hadn’t known Cross and
Dawkins long enough to form bonds but her mind held clear images filled with
life. Her head turned toward the passenger window. Eyes that saw no traffic
stared out. Life had gone from fretting over hippos giving birth to murder and
brutality. Violence had fallen on two people she knew by name. Now she had to
examine their death masks. Whatever her reluctance, whatever her disgust, she
would not allow those responsible to escape. Her jaw set. She spoke without
turning around. “Thanks, but I’ll eat in my room. I’ll be fine.”
Turning
onto East D Street, four vans marred the otherwise empty street. Without
uniforms, flashing lights, crime scene tape, or frenetic activity, the
warehouse gave no hint it housed corpses. Miranda stepped out to an overcast
sky that deadened everything it draped over. Salt hung heavy on the harbor
breeze. Two gulls glided overhead. An occasional flap kept their lazy flight
aloft. From the harbor a ship’s horn warned unwary boaters. She looked down to
find Janesh stroking the dogs. They stood stiff, rock still. Both had stares
that drilled through the warehouse wall. The namesake ridges along their spines
bristled. Janesh met her gaze with a questioning look. She nodded, gave him a
weak smile, and followed Ben past the two guards.
Inside,
high along the walls, frigid air had fogged the windows against the outside
humidity. Miranda shivered at the nightmare Dante could not have imagined. She
picked out Dawkins and Cross from the six nudes hung by their faces. Rage
welled at their indignity. Bowels and bladders had created piles and pools
beneath each body. She recognized Dawkins’ female shape but not her swollen,
black and blue face. Nasty bruises along her upper thighs and buttocks gave
clear evidence she’d endured unspeakable acts.
Miranda
turned away, a hand pressed against her mouth. She struggled not to vomit and
add to the general stench. Ben Wolford, rushing to her side, stopped in his
tracks. The dogs reached her first. Ronan stood up, paws on her shoulders,
looked in her eyes. Even the aloof and indifferent Duncan rubbed his head
against her leg. In the same breath, she sobbed and laughed. Sinking to one
knee, Miranda hugged and petted as they pressed their warm bodies and cold
noses. For every ounce of love she gave they returned a pound. Her sense of
exposure and endangerment dimmed.
She
looked around to find Janesh watching them, his face expressionless. He stood
implacable, impervious, invulnerable. She rose to lock eyes with him. At that
moment she wanted nothing more than to rush over and melt against his body. She
wanted his arms wrapped around her, to reassure her, to make her feel protected
and safe. A gentle cough stopped her. “Dr. Logan?”
She
turned to find a tall, pleasant-looking man somewhat unnerved by the gigantic
dogs. He extended a hand. “I’m Ragnar Derksjold, head of the forensics team.
We’ve communicated electronically. It’s an honor to meet you at last.” Miranda
pushed her hair back with one hand, shook his with the other, and managed a
smile. “Are these your dogs?”
“Actually,
they’re his companions.” She turned to wave Janesh over. “This is Ragnar Der…”
she stumbled and hesitated.
“Derksjold
but please call me Ragnar.”
“Janesh
McKenzie but please call me Janesh.”
“Well
I’m not going to be left out. I much prefer Miranda.”
Ragnar
turned to walk back toward the hung bodies. “Let me introduce you to the rest
of the team. We’re all a bit frustrated right now. I knew Bob and Fran well.
The three of us came up from the farm together. Right now we have more
questions than when we arrived. The MO makes it clear we’re dealing with the
same killer or killers. Our initial field tests indicate the paste on their shoulders
and faces has the same genetic signature as the previous samples. But beyond a
few feathers, which have some remarkable properties, we’ve got nothing.
Dawkins long enough to form bonds but her mind held clear images filled with
life. Her head turned toward the passenger window. Eyes that saw no traffic
stared out. Life had gone from fretting over hippos giving birth to murder and
brutality. Violence had fallen on two people she knew by name. Now she had to
examine their death masks. Whatever her reluctance, whatever her disgust, she
would not allow those responsible to escape. Her jaw set. She spoke without
turning around. “Thanks, but I’ll eat in my room. I’ll be fine.”
Turning
onto East D Street, four vans marred the otherwise empty street. Without
uniforms, flashing lights, crime scene tape, or frenetic activity, the
warehouse gave no hint it housed corpses. Miranda stepped out to an overcast
sky that deadened everything it draped over. Salt hung heavy on the harbor
breeze. Two gulls glided overhead. An occasional flap kept their lazy flight
aloft. From the harbor a ship’s horn warned unwary boaters. She looked down to
find Janesh stroking the dogs. They stood stiff, rock still. Both had stares
that drilled through the warehouse wall. The namesake ridges along their spines
bristled. Janesh met her gaze with a questioning look. She nodded, gave him a
weak smile, and followed Ben past the two guards.
Inside,
high along the walls, frigid air had fogged the windows against the outside
humidity. Miranda shivered at the nightmare Dante could not have imagined. She
picked out Dawkins and Cross from the six nudes hung by their faces. Rage
welled at their indignity. Bowels and bladders had created piles and pools
beneath each body. She recognized Dawkins’ female shape but not her swollen,
black and blue face. Nasty bruises along her upper thighs and buttocks gave
clear evidence she’d endured unspeakable acts.
Miranda
turned away, a hand pressed against her mouth. She struggled not to vomit and
add to the general stench. Ben Wolford, rushing to her side, stopped in his
tracks. The dogs reached her first. Ronan stood up, paws on her shoulders,
looked in her eyes. Even the aloof and indifferent Duncan rubbed his head
against her leg. In the same breath, she sobbed and laughed. Sinking to one
knee, Miranda hugged and petted as they pressed their warm bodies and cold
noses. For every ounce of love she gave they returned a pound. Her sense of
exposure and endangerment dimmed.
She
looked around to find Janesh watching them, his face expressionless. He stood
implacable, impervious, invulnerable. She rose to lock eyes with him. At that
moment she wanted nothing more than to rush over and melt against his body. She
wanted his arms wrapped around her, to reassure her, to make her feel protected
and safe. A gentle cough stopped her. “Dr. Logan?”
She
turned to find a tall, pleasant-looking man somewhat unnerved by the gigantic
dogs. He extended a hand. “I’m Ragnar Derksjold, head of the forensics team.
We’ve communicated electronically. It’s an honor to meet you at last.” Miranda
pushed her hair back with one hand, shook his with the other, and managed a
smile. “Are these your dogs?”
“Actually,
they’re his companions.” She turned to wave Janesh over. “This is Ragnar Der…”
she stumbled and hesitated.
“Derksjold
but please call me Ragnar.”
“Janesh
McKenzie but please call me Janesh.”
“Well
I’m not going to be left out. I much prefer Miranda.”
Ragnar
turned to walk back toward the hung bodies. “Let me introduce you to the rest
of the team. We’re all a bit frustrated right now. I knew Bob and Fran well.
The three of us came up from the farm together. Right now we have more
questions than when we arrived. The MO makes it clear we’re dealing with the
same killer or killers. Our initial field tests indicate the paste on their shoulders
and faces has the same genetic signature as the previous samples. But beyond a
few feathers, which have some remarkable properties, we’ve got nothing.
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