The moment his boss slipped out of sight, Gina rushed up to him. “So?”
“I have a DB I need to investigate.”
“I want to go.”
“No.”
She clung to his arm. If Jack Andries happened to come back, his boss would have a fit if he found his niece all over him.
“How am I supposed to learn anything if you keep me away from all the fun?”
Phil figured one look at a smelly dead body and she’d puke. It would be the end of her short career, and his boss would be happy. “Fine.”
The moment she climbed in the cruiser, Gina started in on him again. “What did Uncle Jack say when I left? He was pissed, wasn’t he?”
“Ya think? You’re lucky he didn’t chain you to the chair because of what you’re wearing.” Phil glanced over at her. She tugged on the neckline of her top and pulled down her skirt. Enough said. “You sure you want to see a dead guy? It could be gruesome.”
“I’m not some delicate flower.”
He refused to comment and would reserve judgment for after the viewing.
In light traffic, they made it to the cemetery in under twenty minutes. Three cop cars were sitting in front of the main building, lights swirling. Jeff Lamont, the proprietor of the cemetery, was talking to Quay Desmond, Phil’s former partner. Good guy, but a little over the top in interrogation tactics.
“It’s show time,” Phil sang as he crawled out of the driver’s seat.
The blistering heat caused instant sweat to pool under his arms. Gina smiled as she oozed out of the car. “So where is he?”
“Gotta ask first.” Phil approached Quay. Gina followed right behind. “Whatcha got?”
“Why don’t I let Mr. Lamont tell you?” Quay said. No rancor in his tone, but Phil wasn’t na?ve enough to think their rift was over.
Phil directed his gaze at Lamont. “The report said you found the body.”
“Yes. I saw the front loader at the edge of the cemetery. That doesn’t look good for the digger to be in plain sight, especially when we were about to have a viewing, so I went over to investigate. I admit I kind of panicked when I saw a foot sticking out from under some low lying branches.”
Understandable. “Did you touch the body?”
“Kind of. There was a lot of blood, so I felt for a pulse.” He shook his head once. “I was hoping he’d cut himself and had just passed out, but I didn’t find any signs of life.
“Can you show us where you found him?”
“Sure. Let me get the golf cart. It’s quite a walk.” The cemetery proprietor whipped out a handkerchief and wiped his damp brow as he headed toward the large cement building. Being excessively overweight must be a bitch in late June.
“Mind if I tag along?” Quay asked.
“Sure. I can’t quite get a handle on Lamont’s agenda. You know Jack Andries’ golden rule—safety in numbers.”
“Oh, yeah, and you always did follow rules.”
Phil caught the sarcasm in his tone. “I do when it suits me.”
Quay chuckled. “By the way, I talked to the gardener. He didn’t see or hear anything.”
“Maybe the shooter used a silencer.”
Quay shrugged. “The lab will be able to confirm or deny that theory.”
“Did you call the M.E.?”
“On his way.”
“Good.”
Quay seemed to have overcome his two-year snit. Had Phil known Courtney was dating Quay, he never would have asked her out. Friends didn’t snake dates from each other. He’d apologized, but Quay wouldn’t forgive him.
Lamont rolled up in a golf cart, and the three of them climbed in. The bumpy drive took only a few minutes to reach the crime scene. Yellow police tape ringed the backhoe and small wooded area.
Arms crossed, Officer Ricardo stood watch, his face sheet white. Phil nodded to his fellow officer. “Jose.”
Ricardo stepped into the shade. Gina stayed on the cart while Phil and Quay examined the backhoe. Blood spatter on the seat neatly outlined the shape of a head. The shattered front glass implied the shooter stood in front of the victim when he took aim.
“If he was shot here,” Gina said, “why move the body?”
Phil whipped around. He hadn’t heard her approach. “You’ll have to ask the killer, though it’s possible he wasn’t dead on impact.”
Gina slinked closer, looking cool and calm, despite the heat and the blood bath on the tractor and ground. “Unless the killer thought someone might come and investigate. If Willie Wyble was slumped over the wheel, it might draw more attention.”
“I think the blood spatter would be a dead giveaway something was wrong.”
She punched him in the arm. Guess she didn’t like sarcasm. Welcome to the force.
Wanting to examine the body, he stepped over to the prone corpse. No need to ask Gina to join him, she’d be right behind him.
They ducked under the low-lying magnolia tree branches that gave some relief from the heat. Wyble’s body was half under the tree, half out. From the body’s position, Wyble could have fallen off his seat, and then crawled ten feet to his death.
Phil squatted behind the body. “These look like claw marks, like he pulled himself under the tree.”
Quay joined him. “We’ll need forensics out here, but I have to agree with you on this one.” He shook his head. “How Wyble could move after being shot in the head is a mystery to me.”
“The body can do some amazing things.”
Gina knelt next to the body. Willie’s right eye was dangling out of its socket where the bullet had entered. How could Lamont have thought Willie might have survived such an injury?
Dried blood covered the top part of Wyble’s face, and flies were swarming around the gapping holes, enough to gag a seasoned cop. Phil expected her to puke. Instead, she reached toward Willie’s fingers. On reflex, Phil yelled, “Don’t touch him. As a matter of fact, we need to stay away from him until the medical examiner and crime scene unit do their thing.”
She looked up at him. “I wasn’t going to touch him. I wanted to see what he’d written.”
“Written?” Phil and Quay inched closer.
Gina pointed to the ground. “Looks like a D and then an o.”
Phil had to agree. “Let’s let the CSU team photograph it. With the enhancement software, they might be able to make out the third letter. Good catch.”
Gina smiled and lust grabbed him hard. Not the right response in this situation, but God, she was getting to him.
Kerry walked down the hallway to Dr. Quentin Dobbins’ autopsy room. John had mentioned Dr. Dobbins had agreed to do the workup on the infant they’d found. Now that Tameka Dorsey and Janet Kopetski had been identified, and #4’s face was in front of the public, Kerry wanted to focus on the remains of the little girl. If John couldn’t confirm #4’s cause of death, she’d investigate the woman’s bones more thoroughly.
It sickened her to think she might never be able to identify #3. The killer had stolen her skull.
Nothing she could do about the theft now. The sheriff’s department was working on the case. Her job now was to identify the baby. No mother should wonder about the fate of her child.
Hunter had pulled all the missing person files of infants for the past year, but none came close to the description of Baby Doe. She couldn’t help but wonder if someone had smothered the girl in order to keep her from crying. Or had the baby died of some horrible disease? Had the parents wanted to cover up her death because they’d failed to act in time to save her?
Only good old-fashioned forensics would supply the answer.
Dr. Dobbins was busy working on a mature male when she slipped into his cold room. “Knock, knock.”
The tall, thin man looked up. “Yes?” His hands continued to probe the body, and blood streaked his goggles and rubber gloves.
They’d never met, but John claimed Quentin was one of the best pathologists he’d ever worked with. “I’m working with John Ahern on the four women found in the field in North Tampa.”
He plopped a liver into a tray and removed his mask. “How can I help you?” Not the most friendly greeting, but given the chore in front of him, she couldn’t blame him for being a bit testy.