“We don’t get many murders in this county, but always stings more when they’re young. I never get used to it.”
“Once I have the scene processed,” Martin said, “I’ll let you know if we find anything else.”
“Sounds good,” Sheriff Barrett said.
Riley was puzzled by the body’s position. “The killer took the time to pose her sitting up as if she were resting. She’s also fully dressed. He could have abused the body, but he didn’t. And her face was turned downward, so her eyes didn’t look up at him.”
“That’s one way of looking at it, I guess,” the sheriff said. “Or they could have been doing drugs or having sex and it went sideways.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. He strangles her, which is a very personal way of killing someone, but then he feels bad enough not to dump her body like a bag of trash.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Sheriff Barrett glanced back toward the interstate ramp. “The killer could have disposed of her body and been back on his way north or south in a matter of minutes.”
“He could be three states away by now.”
“Martin, any tire tracks?” the sheriff asked.
“Not in the field, but there are fresh ones on the side of the road just beyond Hudson’s truck. I’ve dropped flags to preserve them. There are plenty of footprints, though. Someone walked around the body several times. Could have been Hudson, since the impressions were made by work boots, which I am assuming he’s wearing.”
“He is,” Riley confirmed.
“I’ll need impressions of Hudson’s boots.”
“I’ll swing by his place and get them,” Sheriff Barrett countered.
“Judging by the size of the footprints, I’d say a man’s ten or eleven,” Martin said.
“We should be able to clear Hudson as soon as I get his impressions,” Sheriff Barrett said.
“A DNA swab wouldn’t hurt,” Martin added.
“Sure.” The sheriff rolled his head from side to side. “Trooper, any other thoughts?”
“The victim is thin, so she wouldn’t have been hard to carry,” Riley said. Had he slung her over his shoulder or carried her in his arms? Both images, one suggesting disinterest and the other care, bothered her. She shook both off. As a cop, it was better to focus on facts rather than feelings. Easy enough during the daylight, but at night those denied emotions robbed her of sleep. “Can you tell if she died here?”
Martin examined the victim’s back and side. The victim’s right side was stippled with dark blue as if bruised. “When she died and her heart stopped, she was on her side. Likely stayed that way for a while—gave the blood time to settle. If she’d died here, like this, the blood would have settled in her hands and the bottom half of her legs. My guess is she died somewhere else.”
“Gambling’s not legal in this state,” Sheriff Barrett observed as he studied the cards.
“Doesn’t mean it can’t happen. Private games go on all the time,” Riley said. “The big players don’t fuss with public venues.”
“High stakes. In a fancy backroom game. Sounds far-fetched,” he said, more to himself.
Riley blinked, remembering her stepfather had been a high roller who couldn’t stay away from the tables. “These guys play with the best cards, and they hire the prettiest girls to serve them drinks and keep their mouth shut about what they see.”
The sheriff’s head cocked slightly as he studied her. “You pick all that up while on patrol?”
“I pay attention.”
“All right,” he said after a pause. “Keep me updated. I’ll contact criminal investigations with the state and turn the case over to them.”
“Sounds good.”
Sheriff Barrett crossed the field, shook DuPont’s hand, climbed in his car, and left.
“Are you okay, Riley?” Martin asked. “You look a little pale.”
She cleared her throat and squared her shoulders. “Still worn out a little from yesterday. I’ll be fine.”
“Sure? Hell, you look like someone walked on your grave.”
His concern pricked at her pride. “You’re being dramatic.”
“Yeah, that’s me. Mr. Drama.” A deadpan tone made the statement laughable.
“I can see that.” Riley grinned, hoping to break the tension coiling inside her.
But the levity was fleeting. If not for the cards, she would have theorized that a john or one of Jax’s friends had killed the girl. It was the most plausible conclusion. If not for the cards.
“Seriously, you okay?” Martin studied her like he would one of his crime scenes. “You ain’t gonna faint on me, are you?”
She mustered another smile. “Hell, no.”
“Thank God.”
The crunch of gravel under tires had her turning to spot a television news van rolling up on the other side of the highway across from the spot Sheriff Barrett had vacated.
“Out of the frying pan and into the fire,” Riley said.
“Good news travels fast.”
“He’s not here for this case. He’s here for me. I saw him at the park yesterday, and he was at the hospital this morning.”
“He wants to talk to the woman of the hour.”
“Unfortunately. And thanks to the sheriff’s perfect timing, I’m not going to be able to sneak away.”
“Maybe DuPont will talk to him and run interference.”
“DuPont isn’t going to do me a favor.”
“You handled the media well enough yesterday after the Carter arrest,” Martin said.
“I didn’t say a whole lot.”
“Exactly. The less said the better.”
“Even then, think twice.”
The cards still playing on her mind, she moved back toward the road where DuPont and the other deputies stood, arms crossed, faces grim. In no mood to deal, she moved past them with a quick nod, knowing it would not serve her well to quip with a deputy while the media was close. Keeping her gaze trained ahead, she adjusted her sunglasses. “Have a good one.”
No response followed as she approached her car and opened the backseat door to allow Cooper to jump inside. She switched on the engine and the air-conditioning.
The reporter, Eddie Potter, was a guy in his late forties who favored blue button-down shirts and khakis that hung loosely on his trim frame. He crossed toward her.
“Trooper!” he shouted, waving his hand. Behind him, an older, sturdy man unloaded the camera, and though he didn’t stroll, he didn’t race like the reporter. “I didn’t get a chance to talk to you again this morning when they arrested Carter.”
She settled Cooper in the backseat and closed the car door. “Yes, sir. What can I do for you?”
“Eddie Potter. I’m with local news.”
“Yes, sir. I remember you from yesterday.”
“Hell of a trek into the woods you made yesterday and a ballsy arrest.” He glanced toward the backseat of her SUV. “That the famous Cooper?”
She moved to the right, blocking his view of the dog. “That’s Cooper.”
“I did a little digging. Human trafficking is your thing.”
“My thing?”
“Bad choice of words. Your cause. Is that why you were determined to get Carter? We’ve all seen the video of him hitting that girl. Brutal.”