No Woods So Dark as These Page 4

  “So in terms of evidentiary value?” DeMarco asked.

  “The footprints? Minimal.”

  “Same for vehicle treads?”

  “Ditto. That light rain this morning and the harder one yesterday didn’t do us any favors.”

  As the senior member of the Evidence Recovery Team from Erie, Loughner had introduced himself to Jayme and DeMarco upon their arrival, had stuck out his beefy hand to each of them, a quick shake, a smile, and said, “Joe Loughner. Former statie myself. Nice to meet you both. I’ll be your guide for the gruesome tour.”

  And now, as Jayme listened and watched, she noticed some capillary damage around his nose. Cheeks flushed and dry. And he had plucked three mints out of his pocket so far and popped them into his mouth. All the signs of a lifetime of heavy drinking. Occupational medication.

  The woods were full of other people too, some in uniform and some in papery white garb that made them look like the Pillsbury Doughboy’s slender cousins, yellow caution tape stretching from tree to tree and surrounding both crime scenes. “No sign of John Doe’s clothing?” she asked.

  “We figure it got burned up with the other two victims. Or else he was brought here in the buff.”

  “Anything you can tell us yet about those victims?” DeMarco asked.

  “Still being processed,” Loughner answered. “But I can tell you this. Crematoriums burn at about 800 degrees centigrade. 1472 Fahrenheit. It takes about three hours at that temperature to reduce a body to ash. The fire in the car was almost certainly started with gasoline, and gas burns at over 1500 degrees Fahrenheit. Fortunately, not for three hours. After the initial flare-up, the temp decreases rapidly.”

  “So there’s something left to work with?”

  “We’re confident the remains are of two bodies, both significantly smaller than this one. Assumed to be female. But that’s not official yet.”

  “Not children, I hope,” Jayme said.

  “Not likely. But again… The good thing is, the effects of fire on a human body follow a fairly clear pattern. And some evidence, such as the type of instrument used to inflict skeletal trauma, is easier to identify after heat alteration. Still—and I’m sure you both know this—there’s a lot of data loss from a fire that hot.”

  “At least we have one complete set of fingerprints,” DeMarco said, and nodded toward the dead man. “If we can tie the other two to him…”

  Loughner nodded. “Though why so much trouble would be taken to conceal evidence back there,” he said, with a jerk of his head toward the incineration site, “yet leave us the body here… It doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, does it?”

  DeMarco said, “I get the feeling that the vics in the car were collateral at best. This guy was terminated with extreme prejudice.”

  “He could maybe be a signal to others,” Jayme suggested. “Don’t do what this guy did, or this is what you’ll get.”

  DeMarco pursed his lips; Loughner’s brow furrowed. Both men kept staring at the corpse as if the dead man’s tattoos were hieroglyphs about to reveal their secrets. DeMarco said, “What if the perps made the other two vics watch this? Then took them back to the car and torched it?”

  Loughner shrugged. “Could’ve gone that way. No evidence to refute it. That would explain why this one was such a production. But why teach them a lesson only to kill them?”

  “Maybe the lesson wasn’t for the other vics,” Jayme said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a video of the whole thing.”

  DeMarco said, “I suppose it’s even possible that the perp made the other two victims help carry this guy here. Made them hold him up against the tree. Maybe made them drive in the rebar. In exchange for their freedom, let’s say. Which of course was a lie. But then there’s still the same question…”

  “Sadism,” Jayme answered. “Not to teach them a lesson. But to increase their fear—for his own enjoyment”

  DeMarco turned to Loughner then. “You guys are sure there was another vehicle here? Besides the one that got torched?”

  “That’s how it appears, yeah. But the ground’s wet, the tread marks overlap. The first set might have been laid down a few days earlier. It’s impossible to know for sure. They don’t come with time stamps on them.”

  “So maybe there was only one perp,” DeMarco mused. “Drove the car here with the three vics in it. Made the two back there help him with this guy. Did him, did the other two, torched the car.”

