Faye Myers, their gossipy gregarious dispatcher, couldn’t dislodge the name, no one could.
Down below, Denning and his assistant were documenting the scene as best they could without further disturbing the body. As they waited a blue jay flew by and crows called to each other from some trees on the other side of the creek. Despite the recent rain, it had been a fairly dry winter and the creek looked a little lower than in winters past.
A few minutes later, the EMS truck arrived on the heels of the ME, who clambered down into the gully and quickly went through the formality of confirming what they pretty much knew already.
“Pulpy head wound, no signs of rigor, advancing decomposition,” he said. “Last seen around seven o’clock Saturday? Yeah, that could be about right. Underneath that mattress and next to the dirt? Temperatures above freezing every night since then? Yeah, I’d say dead about three days. They’ll open her up over in Chapel Hill, but I doubt they’ll get it any closer than that.”
He climbed back up and stood shaking his head as the deputies below lifted the mattress away from the body. “It’s the Jowett woman, isn’t it? Never met her myself, but my sister lives next door to her parents. They’ve been sick with worry. Gonna be a sad time for them.”
Grabbing hold of a three-foot oak sapling for support, Dwight worked his way down to the dump site and looked into Rebecca Jowett’s chilled white face. Her hair was matted with blood and he could tell that blowflies had found the wound, but everything else looked normal. Odd the way death always relaxed the muscles and wiped away every emotion. No matter how the person died, whether peacefully in bed or in a violent shooting, he had never seen any frowns or grimaces of fear or pain on the faces of the dead, only a smooth disinterested neutrality.
“Finding anything?” he asked Denning.
The deputy shook his head in frustration. “Absolutely nothing, Major.”
He pointed to the edge of the drop-off secured with yellow crime scene tape. “We think she was probably rolled off there and then the mattress pulled over her. Except for the body itself, everything else looks like it’s been here for months.”
“No shoe tracks around the body?”
“Just the tip of one. I took pictures but there’s not enough to go on. No tread mark and some big bird must have landed on top of it. Crow or buzzard probably.”
Both men looked up. Sure enough, three or four of the big birds were drifting on the thermals in wide lazy circles overhead.
“I don’t suppose anyone thought to look for tire tracks before y’all drove over them?”
“Wrong, Major. Mayleen and Ray and I, we stopped to check a couple of times on the way back in. Pine straw’s pretty thick and any tire marks would have been washed away in last night’s rain. You can see our own tracks, though.”
“So whoever found the body and reported it must have walked over.” He turned to Ray McLamb and said, “Do a canvass of the houses there along the back. Maybe it was someone out walking his dog or kids playing. And ask about any activity over this way during the weekend—lights at night, the sound of a vehicle. You know the drill.”
He climbed back up and told the EMS crew that they could transport the body, then noticed that the trail continued along the creek bank. He got in his truck and followed it a few hundred feet. It circled around another thick stand of slash pines before opening up into a half-abandoned pasture. There was that concrete slab Deborah had told him about and there, too, in the distance was the tenant house.
He drove back to the dump, gestured for Mayleen to join him, and called the dispatcher. “Hey, Faye. How ’bout you play me back the call you got on this body.”
After listening closely, he said, “Now play it again for Mayleen,” and handed her his phone.
When she had thanked the dispatcher and ended the call, Dwight said, “Did that sound
Down below, Denning and his assistant were documenting the scene as best they could without further disturbing the body. As they waited a blue jay flew by and crows called to each other from some trees on the other side of the creek. Despite the recent rain, it had been a fairly dry winter and the creek looked a little lower than in winters past.
A few minutes later, the EMS truck arrived on the heels of the ME, who clambered down into the gully and quickly went through the formality of confirming what they pretty much knew already.
“Pulpy head wound, no signs of rigor, advancing decomposition,” he said. “Last seen around seven o’clock Saturday? Yeah, that could be about right. Underneath that mattress and next to the dirt? Temperatures above freezing every night since then? Yeah, I’d say dead about three days. They’ll open her up over in Chapel Hill, but I doubt they’ll get it any closer than that.”
He climbed back up and stood shaking his head as the deputies below lifted the mattress away from the body. “It’s the Jowett woman, isn’t it? Never met her myself, but my sister lives next door to her parents. They’ve been sick with worry. Gonna be a sad time for them.”
Grabbing hold of a three-foot oak sapling for support, Dwight worked his way down to the dump site and looked into Rebecca Jowett’s chilled white face. Her hair was matted with blood and he could tell that blowflies had found the wound, but everything else looked normal. Odd the way death always relaxed the muscles and wiped away every emotion. No matter how the person died, whether peacefully in bed or in a violent shooting, he had never seen any frowns or grimaces of fear or pain on the faces of the dead, only a smooth disinterested neutrality.
“Finding anything?” he asked Denning.
The deputy shook his head in frustration. “Absolutely nothing, Major.”
He pointed to the edge of the drop-off secured with yellow crime scene tape. “We think she was probably rolled off there and then the mattress pulled over her. Except for the body itself, everything else looks like it’s been here for months.”
“No shoe tracks around the body?”
“Just the tip of one. I took pictures but there’s not enough to go on. No tread mark and some big bird must have landed on top of it. Crow or buzzard probably.”
Both men looked up. Sure enough, three or four of the big birds were drifting on the thermals in wide lazy circles overhead.
“I don’t suppose anyone thought to look for tire tracks before y’all drove over them?”
“Wrong, Major. Mayleen and Ray and I, we stopped to check a couple of times on the way back in. Pine straw’s pretty thick and any tire marks would have been washed away in last night’s rain. You can see our own tracks, though.”
“So whoever found the body and reported it must have walked over.” He turned to Ray McLamb and said, “Do a canvass of the houses there along the back. Maybe it was someone out walking his dog or kids playing. And ask about any activity over this way during the weekend—lights at night, the sound of a vehicle. You know the drill.”
He climbed back up and told the EMS crew that they could transport the body, then noticed that the trail continued along the creek bank. He got in his truck and followed it a few hundred feet. It circled around another thick stand of slash pines before opening up into a half-abandoned pasture. There was that concrete slab Deborah had told him about and there, too, in the distance was the tenant house.
He drove back to the dump, gestured for Mayleen to join him, and called the dispatcher. “Hey, Faye. How ’bout you play me back the call you got on this body.”
After listening closely, he said, “Now play it again for Mayleen,” and handed her his phone.
When she had thanked the dispatcher and ended the call, Dwight said, “Did that sound
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