Andie shook off the disturbing image and turned into the rest area.
It was a typical looking highway road stop, a flat roof perched on brown-painted cinder blocks. A bank of three pay phones was in the middle, flanked by men's and women's facilities to the left and right, respectively. The entire building, parking lot, and neighboring curtilage had been marked off as a crime scene with yellow police tape. A forensic team was already at work. Two men were casting a mold for a tire track near a puddle. Another was scouring the pay phone for fingerprints. Four teams had fanned out in all directions, searching the surrounding area for articles of clothing, footprints, blood, weapons--anything of interest.
Andie parked near a squad car on the opposite side of the highway. She stepped out, shocked for a moment by the cold wind. The tall stand of pines behind the building blocked any view of the river, though it was near enough to feel its damp chill.
Andie cinched up her trench coat, crossed the highway and started toward the shelter. A deputy sheriff stopped her before she could duck under the tape. She identified herself and flashed her credentials. He was expecting her.
"This way," he said, then led her around back the long way, outside the yellow-taped perimeter. The wind was blowing harder. Her nose started to run. She stayed a half step behind him so he wouldn't notice.
"Anybody see anything?" she asked, still walking.
"We got the word out to local news asking people to come forward if they were near the rest area this morning. But I wouldn't get your hopes up."
They stopped at a ridge about fifty meters behind the rest area. The stand of pines was behind them. A steep cliff was at their feet. Thick, gray clouds moved slowly through the valley like the ghost of a glacier.
The deputy offered his binoculars and pointed to an area deep in the valley. "Down there. Through that clearing."
With the naked eye she noticed a team converging near the bank of a winding stream. She trained the binoculars toward a wooded area that had shed its leaves for winter. She peered intently, though by now it was a scene she could have described without looking.
Through the tangle of branches, the ravaged body of yet another nude brunette hung limply from a tree.
For Gus, the minutes passed like hours. Andie had been gone for more than two hours, and he had yet to hear anything. It was a long drive to Rainier, he knew, but he had hoped for more frequent updates. Finally, the phone rang.
Gus started in his chair but didn't answer. It rang again.
Carla snapped, "Answer it."
He was frozen for a moment by the possibility of bad news. He grabbed it on the third ring.
"We found a body," said Andie.
"Oh, my God."
"It's okay. It's not Beth."
Gus was relieved at first, then felt guilty about it. True, it wasn't Beth. But it was someone.
Carla was nearly draped over him, concerned. "Did they find her?" she asked.
He covered the mouthpiece, quickly told her what he knew, then continued with Andie. "Who is it?"
"We don't know yet. Identification might take time. Another one exposed to the elements."
"Let me guess. She looks like Beth."
"Not quite as much as the others, but yes. In a general way, there's a resemblance."
"Do you know anything about her?"
"Really nothing as yet."
His head was pounding. "I guess there are a couple of things we'll never know."
"What's that?"
"Whether she has Morgan's number. And whether she knows how to play 'Mary Had a Little Lamb' on the phone."
There was silence on the line, as if Andie didn't know what to say. "I gotta go, Gus. I'll keep you informed." "Thanks." He hung up and looked straight at Carla. She asked anxiously, "What's going on? Is Beth okay?"
"They sure as hell don't know:' He looked away, focused on nothing, really. But his gaze intensified. "And I'll be damned if I'm going to wait around for them to find out."
Chapter Thirty.
Late Monday afternoon Andie drove to the airport Hilton to meet with Victoria Santos and Isaac Underwood. It wasn't a scheduled meeting, but Victoria diverted from her case in Sacramento for a much needed brainstorming session. Isaac brought Alex Gould with him, a retired special agent who had served as profile coordinator for the Seattle field office. Gould was trained at the FBI Academy and had done some impressive work in his day. But for his personality, he might well have been selected to join the profilers in Quantico. The unit was too small and too elite to reward another insufferable know-it-all, however talented.
It was an unusual move, dusting off a retired agent. That made Andie a little nervous. She wondered if Isaac still deemed her up to the task. To his credit, he made a point of pulling her aside before the meeting to reassure her.