An Evil Heart (Kate Burkholder, #15)(45)

The faint smell of decaying flesh hangs in the humid night air. Not too strong, but present nonetheless. I have my Maglite at the ready and my beam joins Mona’s. Sure enough, a bundle of something wrapped in plastic lies on the bank, partly in the water.

“Could be an animal,” Mona says. “Livestock. Or a pet someone disposed of.”

“Definitely something dead.” I shift my light toward the water. Uneasiness quivers in my gut when I see what looks like a human foot. “You see that?” I ask. “There in the water?”

She cranes her neck, squints into the darkness. A gasp escapes her when her beam illuminates the foot. “Shit. Is that—”

“We need to check.” I backtrack and throw my leg over the guardrail. “Watch your step,” I tell Mona as I start down the steep bank. “Keep an eye out for evidence.”

“Not to mention snakes,” she mutters.

I wade through hip-high weeds, trying not to slide in the mud.

“I was hoping the RP was mistaken,” Mona says from behind me.

“I’d settle for a hoax at this point.”

I reach the base of the creek bottom and stop fifteen feet away from the object. The air is dank and still down here, the reek of decaying flesh stronger. The beam of my flashlight reveals plastic wrapped around an object about the size and shape of a human body and held in place with duct tape.

Mona comes up behind me and shines her light, and points. “I don’t even want to say this, but it sure looks like a body.”

“Size is about right,” I say.

“Look there.” I follow her point. Now that we’re level with the object in question, we have a better vantage point. The foot is submerged. Pink polish on the toenails …

“Jesus,” Mona whispers.

“Stay put.” Pulse thrumming, I move closer, and I can see what looks like flesh beneath a couple of layers of plastic. “Caucasian,” I hear myself say. “Female, I think.”

I take another step, thrust my flashlight out in front of me. Through the transparent sheeting, I can just make out the pale flesh of a torso. The L-shaped angle of a bent arm. Blond hair. Head twisted to one side.

“I think she’s probably been here awhile,” I say. “Tape isn’t worn or frayed.”

“Looks like blood on the plastic,” Mona whispers.

Sure enough, a ruddy spot the size of a quarter stands out against the lighter-colored flesh.

Though we left our headlights on, it’s dark as a cave down here in the creek bottom. The body is partially submerged. The bank is steep and overgrown. The worst kind of crime scene …

I shine my Maglite in a 360-degree circle. I’m aware of the trickle of water now. To my left, I notice some of the weeds have been pushed over and crushed. I look up and I wonder if someone dumped the body from the bridge, pushed from a vehicle. The body struck the ground and rolled down the hill and into the water.

“Mona.” I turn and look at her. “We’re probably trampling evidence. Retrace your steps. Go back up. I’m going to make sure what we’re dealing with here and I’ll meet you up there in a minute.”

“Roger that.” She’s already turned to make her way back up the bank.

I stand still for a moment, shine my light all around, looking hard for anything out of place, but there’s nothing unusual in the vicinity. No personal items or trash. No clothing or footprints I can see. Just the human-size bundle wrapped in plastic. Vaguely, I’m aware of Mona climbing over the guardrail and walking to the bridge above me, her light shining down to help me see.

Giving her a thumbs-up, I start toward the object, keeping an eye out for anything out of place. There’s no breeze here next to the creek and the smell burgeons, damp and unpleasant. I reach the body, and I go to one knee. I’m close enough to see hair through the plastic. The pale skin of a face. The dark shadow of an eye. The mouth is open. The pink shadow of a tongue against the plastic. A smear of what looks like blood. I don’t see any clothing, but I can’t be sure because the plastic is bunched up in places and I’m unable to see through. I skim the beam of my flashlight lower, and I see the tips of fingers sticking out. Through the caked mud, I see that her nails are painted the same pink as the toes. Alongside the horror of confirming we are, indeed, dealing with a dead body, I feel a punch of grief because mere days ago, this woman cared about something as mundane as a manicure.

“Shit,” I whisper, close my eyes, take a breath. “Shit.”

“You okay down there, Chief?” comes Mona’s voice.

“Yep.” I shift the beam to the foot. It’s submerged, water moving over it. Something has nibbled on one of the toes and I can just make out the pink protrusion of bone.…

I swallow hard, find my voice, look up at Mona. “Definitely a body, Mona. Get the road blocked off. I’ll notify the coroner.”

“Roger that.”

Rising, I back away from the body, hit my shoulder mike and hail Dispatch. “Ten-seven-nine,” I say, using the ten code for “notify coroner.”

“Ten-four,” comes Jodie’s voice. “Any idea who it is, Chief?”

“No,” I tell her. “Just … get the coroner out here. Notify County, too. We’re going to need to search the area. Start a canvass.”