  “And then what?” Jayme asked. “Walked away?”

  “Why not?” Again he addressed Loughner. “Think your team could do a perimeter search before you finish up? Look for signs of a foot trail of some kind?”

  “Got it covered,” Loughner said. Then, with a little smile on his lips, he raised his eyebrows at DeMarco, and jerked his head toward Jayme.

  Only when she felt their eyes on her did she realize that she had been staring at the victim’s bloated penis, the head swollen like a mushroom cap. She looked up to see both men watching her, Loughner smiling. Blushing, she said, “That’s just not normal, is it?”

  Loughner chuckled. “I’ve been waiting for you to mention that. Angel lust.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Postmortem erection. It’s fairly common, especially in a hanging, damage to the spinal cord, or other violent death. And after it subsided, because he’s standing up, the blood pooled at the lowest point. The guy looks like one of those freak porn stars. Not that he was able to enjoy any of it.”

  Still embarrassed, she turned to DeMarco, gave him a help me out here look.

  “Joe,” he said, “you were with the state police before this?”

  The older man nodded. “Troop C, Elk County.”

  “God’s country, huh? What took you from there to Erie?”

  Loughner tapped his left leg. “Couldn’t move the way I needed to anymore, but didn’t want to quit working either. Plus the marriage had broken up, so there was no reason to stay where I was. Heard that retired law enforcement sometimes get work as ERTs, so I figured what the hell. I applied, got in, did some extra training in forensics, and here I am, in the woods with dead people. Better than rusting away in a beer joint in the boondocks, though, yeah?”

  Broad strokes, Jayme noticed. No details. Just being modest? He sounded to her a lot like DeMarco. Two men who would be dangers to themselves if they had neither work nor love. One of those devices might keep them afloat, both together might actually save them. Thinking this, her opinion of Loughner as an alcoholic melted into sympathy. A man with no reason to get up in the morning and nobody to kiss him awake is a man without a purpose. And a man without a purpose is a man clinging to the precipice.

  The same held true for women, of course, though women, she believed, tolerated suffering better than men did. Men turned either useless or hard or self-destructive from too much suffering, whereas women turned either useless or hard or filled with compassion. That was why she had wanted to be a part of this investigation. Her and Ryan’s suffering was still fresh, plus he had an older one as a sorrowful foundation for the new one. She worried about herself and she worried about him, although, in truth, she worried more about him.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a dark shape edging into her field of vision. She turned and saw a young man holding a cell phone out at chest level, making a video recording of the scene. “Hey!” she told him. “Put that away!”

  Trooper Boyd, who had been standing attentively a few feet behind DeMarco, rushed forward to intercept the young man. To Jayme the kid looked no older than midtwenties. Five eight or so, lean-limbed but with broad shoulders and a solid chest. High school wrestling, she guessed, because he reminded her of the boy with whom she had attended the prom. This kid’s dark hair was cropped close on the sides and back, but the gelled top swept in a bleached blond wave back over his head. He wore pressed khakis and a powd
er-blue Oxford shirt with cuffs buttoned, and brown cross-trainers. Neater than most male reporters she knew; they tended to be rushed, more than a little frenetic, and careless about their dress.

  The kid lowered the phone a bit when she barked at him, but took another side step toward the impaled man, moving up against the yellow tape, his waist pushing a bulge into it. Jayme didn’t know if he was trying to record their conversation or video the dead man or both, but she gave a quick nod to Trooper Boyd, who held out his hand to the kid. “Give it here,” he said.

  “No way. You can’t confiscate private property.”

  “How about I arrest you for interfering with an investigation?”

  “How am I interfering?”

  Boyd snatched the phone from his hand. Looked at the screen. Then slipped the phone into his own pocket. “Identification,” he said, and held out his hand.

  “I have a right to be here. I’m with the Record-Argus. And you just stole my phone.”

