Suddenly, with no warning, the bird launched from a branch and swooped upward. Simon followed its trajectory, scrambling and almost dropping the camera. He raised it to his eyes, focusing frantically as the bird rose above the branches, finally vanishing into the uppermost reaches of a leafy elm. He zoomed out, hoping to catch a flash of color again, breath snagged in his chest. Five minutes passed before he conceded that it was gone.
Simon sank to the forest floor, one hand absentmindedly rubbing his aching hip. He giggled, a stress reaction, the tension dissipating with the sound. He shook his head, a hint of a smile dancing around his lips, pleased as any girl with a full dance card. A goddamned genuine Kirkland’s Warbler, this far east. If only he’d managed to get a photo! That bastard Glenn might not believe him, despite the fact that it was a code of honor among birders. Only the most craven would claim false sightings. Simon waved a hand in the air, brushing away the unpleasant thought. He’d submit the sighting to the state’s Rare Bird Committee anyway, they all knew he adhered strictly to the ethics rules. Besides, when it came right down to it he didn’t care who believed him. He’d seen it with his own two eyes, that was the important thing. He pulled a small notebook out of an inner pocket, wet the tip of a pen with a flick of his tongue, and scrawled: Kirkland’s Warbler. He raised the pen from the page, considered, then added an exclamation point and underlined the entry. Above it were the other sightings of the morning, recorded in his precise cursive:
2 common nighthawks.
1 olive-sided flycatcher
1 hooded merganser
1 Cooper’s hawk
3 bobolinks
Even before spotting the warbler, it had been an uncommonly productive day, Simon reflected, tilting his face up toward the treetops where his quarry had vanished. A glance at his watch confirmed the tale told by the brightening forest around him. Nearly seven in the morning. Soon the park would be swarming with sweaty hordes eager to spend the holiday gorging themselves on food before collapsing drunk on flotation devices in the lake. His lip curled at the thought, and he debated. Better to end on a high note? Or should he chance one more good sighting?
Deciding that on this of all days the gods were clearly on his side, he opted to stay. The roar of an engine nearby startled him, drove him deeper into the undergrowth. Simon edged forward slowly, binoculars swaying slightly like a pendulum as he crept into the interior, keeping the lake on his right. His eyes darted from branch to branch, dismissing the more common swallows and chickadees as too mundane to bother with. Unconsciously he furrowed his brow, already composing his next entry for newyorkbirding.com. He’d start by quoting one of his favorite poems, Freedom by George William Russell:
I love the free in thee, my bird,
The lure of freedom drew;
The light you fly toward, my bird,
I fly with thee unto.
Let Glenn put that in his pipe and smoke it, Simon thought, forcefully repressing a snort. Of course, as resident poet laureate at Hudson Valley Community College, he was expected to be more erudite than his cohorts, Glenn included. After the opening stanza he’d launch into a description of the morning. He began composing it in his mind: the sky cracked open like an egg at the horizon, milky light saturating his car as he drove to the park, the night trailing jasmine like a beautiful woman leaving a party. Wonderful imagery. Then an account of his slow march through the underbrush, the air caressing his skin, the palpable feeling that the Fates were on the verge of handing him another feather for his cap, so to speak. That was good, he liked it. The Listserv always went wild for puns, which he personally considered to be the currency of mediocrity. He hated stooping to it, but an entry like that would win over some doubters.
Distracted, he almost missed the raven perched less than fifty yards away. Not an uncommon sighting, but still noteworthy, he decided, freezing in place. They eyed each other for a long moment. The bird had plainly seen him, its head cocked to the side, and he cursed himself for not paying attention. If he reached for his binoculars now the bird would vanish. He comforted himself with the thought that the bird was close enough to count as a confirmed sighting regardless. The bird regarded him calmly an instant longer and, in spite of himself, a shiver ran down his spine. He’d never been a big fan of ravens, to be honest. He knew a true birder was supposed to love anything avian, but there was something about them—the dead black eye, like a shark, always unsettled him. The bird seemed to sense his unease and hopped down the branch, as though approaching him to ask a question. At the last moment, the bough bent under its weight and it startled away in a flurry of black wings.
