Reed extended his hand toward Hugh.
The chief fished out his reading glasses and grasped Reed’s hand to adjust the distance between it and his face. “Could be soap. But if someone took the time to soap your windows, why would he wipe it off minutes later?”
Jayne pulled the picture up on the LCD display on the back of her camera. “See.”
Hugh leaned in. “Looks like a bunch of scribbling to me.”
Reed scanned the parking lot. If the miscreant had wiped the soap off her windshield, the miscreant was nearby. Maybe watching them right now. Daylight reflected off the back windows of the diner, the darker interior making the customers inside invisible.
There was a pause as Hugh considered. “We’ll fill out a report and ask around, but unless we get lucky and someone actually saw the incident, there isn’t much I can do.”
“What about getting the surveillance tapes from the parking lot?”
“Nathan doesn’t have cameras out there,” Hugh said.
“So, there’s nothing you can do?” Jayne’s frustration bubbled into her voice.
“Again, I’m sorry, Miss Sullivan. This kind of thing doesn’t happen too often practically next door to the police station. Did you argue with anybody?” Hugh asked.
Her resigned exhalation signaled surrender. “I’ve been here less than a day. I checked into the inn. I took some pictures. I ate lunch at the diner. That’s it.”
“I’m sorry you had such an inhospitable welcome, Miss Sullivan.” Hugh sighed. “It was probably teenagers. Even small towns have their share of juvenile delinquents. We have more vandalism than you’d think. I’ll do what I can, but I can’t promise anything. Let’s go to my office. You can give me a list of everyone you’ve interacted with since you arrived.”
Hugh led the way back toward the station.
“There’s something else.” Jayne’s voice lowered as she reluctantly fell into step beside the chief, but Reed could still hear her. “A man my testimony put in prison was granted parole last week. During the trial, he made threats.”
“But he’s in Pennsylvania?” The chief was sharper than he looked. He’d noticed her license plates.
“Last I heard he was still in Philadelphia.”
“Keep in mind that a stranger stands out in Huntsville. He can’t hide in plain sight here. Someone would notice him right away,” the chief pointed out. “Why don’t you give me his information so I can get a picture? That way I can keep an eye out for him. I’ll call the auto shop for you, too. We’ll take pictures of the damage and have the auto shop pick up your vehicle.”
“All right. Thank you.” But she didn’t sound relieved by Hugh’s offer.
As their feet hit the sidewalk, Reed gave the diner parking lot another quick scan. The odd crime did not sit well in his gut. If Jayne was telling the truth, someone was following her. If it was Bill, Reed doubted she was in any danger. But Bill wouldn’t slash her tires. Would he?
They descended into the municipal building’s basement. Hugh opened the door to the station and held it for Jayne. He escorted her into his office and filled out a report while Reed waited in the lobby. “I’ll need a copy of that picture.”
“Your computer’s a little old. It doesn’t have the right memory card slot. I’ll e-mail it to you as soon as I get back to the inn.” Jayne gave Hugh her personal information.
Ten minutes later, Hugh ushered her toward the exit. “Can you come back tomorrow and sign your statement?”
“Yes. Looks like I’m stuck here anyway.” She bit the words off, her body rigid. “I’m sorry. I don’t do the victim thing very well.”
Reed’s eyes flicked back to the scar on her face. Why did it bother him so much? It wasn’t like he knew her or was likely to ever see her again.
But he wanted to. And wasn’t that a kick in the teeth? The first woman to attract his attention in years was just passing through. Just as well. He had no place in his life for a woman, especially a woman with baggage.
“That’s OK. You’ve every right to be mad. It’s tears I can’t handle.” Hugh patted her arm, a fatherly gesture he pulled off without seeming condescending or sexist. “No one likes being a victim. In my book, being pissed off is a whole lot better than crying.”
She gave him her personal information, then turned toward the door. Outside, Reed knew the wind was whipping down Main Street as if it were the tundra. Despite the fashionably furry boots and puffy down jacket, she wasn’t dressed for a Maine winter. She’d looked cold standing in the parking lot next door; she was going to freeze her lovely ass off walking all the way back to the inn.
