again.
She started to cry. He hated it when they cried. No regal, exquisite creature should cry. Time was up. He grabbed the firebrand without thinking. He was so angry, so full of despair. He hit her, again and again, until he lost control and was screaming at her for not being the one. Even after her body went slack, he continued to beat her, and as quickly as the rage had come it fled, leaving him on his knees, blood spatter on his hands and face, and the ache in his heart ten times worse. It was over. He had failed. He must get rid of the body. Yes, he would clean up and go about the disposal as usual. Think about the work. He rose on shaky legs. He did not like the blood; it was distasteful. He needed to wash and then burn his clothes. Only after everything was done would he consider drinking himself into oblivion.
***
“What’s Trent doing for Thanksgiving?”
“I don’t know,” Bryan said.
“You didn’t ask him?”
Why did Jess insist on trying to have conversations with him when they were supposed to be focusing on something else? Such as now, when he was trying to climb down a steep bank without slipping and joining the broken body at the bottom.
“I think he’s working.” Bryan shot out a hand toward a tree to catch himself before his weight propelled him forward too far. This was the quickest way to the crime scene, but he would have preferred going around.
“The firehouse is probably doing something,” she said.
“I’m not a fireman. And what, your sister’s not inviting me this year?” He threw her a wry grin over his shoulder.
“You have a standing invitation. However, she thinks an earthquake will swallow California before you ever accept it.”
Bryan frowned. Elaborate statement.
They finally reached the bottom just as the body was being placed in the bag.
“This is isolated,” he said.
“A driver called in a white van pulled over at the road’s turnout up there,” a highway patrolman said. “The van was gone by the time I arrived, but it was near dawn, so I looked around a bit. Saw her at the bottom here.”
Bryan looked down at the body. “We sure it’s the same guy?” Unlike the other victims, this one was covered in blood and beaten to a pulp.
The patrolman looked ill. “She’s got burns.”
“She get all those abrasions from the fall?”
Casey stood up. “I don’t think so, but I’ll see you in autopsy to confirm.”
“Anything on the van?” Jess asked.
The officer shook his head. “The driver who called it in was in a hurry, didn’t pay much attention. There are some tire tracks.”
“Well, that’s something,” Bryan said. “On an isolated road like this, those tire tracks are probably his. He’s been smart up until now. I wonder if he’s slipping, or he doesn’t think it will matter.”
“A white van,” Jess muttered. “Guess we can go back through all that security footage looking for one.”
That was a dismal thought. Especially since white vans could have many legitimate uses. Maybe the killer was using it for a real job, and that only added to his ability to blend in. Bryan stored that thought away for later. CSU found nothing at the bottom. If she had been dropped from the road above, the killer hadn’t even been down here, and all the muddy footprints belonged to them.
Bryan and Jess made their way back up to the road, a journey just as difficult as the one coming down, and went to follow-up on the guy who had called the van in, but it was as the patrolman said: he saw a white van, and that was it.
Casey called and asked them to meet her at the morgue. When they arrived, she wasn’t set up to do the autopsy.
“Identification is proceeding slower than I’d like,” she explained. “But I wanted to go over what I can now.” She pulled the covering back from the body. The familiar burn marks dotted the arms, legs, and torso, along with dozens of tiny scratches from her tumble through the brush, but the neck and
She started to cry. He hated it when they cried. No regal, exquisite creature should cry. Time was up. He grabbed the firebrand without thinking. He was so angry, so full of despair. He hit her, again and again, until he lost control and was screaming at her for not being the one. Even after her body went slack, he continued to beat her, and as quickly as the rage had come it fled, leaving him on his knees, blood spatter on his hands and face, and the ache in his heart ten times worse. It was over. He had failed. He must get rid of the body. Yes, he would clean up and go about the disposal as usual. Think about the work. He rose on shaky legs. He did not like the blood; it was distasteful. He needed to wash and then burn his clothes. Only after everything was done would he consider drinking himself into oblivion.
***
“What’s Trent doing for Thanksgiving?”
“I don’t know,” Bryan said.
“You didn’t ask him?”
Why did Jess insist on trying to have conversations with him when they were supposed to be focusing on something else? Such as now, when he was trying to climb down a steep bank without slipping and joining the broken body at the bottom.
“I think he’s working.” Bryan shot out a hand toward a tree to catch himself before his weight propelled him forward too far. This was the quickest way to the crime scene, but he would have preferred going around.
“The firehouse is probably doing something,” she said.
“I’m not a fireman. And what, your sister’s not inviting me this year?” He threw her a wry grin over his shoulder.
“You have a standing invitation. However, she thinks an earthquake will swallow California before you ever accept it.”
Bryan frowned. Elaborate statement.
They finally reached the bottom just as the body was being placed in the bag.
“This is isolated,” he said.
“A driver called in a white van pulled over at the road’s turnout up there,” a highway patrolman said. “The van was gone by the time I arrived, but it was near dawn, so I looked around a bit. Saw her at the bottom here.”
Bryan looked down at the body. “We sure it’s the same guy?” Unlike the other victims, this one was covered in blood and beaten to a pulp.
The patrolman looked ill. “She’s got burns.”
“She get all those abrasions from the fall?”
Casey stood up. “I don’t think so, but I’ll see you in autopsy to confirm.”
“Anything on the van?” Jess asked.
The officer shook his head. “The driver who called it in was in a hurry, didn’t pay much attention. There are some tire tracks.”
“Well, that’s something,” Bryan said. “On an isolated road like this, those tire tracks are probably his. He’s been smart up until now. I wonder if he’s slipping, or he doesn’t think it will matter.”
“A white van,” Jess muttered. “Guess we can go back through all that security footage looking for one.”
That was a dismal thought. Especially since white vans could have many legitimate uses. Maybe the killer was using it for a real job, and that only added to his ability to blend in. Bryan stored that thought away for later. CSU found nothing at the bottom. If she had been dropped from the road above, the killer hadn’t even been down here, and all the muddy footprints belonged to them.
Bryan and Jess made their way back up to the road, a journey just as difficult as the one coming down, and went to follow-up on the guy who had called the van in, but it was as the patrolman said: he saw a white van, and that was it.
Casey called and asked them to meet her at the morgue. When they arrived, she wasn’t set up to do the autopsy.
“Identification is proceeding slower than I’d like,” she explained. “But I wanted to go over what I can now.” She pulled the covering back from the body. The familiar burn marks dotted the arms, legs, and torso, along with dozens of tiny scratches from her tumble through the brush, but the neck and
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