Simon sighed with something akin to relief and withdrew his notebook again. As he glanced down, he frowned. Something jutted out from behind a bush a few feet to his left, the color and shape discordant in this woodland environment. He took a small step forward, peering around the corner of the bush. What he saw made him suck in a big gulp of air, one that was released in horrified pants as he tore back through the trees, binoculars thumping against his chest in the cadence of a frantic heartbeat.
Kelly rolled over, yawned and raised her head off the pillow, squinting at the clock. When she saw the time she let out a groan and pushed herself to a seated position. “Gotta get up,” she grumbled.
“What? No.” Jake reached an arm out and pulled her back under the sheet.
“It’s Monday.”
“It’s a long weekend, Jones. Learn to live a little, blow off work on a holiday like all the normal people in the world.” He wrapped both arms around her. She struggled for a moment, then went still. He lifted his head a few inches and peered at her. “Don’t think I don’t see that.”
“See what?”
“You got a squirrel in your head, Jones, and he’s pounding away on one of those little wheels, spinning like he’s trying to give himself a heart attack. You’re just waiting for me to let go so you can jump up and follow him out of here. Well, bad news.” He wrapped both legs around her, too. “Not going to happen, not on my watch.”
“Oh, really?” In spite of herself she grinned.
“Nope. Hell, I could stay like this all day.” Jake rolled onto his back so she was on top of him, facing away. “Yup, there’s few things I like more than a nice, soft Jones blanket. Perfect for any time of year.”
“You’re nuts.” She shook her head and relaxed back against his chest.
“Maybe.” He paused for a minute, then continued in a more serious voice, “You want to talk some more about what I said yesterday?”
Kelly stiffened. They’d managed to get through the rest of the barbecue, and then last night…well, suffice it to say there hadn’t been much talking. Which seemed to be their pattern, she thought with a sigh.
“Uh-oh, she’s sighing. Never a good sign,” Jake commented from below her.
Kelly laughed and spun so she was facing him. She lowered her head and kissed the tip of his nose. “Did I ever tell you, I really like your nose?”
“Yeah?” He rubbed the tip of it thoughtfully. “What part of it? Because I have been told it’s like something carved by Michelangelo….”
Kelly rolled her eyes. “You’ve obviously been living abroad way too long.”
“Maybe. That’s why I was thinking about moving back here.” He watched for her reaction, ice-blue eyes steady on hers.
“Back here?” She raised an eyebrow. “What would you do?”
“An old buddy of mine, former Agency N.O.C., is starting a private security firm. Kidnap & Ransom recovery, that sort of thing, strictly high end. Asked if I wanted to partner up.”
“Yeah?” Kelly plunked her elbows down on his chest and rested her chin on her hands. “Where would you be based?”
“Offices in New York and D.C. I’d go back and forth.” He rubbed her chin with his thumb as he continued, “I’d be a hell of a lot closer than I am now, that’s for sure.”
Kelly nodded. “A lot closer.”
He pulled her in and kissed her gently on the lips. “And that’s a good thing, right?” he murmured.
Before she could answer, Kelly’s cell phone buzzed along the top of the bureau. Jake groaned and covered his head with one hand as she leaned over and grabbed it.
“Hello?” she said, and listened for a moment, her brow furrowing. “I can be ready in ten. See you then.”
She snapped the phone shut. Jake eyed her. “Let me guess. There’s a work emergency.”
Kelly was already pulling her hair back in a ponytail as she headed for the bathroom. “They found another body.”
“Yeah?” Jake pulled himself up on an elbow and watched as she bent over the sink and splashed some water on her face. “So you were right, Sommers is in the clear.”
Kelly shook her head as she squeezed paste onto her toothbrush. “Not necessarily. According to Monica, he made bail on Saturday.” She brushed quickly, spit and rinsed her mouth.
“Huh. So where are you headed?”
“That’s the bad part.” She came back in the room and held up her suit, examining it for stains before draping it over the back of a chair and digging a bra out of her suitcase. “Monica’s coming to get me. We’re crossing the border again.”
“What, to Vermont?”
“No, back to New York. Hopefully they’ll be as helpful today as they were last week.” She clasped the straps and pulled on a pair of underwear. Jake watched appreciatively as she bent over and pulled on a light pair of linen pants. She glanced up at him. “You’ll still be here when I get back?”
“If you’ll still be wearing that lingerie—” he crossed his hands behind his head and grinned “—I’ll be right here waiting to peel it off.”