“Need a lift?” Reed didn’t want her to leave, especially not alone. Not after today’s weird events. “I’ll be done here soon.”
Heat flashed in her eyes for a nanosecond, but she backed away. “No, thank you. I’ll be fine.”
“Hugh’ll vouch for me. If I had any nefarious plans, I wouldn’t make the offer in the presence of the chief of police.”
“Reed’s OK.” Hugh nodded. “Damned fine carpenter.”
“Thanks anyway. I’ll manage.” She gripped her bag tighter under her arm and hurried out the door.
Reluctantly, Reed ripped his eyes off her retreating figure. Jayne’s predicament—and her killer body—were a lot nicer to contemplate than the reason Hugh wanted to pick his brain.
The chief hadn’t called him down here to talk about carpentry. No, this was about Reed’s old job, the one he’d left behind. This was about homicide.
“Very nice.” Hugh’s eyes crinkled as the outer door closed behind Jayne Sullivan. “Looks like she’ll be here a few days anyway. You should go for it.”
Reed turned his back on the exit—and the woman beyond the door. “If the forecast is anywhere near accurate, I’ll be snowed in for the weekend. Besides, I don’t have the energy for a woman like that.” But my God, if his past had been nice and clean and normal, he’d be doing everything possible to spend time with her.
“For Christ’s sake, man, then stock some Red Bull.” Hugh led the way into his office. “Hell, if I wasn’t married, I could find the energy for a woman like that.”
“Doris hears you say that, she’ll roast you alive, slowly.” Reed’s gaze strayed to the chief’s desk, where Miss Sullivan’s police report beckoned. She was thirty. Closer to his age than he’d thought. That fact pleased him more than it should.
“No doubt.” Chuckling, Hugh waved him toward a wooden chair that looked like it’d been pilfered from an old school. “Shame she’s had such a rough time here in town. Odd, though, don’t you think?”
“Yeah. And I’m not a big fan of weird.”
“Me either.” Hugh adjusted the knob on the space heater that whirred away in the corner. “We should keep an eye on her.”
Reed blinked away from Hugh’s comment and eased his butt onto the cracked pine seat. “Why did you ask to see me?”
Good humor bled from Hugh’s craggy face. “I appreciate you coming here. I know this is hard for you. Some hunter found one of those missing hikers from Mayfield out by the quarry. You hear about that?” The chief’s sharp gray eyes bore into Reed’s, accurate as any polygraph.
Reed knew what was coming next. He blinked away to study a row of framed marksmanship awards that hung over the chief’s head. Hugh looked and acted deceptively laid-back. It was easy to forget that under the country-bumpkin act was a cop with thirty years of experience. Unlike his weekly plug for Reed to take over the chief position, Hugh wasn’t going to let this request go without a fight.
“I did.” Reed forced the words out through a constricted throat. Five years ago he’d buried his career as a homicide detective along with his wife. “I don’t do that anymore, Hugh.”
Hugh pressed on. The cop’s voice was neutral, but anger simmered just under the calm facade. “I know you’ve got your reasons for leaving the Atlanta PD. All I’m asking is for an hour or two of your time.”
Reed weighed guilt against responsibility. On one hand he’d promised his son he was done with police work. But dead young men were a damned heavy load. For Scott’s sake he should get up and walk away, yet he didn’t protest when Hugh opened the file on his blotter.
“The medical examiner listed the preliminary cause of death as accidental.” Hugh dealt photos out onto his desk, the grim reaper’s version of solitaire. Reed considered closing his eyes against the visual onslaught. The quiet years had softened him. Full-color
glossies of gory crime scenes used to be part of a day’s work. For Hugh, Reed buried his disgust and scanned the gruesome images.
“Those hikers went missing in October. Remains are in bad shape. We had some unusually warm temps around Thanksgiving. Animals and insects have been at the corpse for six solid weeks.” Hugh pointed a gnarled finger at a close-up of mangled, decomposing flesh. “There wasn’t much to work with. Quite a few pieces were missing.”