  “Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

  “Okay, okay. Chill, dude. I’m just doing my job, same as you.”

  “Identification,” Boyd said again.

  The young man reached into his back pocket, took out a metal credit card case, flipped it open and thumbed through till he found his driver’s license, which he held out to Boyd.

  Boyd looked at the card, studied it and the kid’s face, then returned it. “This doesn’t say anything about the Record-Argus.”

  “I’m a stringer, okay? They don’t give us press credentials. Can I have my phone back now?”

  “I need to check it for photos of the crime scene. Then you get it back, minus any photos or video you took, and you leave. In the meantime, you stay behind the tape.” With that, Boyd walked a few feet away, turned his back to the kid, and pulled out the phone for examination.

  “What’s behind to you, Officer?” the kid asked with a grin.

  Boyd half turned.

  “I mean, the tape is up against my belly, right?” the kid asked. “And my belly’s the front of me. That puts all of me already behind the tape, am I right?”

  Jayme couldn’t help smiling. Cheeky kid.

  Boyd completed the turn. “Step back from the tape.”

  “What about freedom of the press and all that?” the kid said, still grinning.

  “If you don’t step back from that tape right now, you will forfeit your freedom.”

  The young man placed his right foot directly behind his left, then brought his left foot back parallel to his right. “How about my constitutional right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness? I’m not happy unless I can do my job. You are depriving me of that right.”

  Now Jayme stepped away from DeMarco and over to the kid. “How did you manage to slip past the troopers up on the lane?”

  He lifted up one mud-caked shoe. “A story like this is worth ruining several pairs of shoes.”

  So, he had hiked in through the woods. Which meant that he must have gotten word of the scene around the same time she and DeMarco had, or even earlier. “And how did you hear about this? Police scanner?”

  He grinned. “Another good investment.”

  She had to admire his resourcefulness and dedication. Other reporters would be showing up soon but he would be the first to file a story. “Give us some peace until we wrap this up,” she told him. “Afterward, if it’s okay with Trooper Boyd, you’ll maybe get a statement. Otherwise, not a word.”

  They held each other’s gaze for a moment, and Jayme could tell that the kid was summing her up, just as she had done with him. “Finally,” he said, and smiled, “a voice of reason. And a beautiful one at that.” After a small bow, he took another step back from the tape.

  Okay, she thought, he’s playing now. She could play too. “Did you wrestle in high school?”

  A look of surprise. “My fame precedes me! 2012 District 10 champ, 145 weight class. If you happen to have a Sharpie on you, I’ll be happy to autograph your shirt. Or anything else you’d prefer.”

  Yes, just like the boy who took her to the prom. Full of himself, but just charming enough to get away with it. She asked, “Did you wrestle in college too?”

  “First two years, yeah.”

  “Why did you stop? Injury?”

  The kid wagged his head. “More or less. Got hit by a truck named Chloe.”

  And it took you a long time to recover from that, didn’t it, she thought. “I hope you at least got the license number,” she said.

  “Ha! It was a hit-and-run with extreme prejudice. She’s still running free out there somewhere, God bless her evil soul.”

  Okay, so he had heard DeMarco’s extreme prejudice remark and was letting her know it. Why? So that she understood: give him the full skinny or he would run with what he had.

  “Hang loose,” she told him. “We’ll be done here soon.”

  “I appreciate it.” And as she turned to walk away, he added, “By the way, I think the trooper has a crush on me. You mind breaking it to him that I don’t swing that way? Just in case that’s of any interest to you.”

  Eight

  On the ride back to town, DeMarco, at the wheel, and Jayme, gazing out the side window, silently processed what they had learned. The crime scene was a mere eighteen miles from DeMarco’s home, but most of the route was over narrow asphalt or gravel roads twisting through woods and along hay fields and wheat fields now stripped to stubby stalks. The few scattered homes were small ranchers and cottages and trailers in need of repair, or large Amish farms with dark-garbed children and adults working in the yards and fields, a few horses or head of cattle behind hand-sawed fences. Fewer than six hundred people lived in the township, in just over two hundred homes.