She threw a hand towel at him, finished buttoning her shirt, grabbed her purse and left.
A half hour later she was bent over the body of a young man. Dr. Stuart knelt on the ground next to her; he’d been in the car with Monica when they picked her up. Kelly had found that fact interesting but hadn’t commented. Frankly, she was happy that he’d be at the scene from the outset.
The boy was found facedown in the middle of a thicket, shielded from a nearby parking lot by a low hedge of brambles. This time they were in Grafton Lakes State Park, about ten miles northwest of where the last two bodies had been discovered. The ground was blanketed with a smattering of acorn husks and weeds that managed to survive on the scant light filtered down through the dense trees. All around them, crime-scene technicians were painstakingly chronicling the scene, setting numbered markers beside each piece of evidence.
“Got the pennies again.” Monica nodded toward a small pile of change by the boy’s outstretched hand.
Kelly’s brow creased. “They’re different though, scattered, not stacked.”
Monica shrugged. “Maybe the guy who found him knocked them over.”
“I’ll ask him.” Kelly pointed to marks on the back of the boy’s legs. “What’re these burns here?”
“Acid. Probably phosphoric, but I’d have to get a sample of the tissue to the lab to ascertain for certain,” Dr. Stuart said with a creased brow.
“Yup, acid. That’s exactly what I was gonna say.” The coroner was standing awkwardly off to one side, watching Howard with unreserved admiration. It was the same guy from the earlier crime scene. Today he was sporting a ratty pair of cutoff jeans and a Jägermeister T-shirt. “You folks are taking this one, too, right?” His relief was palpable when Kelly nodded her head.
“How was your daughter’s birthday party?” Monica asked.
“Good memory, Lieutenant,” he said appreciatively. “It was great, brought in a clown and everything. The wife couldn’t have been hap—”
“Have you established a time of death yet?” Kelly interrupted.
He rubbed his chin as he looked down uncertainly at the body. “Well, rigor is passing. In this heat, I’d say he died between twelve and thirty-six hours ago.”
“That’s a big range. Could you pinpoint it more exactly?”
He shrugged sheepishly. “Maybe.”
Dr. Stuart cleared his throat. “I should be able to narrow it down considerably. You’ve already taken the body temp?”
The coroner nodded. “Soon as I got here. I wrote it down for you.” He passed over a clipboard with a smudged form. “This is everything. So, if you’re all done with me…”
Kelly nodded. “Please write your cell number on the form in case Dr. Stuart needs to get in touch with you.”
“Yeah, sure. Absolutely.” He nodded vigorously, scribbled a number down on the pad, and handed it over.
Dr. Stuart watched, his lower lip twitching with disdain as the coroner lumbered off through the bushes. “Honestly, it’s criminal that coroners aren’t required to be medical doctors. And they wonder why this country has one of the lowest homicide clearance rates in the civilized world.”
Kelly waved over the deputy who was in charge of the site log. “Tell me more about this park,” she said.
He scratched his nose. “It’s pretty big, a couple thousand acres. Five ponds, there’s decent fishing here, they’ve got rainbow and brown trout, perch, some decent-size bass—”
“Overnight camping?”
“Nope, day-hiking only. Lots of people come to swim.”
“And I’m guessing it was pretty busy here yesterday.”
The deputy nodded. “Yeah, the ranger said the place was packed.”
“He found the body?”
The deputy shook his head. “Nope, it was some birdwatcher—nearly gave him a heart attack. I got him over at the picnic tables, if you want to talk to him.”
“Thanks, I will.” Kelly turned back to the body. “You got shots of everything?”
“Yeah, those were done a while ago.”
“All right, then. Let’s flip him.” Kelly stood back as Dr. Stuart gingerly turned the body over. There were blank holes where the eyes should be, and his genitals were missing. The front of his body was even worse than the back, bruises and burns covered almost every inch of skin.
Monica let out a low whistle. “Damn. Someone did a job on this poor kid.”
Kelly leaned down toward him. “It looks like Danny Smith.”
“Shit, really?” Monica shook her head. “Man, these poor boys…”
Kelly frowned. On top of everything else this meant they’d lost the only witness to Sommers’s state of mind the night Jim was killed. “We should pull in Jordan, see if he can make an ID. Dr. Stuart, can you take over here, make sure he gets loaded up?”