And around the neck, looped tight, was a bright red dog’s leash, with ten feet of lead lying on the ground next to the body.
He returned to where his team waited, taking care to step from stone to root so he wouldn’t leave any footprints. His team members were putting on shoe coverings, hairnets, and white Tyvek suits. The suits served a twofold purpose: to keep them from accidentally leaving trace evidence at the scene and to protect them from any biohazards they might encounter.
Leif assigned some of his team to set up the high-tech lighting system and others to mark a way in and out with pin flags. To the rest, he pointed out four trees that would serve as the rough square for the interior perimeter. Leif ’s back-pocket rule was to rope off at least one hundred feet from the farthest item of visible evidence.
He settled for setting the first boundary two hundred and fifty feet from the body. It was easier to decrease the size of an area than to increase it, and he didn’t need the press and onlookers destroying any evidence.
Because this was such a high-profile case, he also asked them to set up a second perimeter about a hundred feet back from the first. The nearer one would still not contaminate the crime scene—if that was what this was—but it could be offered to any VIPs who wanted closer access than the general public. The second perimeter was for everyone else. Along it, Leif stationed local officers and special agents who weren’t part of the ERT to make sure no one trespassed. Privately, the ERT called the yellow crime scene tape “flypaper” for its ability to attract gawkers. But for the moment the only people on-site belonged here. Portland police had stationed officers at all the formal entrances to the park, but that wouldn’t keep the media and the simply curious out for long. Not once they heard that Katie Converse had been found.
And they would hear, even though officials were keeping it off the scanners. With the amount of police presence alone, there was no hope of keeping it a secret. A few minutes earlier Leif had heard a helicopter buzz overhead, but the trees made too thick a canopy for them to see anything.
While they were getting ready, he saw Nicole Hedges taking a quick look at the body. She came back to Leif as he was pulling on a second pair of latex gloves. She wore a single pair, which she was already stripping off and stuffing into the pockets of her parka.
“It’s her. It’s Katie Converse,” she said grimly as Leif began to apply duct tape where his left glove and the suit met.
“The hair, the height, the build, the clothes—they all match. There’s even a gold bracelet we were told she owned, although now it’s just loose. Must have been on the hand the coyote took.” She pointed at the roll of tape. “Need help with your other hand?”
“Sure.”
Leif held out his wrists, and she began to wrap the duct tape where his suit and gloves met. He watched her without seeming to, her face intent as she carefully pressed it into place. Her slanted eyes, her comfort with silence, how she had looked on New Year’s Eve—it all intrigued him. Nicole was a cipher.
And Leif liked ciphers.
He had only gone on a couple of dates since he’d moved to Portland. Nice enough girls, he supposed, but neither of them had been the kind he could imagine discussing his day with. They liked that he was in the FBI, but didn’t want to know the details. Details like those that would consume him today.
When Nicole had finished, she gave his gloved hand a pat. “All done.” She sighed. “I’m going to go back and tell the parents.”
“How do you think they’ll take it?” Leif knew the question was stupid even as it left his mouth. Shoot, he knew Nicole had a kid. Could a parent even recover from such a thing?
“I’ll come back afterward and let you know.” She said it flatly, no sarcasm, and it was worse for that.
Pushing aside his embarrassment, Leif picked up his camera and re-entered the crime scene. Within the ERT he had a dual role: team leader and photographer. Before the team began work, he took entry photographs to show how the scene looked when they arrived. Next he would take evidence photos. And once his team was done processing the scene, he would take exit photographs to show what it looked like when they had finished.
Being the ERT’s photographer meant you had to get up close and personal with the body in order to document exactly what had been done to it. It meant struggling to retain a clinical detachment as you photographed maggots on a corpse.