a lid on it."
"You think we're a bunch of amateurs?"
Obviously, she did. "How is the search going?"
"We're finding exactly what's out here—nothing. Nada. Zero."
He glared at Will. "This how you state guys run things? Come in
here and blow our whole fucking budget on a useless search in the
middle of the goddamn night?"
Will was tired and he was frustrated, and it came out in his tone.
"We usually pillage your supplies and rape your women first."
"Ha-fucking-ha," Fierro grumbled, slapping his neck again. He
pulled away his hand and there was a smear of bloody insect on his
palm. "You're gonna be laughing your ass off when I take back my
case."
Amanda said, "Detective Fierro, Chief Peterson asked us to intervene.
You don't have the authority to take back this case."
"Peterson, huh?" His lip curled. "Does that mean you've been
greasing his pole again?"
Will sucked in so much air that his lips made a whistling sound.
For her part, Amanda looked unfazed, though her eyes narrowed,
and she gave Fierro a single nod, as if to say his time would come.
Will wouldn't be surprised if, at some future date, Fierro woke up to
find a decapitated horse's head in his bed.
"Hey!" someone screamed. "Over here!"
All three stood where they were in various stages of shock, anger
and unadulterated rage.
"I found something!"
The words got Will moving. He jogged toward the searcher, a
woman who was furiously waving her hands in the air. She was
Rockdale uniformed patrol, wearing a knit hat on her head and surrounded
by tall switchgrass.
"What is it?" he asked.
She pointed toward a dense pack of low-hanging trees. He saw
that the leaves underneath were disturbed, bare spots of earth showing
in places. "Something caught my light," she said, turning on her
Maglite and shining it into the shadowy area under the trees. Will
didn't see anything. By the time Amanda had joined them, he was
wondering if the patrolwoman had been a little too tired, a little too
anxious to find something.
"What is it?" Amanda asked, just as the light reflected back from
the darkness. It was a small flash that lasted no more than a second.
Will blinked, thinking maybe his tired brain had conjured it, too, but
the patrolwoman found it again—a quick flash like a tiny burst of
powder, approximately twenty feet away.
Will slipped on a pair of latex gloves from his jacket. He took the
flashlight, carefully pushing back branches as he made his way into the
area. The prickly bushes and limbs made it hard going, and he stooped
down low to make forward progress. He shone the light on the
ground, scanning for the object. Maybe it was a broken mirror or a
chewing gum wrapper. All the possibilities ran through his mind as he
tried to locate it: a piece of jewelry, a shard of glass, minerals in a rock.
A Florida state driver's license.
The license was about two feet from the base of the tree. Beside it
was a small pocketknife, the thin blade so coated in blood that it
blended in with the dark leaves around it. Close to the trunk, the
branches thinned out. Will knelt down, picking up the leaves one at a
time as he moved them off the license. The thick plastic had been
folded in two. The colors and the distinctive outline of the state of
Florida in the corner told him where the license had been issued.
There was a hologram in the background to prevent forgeries. That
must have been what the light had picked up on.
He leaned down, craning his neck so he could get a better look,
not wanting to disturb the scene. One of the clearest fingerprints
Will had ever seen was right in the middle of the license. Imprinted
in blood, the ridges were practically jumping off the smooth plastic.
The photograph showed a woman: dark hair, dark eyes.
"There's a pocketknife and a license," he told Amanda, his voice
raised so that she could hear him. "There's a bloody fingerprint on
the license."
"Can you read the name?" She put her hands on her
"You think we're a bunch of amateurs?"
Obviously, she did. "How is the search going?"
"We're finding exactly what's out here—nothing. Nada. Zero."
He glared at Will. "This how you state guys run things? Come in
here and blow our whole fucking budget on a useless search in the
middle of the goddamn night?"
Will was tired and he was frustrated, and it came out in his tone.
"We usually pillage your supplies and rape your women first."
"Ha-fucking-ha," Fierro grumbled, slapping his neck again. He
pulled away his hand and there was a smear of bloody insect on his
palm. "You're gonna be laughing your ass off when I take back my
case."
Amanda said, "Detective Fierro, Chief Peterson asked us to intervene.
You don't have the authority to take back this case."
"Peterson, huh?" His lip curled. "Does that mean you've been
greasing his pole again?"
Will sucked in so much air that his lips made a whistling sound.
For her part, Amanda looked unfazed, though her eyes narrowed,
and she gave Fierro a single nod, as if to say his time would come.
Will wouldn't be surprised if, at some future date, Fierro woke up to
find a decapitated horse's head in his bed.
"Hey!" someone screamed. "Over here!"
All three stood where they were in various stages of shock, anger
and unadulterated rage.
"I found something!"
The words got Will moving. He jogged toward the searcher, a
woman who was furiously waving her hands in the air. She was
Rockdale uniformed patrol, wearing a knit hat on her head and surrounded
by tall switchgrass.
"What is it?" he asked.
She pointed toward a dense pack of low-hanging trees. He saw
that the leaves underneath were disturbed, bare spots of earth showing
in places. "Something caught my light," she said, turning on her
Maglite and shining it into the shadowy area under the trees. Will
didn't see anything. By the time Amanda had joined them, he was
wondering if the patrolwoman had been a little too tired, a little too
anxious to find something.
"What is it?" Amanda asked, just as the light reflected back from
the darkness. It was a small flash that lasted no more than a second.
Will blinked, thinking maybe his tired brain had conjured it, too, but
the patrolwoman found it again—a quick flash like a tiny burst of
powder, approximately twenty feet away.
Will slipped on a pair of latex gloves from his jacket. He took the
flashlight, carefully pushing back branches as he made his way into the
area. The prickly bushes and limbs made it hard going, and he stooped
down low to make forward progress. He shone the light on the
ground, scanning for the object. Maybe it was a broken mirror or a
chewing gum wrapper. All the possibilities ran through his mind as he
tried to locate it: a piece of jewelry, a shard of glass, minerals in a rock.
A Florida state driver's license.
The license was about two feet from the base of the tree. Beside it
was a small pocketknife, the thin blade so coated in blood that it
blended in with the dark leaves around it. Close to the trunk, the
branches thinned out. Will knelt down, picking up the leaves one at a
time as he moved them off the license. The thick plastic had been
folded in two. The colors and the distinctive outline of the state of
Florida in the corner told him where the license had been issued.
There was a hologram in the background to prevent forgeries. That
must have been what the light had picked up on.
He leaned down, craning his neck so he could get a better look,
not wanting to disturb the scene. One of the clearest fingerprints
Will had ever seen was right in the middle of the license. Imprinted
in blood, the ridges were practically jumping off the smooth plastic.
The photograph showed a woman: dark hair, dark eyes.
"There's a pocketknife and a license," he told Amanda, his voice
raised so that she could hear him. "There's a bloody fingerprint on
the license."
"Can you read the name?" She put her hands on her
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