  Jayme watched the modest homes go by and wished she had more experience in how those families lived, the way they treated one another and the dreams they shared. She had no shortage of compassion but it wasn’t the same as experience. Only experience could bring true knowledge and understanding.

  “It has to be somebody local,” DeMarco finally said. “The ingress is little more than an old logging road.”

  “And not easy to see unless you know where to look.”

  “So maybe the thing to do is to get Boyd on a CLEAN search. See how many locals show up on it, and for what.”

  “I’m sure he’ll run one first thing, babe.”

  The Commonwealth Law Enforcement Assistance Network was used by the Pennsylvania State Police to access criminal histories and arrest records, as well as additional data, through the FBI’s National Crime Information Center and other networks.

  DeMarco nodded. Then continued, “And if we strike out on known criminals, we can check with the Game Commission on hunting licenses issued. There’s no telling how long those bodies would have been there if that father and his kids weren’t out scouting. So maybe the perp isn’t a local at all but a hunter who comes back to those woods each fall.”

  “You still think it’s just one guy did all that?”

  He grimaced, cocked his head. “Just throwing spaghetti at the wall. But unlikely, I’d say.”

  “I’m betting on two perps minimum.”

  DeMarco remained silent, squinting, hands tight around the wheel. Then he shook his head and blew out a breath. “You’re sure you want to do this?”

  “Work this case? I’m sure. Aren’t you?”

  “I’m okay with it if we stick to investigation and analysis only. I will not put you in harm’s way again.”

  She was about to say, You didn’t put me in harm’s way, I did, but decided to answer with a smile. And to change the subject. “What’s your impression of Loughner?”

  “Positive, I guess. He’s an old salt. Seems to know his stuff. Paid his dues, that’s for certain.”

  That was high praise coming from DeMar
co. If he had any doubts he would have expressed them. She had noticed a camaraderie building between the two and was glad to see it. Loughner was old enough to be Ryan’s father. It would be good for him to have a man like that as a friend.

  “How do you think he got the limp?” she asked. “Line of duty?”

  “Either that or something embarrassing. Like shooting himself with a nail gun.”

  “While three sheets to the wind,” she said. Then, when he squinted a little, wished she hadn’t. “I just mean he looks like a drinker to me.”

  “I can’t disagree,” DeMarco said.

  He drove in silence for a minute. Then said, “You made a fan today, though. If you don’t mind a little puppy love.”

  She smiled. “I don’t mind if you don’t mind.”

  “As long as you didn’t give him your phone number.”

  “Name, rank, and serial number only, sir.”

  Before they left the crime scene, Jayme had spoken to the young man briefly. Got his name and vitals: Chase Miller, twenty-six, graduate of Allegheny College, bachelor of arts in English, lived in Greenville, was a stringer with the Meadville Tribune and the Greenville Record-Argus while also writing a biweekly blog and working two part-time jobs. In return she gave him an overview of the crime in Otter Creek Township, nothing he hadn’t already seen except for her and DeMarco’s names and their association with the investigation, plus the identity of “the old dude in the paper suit.”

  “He’s harmless,” she told DeMarco. They were back onto Route 258 now and headed south toward Mercer at fifty miles an hour. “He reminds me a lot of my brother Cullen.”

  “Cullen is the snarky one, right?”

  She punched him softly in the ribs. “I think the word irreverent is more appropriate. Though snarky fits you just about perfectly.”

  He hadn’t been snarky at all for the past few months. And she missed that side of him. Knew that he had been working hard to be nothing but kind and patient with her. Knew that he seldom smiled in her presence unless she smiled first. So she gave him another smile now and laid her hand on his thigh and tried to hide the wince of pain that struck every time she remembered their baby.