“I’m a single woman living alone, although I’ve lived with other people at times in the past.”
“Roommates? Boyfriends?”
“Both.”
“Did they think there had been prowlers?”
“No one ever saw anything, but everyone always agreed it was possible because we lived in suburban areas. This is the first time I’ve lived out in the country.”
“Are you armed?”
“Besides my rifle, I own a handgun and keep it beside my bed. I practice once a month.”
Mercy wasn’t surprised.
“Did you figure out the identities of the remains you found?” Britta asked. “The ones with the . . . damaged skulls?”
“Not yet.” Mercy watched her closely. The identification of the children hadn’t been released to the press yet.
“I can’t get the thought of them out of my head,” Britta said angrily. “Why did you tell me about them the other day?” Accusation shot from her tone and gaze.
“I can’t stop thinking about them either,” Mercy admitted. “You know I told you in hopes that you could help us out. The way they were murdered was too similar . . .” To your family.
“I know nothing. I knew nothing as a ten-year-old, and I know nothing today.” Desperation permeated her tone.
The emphasis of Britta’s words struck Mercy’s bullshit meter. Britta was trying too hard to make her point.
Grady Baldwin was right. What is she scared of?
FIFTEEN
That afternoon, Mercy stared at the red spray paint that now coated the edge of the concrete culvert. The vandal had also sprayed the wet dirt, but the paint hadn’t stuck very well. Broken beer bottles covered the area, the crime scene tape had been ripped down, and the wood stakes marking the search area had been ripped out and tossed aside.
Mercy was at the crime scene to meet Dr. Peres because a second group of bones had been found farther down the hill. She sighed at the disrespectful damage.
Dr. Peres was grim. “Pissed me off when I found it.”
“I can’t say it pleases me,” said Mercy, wiping from her nose the rain that had sneaked past her hood. “But no one had the manpower to keep a watch here twenty-four seven. At least all the initial evidence had been removed.”
“I usually want to examine the scene again,” Dr. Peres stated. “I’m thorough, but I always double-check to see if I missed anything.” The anthropologist put her hands on her hips. “I’d like to know who made this mess.”
“That makes two of us. Drunk teenagers? Drunk adults?” Mercy asked. “Who knows?”
“Or someone who isn’t happy we found his burial site,” Dr. Peres asserted, a knowing look in her dark eyes.
It’d crossed Mercy’s mind too.
“What’s done is done,” said Dr. Peres. “And I’m pleased the searchers found another cache of bones. There’s no evidence that our vandals knew about it.”
Mercy stared down the steep hill. Her thigh throbbed at the sight, and she hadn’t even started the descent. She rubbed the complaining muscles, feeling the lumpiness of the scar where the bullet had entered her leg. I have to do this.
She carefully followed the tall woman down the slope. Someone had tied ropes between the trees, creating a much-needed safety line. The two women wore vests with straps and carabiners that they hooked to the ropes as they slowly stepped downhill. The ground was damp under the trees, mostly protected from the heavy rain, but Mercy could see where the water from around the culvert had created a wide, washed-out channel that wound between the trees. The dirt around some tree roots had washed away, and the trees had fallen, leaving huge spidery roots exposed to the air. It was against the trunk of one of these fallen trees far down the hill that the cache of bones had been found.
The dirt under Mercy’s left foot gave way, and she grabbed for the rope. Her hands flailed in the empty air, and she landed on her back, then began sliding down the slope. Her breath was knocked out of her lungs as the strap of the carabiner jerked her to a halt, stopping her from a dangerous journey down the hill. She lay in the dirt, panting, digging her hands into the bank, petrified the carabiner would give way. Her right thigh screamed in pain, and she fought to catch her breath.
“You okay?” Dr. Peres asked from above, gripping the safety rope, concern on her face.
“Yep.” The word was casual, not revealing that her heart was trying to beat its way out of her chest.
“Need a hand?”
“I’ve got it. Give me a moment.” Her right leg felt as if it’d run a marathon, the muscles useless. She took a deep breath and hauled herself to her feet with pure arm strength and willpower. She crept back up to the safety rope, forcing her right leg to move. She kept a tight grip on the line as she followed Dr. Peres, paying better attention to the placement of her steps. Her leg shook from the strain. No wonder the search for more bones had taken so long. Dr. Peres looked over her shoulder and took in Mercy’s dirty pants and coat.
“That was why we put in the safety line. Sorry about your clothes.”
“I’ve got another outfit in my vehicle.” As always. She never went anywhere without a duffel or backpack stuffed with clothes, food, medical supplies, water purification tablets, and ammunition.
Preparation.
The women worked their way down the hill with no more accidents. At one of the fallen trees, Mercy exhaled as the ground flattened out near the trunk and gingerly placed all her weight on both feet at the same time.
“I’ll get my team out here tomorrow to officially excavate the area,” said Dr. Peres. “I thought you’d like a first look.”
Mercy nodded and crouched beside the downed tree. The pine was easily four feet in diameter and had landed perpendicular to the downhill slope, held in place by the thick trunks of still-standing pines. Beneath one section of the fallen tree, water had washed away the dirt and still trickled downhill unimpeded.
Are there more bones farther down the hill?
She knew a lot of the slope had been explored, but the searchers weren’t done yet.
To the right of the wash under the tree, branches had trapped mud and debris when the flow of the water was heavier. It took Mercy a moment to spot the bones that had caught the eyes of the searchers. Several small white nubs stuck out of the mud. Around one, a searcher had dug a little deeper to reveal that the nub was a bone.
“A femur,” stated Dr. Peres as she pointed to the exposed bone. She pulled out her camera and took several photos of the area before she gently brushed away loose debris. Two more nubs were exposed further. “Bingo,” the anthropologist said under her breath.
Mercy fought back the urge to start randomly digging. It was best left to the experts and their careful processes. She stood back and watched over Dr. Peres’s shoulder as she carefully moved small tree branches and rocks, photographing every step.
“Aha!”
Mercy’s heart sped up. She’d spotted the smooth section of bone at the same time as Dr. Peres. The anthropologist gently removed the packed soil around the bone. A minute later she had a skull in her hand. No mandible. Its front teeth had been shattered, and Dr. Peres clucked her tongue in sympathy as she brushed mud from the bone.
“Male. Adult,” Dr. Peres stated. “Caucasian.”
“Possibly the Hartlage father or brother-in-law,” said Mercy. “Whichever we don’t already have.”
“Possibly,” the doctor repeated.
“We still need the dental records for the adults.” Frustration filled Mercy. I have to assume one or more of the Hartlage adults could be alive. “DNA testing will take a long time.”
Dr. Peres did some more superficial digging, unwilling to disturb most of the site. No more skulls.
In her gut Mercy believed this was the Hartlage family, but she didn’t have proof outside of the children’s dental records.
How does the Asian skull fit in the picture?