himself whether Sweetie would ever really be satisfied. If the promise of a future together would ever really happen.

The thoughts made him angry with himself and ruined the joy he usually took in watching his bugs work. Now was a time for faith. For standing strong together as they outwitted the sheriff and her entire department. It wasn't a time to start entertaining doubts.

Carrying his Maglite, he hurried to the door of the shed and carefully padlocked the structure behind him before continuing to the back door of the house, where he'd left a light on the porch.

Entering the kitchen, he paused to lock the door behind him before setting his flashlight on the counter. He continued through to the living room. And stopped dead in the doorway separating the two rooms when he saw who was standing inside the front door.

Not just inside the door, actually. Sweetie's hand was on the doork.n.o.b to the bas.e.m.e.nt door, twisting it this way and that, trying to get it open.

Which made him all the more glad that he'd remembered to lock it the last time he'd been down there. He hadn't returned to it since he'd carried Barb Haines's dead body up those stairs a couple nights ago.

"If you're looking for me, I'll hide in the bedroom."

Sweetie jumped and whirled to face him. And his smile faded when he saw the expression on the face he loved so much.

"They've found another set of bones!"

He stilled, shock radiating through him. "What? That's impossible." He'd been so careful. Given the new spot so much thought. He'd weighted the bag down with stones. Tied the drawstring tight, then secured it again with a twisty before wedging it under larger rocks forming a lip along the lower side of the hot springs. "There must be some mistake."

Sweetie's voice was filled with bitterness. "There was a mistake all right, and you made it. Of all the lame-a.s.s moves. What were you thinking?"

What the h.e.l.l were you thinking, you dumba.s.s? His father had always accompanied the words with a cuff of the head that would have his ears ringing. He'd lie in bed all night nursing his bruises and plotting his revenge. A revenge that had been slow in coming, but had been immensely satisfying.

"I was thinking you asked for my help," he said stiffly, and headed back to the kitchen for a beer. He didn't ask if Sweetie wanted one. Returned to the room where his lover still stood and tipped the bottle to his lips. "I was thinking that since the cave was out of the question I needed to find a new place as soon as possible."

"I'm not blaming you." But they both heard the lie in Sweetie's words. "I just don't understand. There were seven sets of bones in the caves, but I brought you eight. So this is the last one, right?" A dagger of pain sliced through him at the distrust in Sweetie's eyes. "This is the last 'surprise' find?"

"Of course." But his gaze slipped away. Not even Sweetie needed to know that he'd used that cave before the two of them had joined forces.

Barb Haines had only been dead two days. And regardless of what was said here, her remains wouldn't be disposed of until it could be done right. Respectfully.

But clearly he'd have to give that disposal some thought. His last bright idea hadn't worked out as well as he'd hoped.

"I didn't show up at your place and demand to know why five wasn't enough, did I?" The words burst out of him, surprising in their bitterness. "I didn't push and pressure you about the decisions you've made, even though you varied from our original plan."

Sweetie took a few steps toward him, before halting. "Now you're mad at me. You don't know what it's been like. I'm worried all the time. Not about Andrews and her crew, but that consultant they brought in. That Fleming. She's got more smarts that the entire sheriff's outfit combined. I hear they have their own lab facility set up and everything. You know what that means? We can't count on a backlog of cases at the state crime lab to hold up results. I'm telling you, the woman's trouble."

He found himself softening a little, but the earlier sting lingered. "They can do their tests and police work. It won't matter. There's nothing that can tie them to us. You worry too much."

"Easy for you to say. I can't sleep. I can't eat. It's all I think about." Sweetie's smile was tremulous. "But this is it, right? There's nothing more for them to find."

"Nothing more," he echoed rea.s.suringly, but his mind was racing. He was going to have to give this last disposal a great deal of thought. Maybe he could get his hands on a wet suit and hide the bones in the river somewhere. Soakers wouldn't find them there; it was too cold to swim in the McKenzie.

But there were fishermen on the river, he recalled in the next moment. With his luck, one would catch a hook on the bag and drag it to the surface.

"I just hope you haven't brought them to our door." Sweetie checked the time. "I'm going to be missed soon."

"Maybe you'd better go." For the first time he was anxious to see the end of his lover. A bitter sense of resentment bubbled up inside him. After all he'd done! All he'd sacrificed! Only to be treated no better than the old man had treated him really. By the one person he trusted more than anyone else in the world.

Sweetie looked at the door, then back to him. "I can't leave if I think you're upset with me. It'll tear me up so I can't think of anything else."

"I'm not upset," he lied. But the kiss his lover brushed over his lips failed to move him the way it usually did. And once Sweetie had gone, the emotions crashed and collided inside him like b.u.mper cars at a carnival.

It had been their first fight. A sense of terror accompanied the thought. He didn't want to live without Sweetie. For once, it seemed as though his life had meaning. A higher purpose. Perhaps he'd been too sensitive. Maybe Sweetie had just been looking for comfort.

But there had been no excuse for name-calling. He took a long swig from the beer. The comment still burned. And maybe he needed a little bit of comfort, too. A comfort Sweetie hadn't offered.

A comfort he could find downstairs.

He didn't give the thought too much consideration because if he did he'd feel bad about what he was doing. He just dug the key from his pocket. Crossed to the locked bas.e.m.e.nt door and opened it.