“Like I told the lady on the phone,” he said, stealing looks at the dog, “I found a body. Jesus, scared the life out of me.”
She fished a small notebook and pencil from her back pocket. “What’s your name, sir?”
“Russell Hudson. I manage and own all the land on this stretch of road. I live off Route 602 about two miles from here.”
She recorded his name and address. “What were you doing out here today?”
“I’m leasing the field to a promoter. A music festival is coming to the area in two weeks. I was fixing to cut the field with my tractor, but wanted to walk the land first.”
“And that’s when you found a body?”
“Yeah. I saw a flicker of white by the trees over there and went to check it out. The dead girl is leaning against the tree trunk.” He pointed to a tall oak. “I can show you.”
She pressed the radio button mounted on her vest and relayed her position. Dispatch confirmed the sheriff’s deputy was en route. “Let’s have a look, Mr. Hudson.”
They moved through the thick grass until they came to a tree centered in a small clearing. At the base of the tree was the body of a young woman. Her head was slumped forward, sending long dark hair cascading over her face and breasts. Her neatly manicured hands rested in her lap, making her look almost polite, demure.
“Shit, the sight of her still makes me sick. I’ll never forget this. I saw dead bodies when I was in the navy, but it was never a girl like this.”
“Have you touched her or moved her in any way?”
He held up bent hands. “Hell, no. I’m not going near that.”
“Stay here.”
“Suits me fine.”
Riley tugged on latex gloves, moving through the brush with Cooper. A sick, sweet scent wafted around her, a harbinger of the pungent scent of decomposition.
She knelt and touched the girl’s wrist. Cold, stiff, and no pulse. By her looks she was young, not more than twenty. Faded jeans skimmed over slim hips and a peasant blouse clung to full breasts. There were no signs of trauma to the body, but as much as Riley wanted to tip back the cascade of hair and search for a cause of death, she’d leave that for the forensic team.
Rising, she clicked her radio on. “This is Trooper Tatum. I have visual on a young female victim. You can check with county, but I’m sure they’ll need the state lab to do the forensic collection.” She patrolled in a small rural county policed by a handful of deputies. They had the capability of collecting some forensic data, but a case like this would require more support.
She and Cooper walked back toward Mr. Hudson. “Do you have any idea who this girl might be?”
“Never saw her.”
“Have you seen anyone else in this area since you arrived?”
“Nope, just me.”
“When’s the last time you were on the land?”
Hudson scratched his gray beard on his chin. “Two or three days ago, and I didn’t see her.”
“You’re sure?”
“Damn straight. I wouldn’t miss that.” He rubbed his eyes as if trying to erase the girl’s image. “This is the last problem I expected.”
“Have you noticed any unfamiliar cars in the area?”
“No. Business as usual.”
Long stretches of desolate country road didn’t mean traffic went unnoticed. Someone usually saw something.
He pulled a handkerchief and wiped his brow with fingers bent of age and arthritis. “Do you mind if I get out of here? Seeing her gives me the creeps.”
“Mr. Hudson, I’d like you to wait in your truck for a little bit longer. The local deputies might have questions for you.”
“I’ve got work.” He shook his head. “I’m counting on the money from the lease of the land. This contract will settle a lot of bills.”
“Yes, sir, I understand. But you need to wait.”
“How long do you think it’ll be before I can cut this grass?”
“I don’t know, sir, but you need to wait.”
He shook his head again. “Jesus H. Christ. What a mess.”
“Yes, sir.”
As he slid into his truck, a sheriff’s deputy arrived, nudging behind her SUV.
The responding deputy rose out of his car and settled his hat on his head. Riley recognized Deputy Harris DuPont’s tall, lanky frame. They’d crossed paths over the years, and each time he made it clear he didn’t like outsiders in his jurisdiction.
DuPont paused at the red truck to talk to Mr. Hudson. He laughed, touched the brim of his hat before settling his gaze on Riley.
As DuPont approached her, she adjusted her sunglasses, determined to make nice. “Harris, been a while. Molly and the baby doing well?”
He cleared his throat, his gaze skimming over her. A shake of his head betrayed disapproval. “They’re both fine.”
“Good to hear.”
“Saw you and your dog on the news. You’re the popular one.” An edge lurked under his tone.
Absently, she tapped her finger on her gun belt. “Won’t be long before we’re yesterday’s news.”
He hitched his big hands on his belt. “Naw. Not you.” His smile didn’t mask the sarcasm. “I bet they promote you to agent within the year.”
She’d considered applying for the promotion to agent, but moving up meant leaving Cooper to a new handler, and that she’d never do. As long as Cooper could work, she’d be with him. “Maybe, one day.”
“Ah, come on. You have to admit your career is gonna get a boost.”
“I was doing my job.”
Blue eyes narrowed. “I heard you had help on that mountain.”
“Really?”
“Two other deputies said they were there for the arrest. Said they pulled Carter off the mountain.”
She smiled, refusing to let him annoy her. “They arrived later, but I don’t recall seeing anyone around when I was cuffing Carter to a tree.”
He took a step closer. “You don’t get all the credit. Team effort.”
“Right.”
He tugged the brim of his hat lower over his eyes. “What can you tell me about the victim?”
“Victim is a young female. Brown hair. Wearing a white top and jeans. Brown boots.”
Nodding, he dug crime scene tape from his trunk and crossed the field to within five feet of the body. “Looks like one of those hookers from the truck stops. The ones you’re always trying to save.”
Annoyed, she studied the mop of hair draped over the victim’s face. In the few years Riley had been working the I-95 corridor, she’d learned none of the prostitutes were in the profession by choice. Pimps promising a better life coerced many of the young girls into the sex trade. But guys like DuPont didn’t see sex slaves or human trafficking victims. They saw hookers or strippers looking to make quick cash.
All local law enforcement along the I-95, which cut a two-hundred-mile swath through the center of the state, knew she cared about cases like this one.
“Russell Hudson is anxious to get back to work. With the concert coming, he can’t waste hours in the middle of the day,” DuPont said.
“I asked him to stay for now.”