Like the guy’s head. Reed’s throat soured.
“Decapitation likely occurred postmortem.” Hugh chose another picture. “But due to scavenger activity, the ME won’t commit to how that happened.”
Reed’s translation: animals and insects had chewed on the stump. Six weeks in an area teeming with wildlife had taken its toll.
The chief fished for and found an X-ray report with an accompanying sketch. “But he did note, just below the decapitation, a suspicious nick on the anterior of the vertebrae.”
Reed let out a deep breath, pulling his eyes off the grisly photo and concentrating on the more clinical X-ray report. The mark on the bone looked like it had been made by a knife rather than teeth. “You think his throat was cut.”
The chief flipped through pictures and selected one. “This was under the body.”
Reed turned the photo for optimal light. A coin of some sort. Looked old. As in ancient, something-you’d-see-in-a-museum old.
“The coin is a bronze Celtic slater, circa 50 BC,” Hugh said.
“No shit?”
“No shit.” Hugh leaned back. “Now if we found an arrowhead under the remains, or if this body turned up in a peat bog
in Britain, I could proceed under the assumption that it might be a coincidence. But how the hell did an ancient Celtic coin end up under a corpse in Maine?”
“How hard is it to get one of these?”
“I made some calls. It’s not that hard. If this were a really rare coin, we’d be in luck. Unfortunately, this is the one of the most common types. It’s only worth about thirty bucks.”
“Anything else?” Reed asked.
“Nope.” Hugh tossed another paper on the desk, frustration deepening the lines around his mouth. “The remains are on their way to a forensic anthropologist. I won’t get any definite answers for a while. If this kid was murdered, the killer’s had six weeks to cover his ass. Now that the body’s been discovered, I don’t want to give him more time to destroy every scrap of evidence. The trail’s cold enough already. ”
Reed couldn’t argue with that. Forensic anthropologists were always backed up. So much crime. So little time. “What about the second kid?”
“Officially, John Mallory is still missing, but we both know the chance he’s still alive is razor-thin.”
Authorities had assumed both guys were dead when the initial, full-out search had been called off in mid-November due to a storm that left a foot of snow in its wake. The only reason this body’d been found was a freak warm spell right after Thanksgiving. Otherwise the remains would’ve been buried until the spring thaw.
“Well, what do you think?” Hugh asked.
Unfortunately, Reed’s cop instincts agreed with Hugh’s. “I’d say it’s a strong possibility. But you need the ME to declare the death a homicide to justify an investigation. The town council will not want to deal with a murder if they don’t have to.”
“I know, but I can’t let it go.” Hugh’s mouth went tight. He pulled a starched white handkerchief from his pocket, removed his glasses, and rubbed the lenses harder than necessary. “I just wanted a second opinion before I stuck my head in the noose. I’m getting close to retirement. Let’em fire my ass.” Hugh slid the photos back into the file and closed the manila cover, but Reed knew damned well the case was wide open.
But he wasn’t going to bite.
“I’d really appreciate some unofficial help on this, Reed. No one has to know if that’s the way you want it.” Hugh reached into his desk drawer and slid out a fat legal-size mailing envelope. “Copies.”
Reed crossed an ankle over his knee and contemplated the zigzag pattern in his boot treads. His conscience amplified guilt like a bullhorn. His gut didn’t need corroboration. It was screaming that the chief was right. This teenager had been murdered. It all added up to a no-win situation. If Reed agreed to help, he risked exposure. If he didn’t, a killer could evade justice, maybe even go after someone else—like Scott.
“You know what I went through, Hugh. I can’t afford any publicity.”
“I give you my word. This is just between you and me,” Hugh assured him. “Please. I’ve got some theories, but I don’t have your experience or the extra manpower for this. I can’t ask the state for help until the investigation is officially declared a homicide.”
“What about Doug Lang?”
“My lieutenant is vying for my job. He’s too busy kissing Nathan’s ass to run an investigation. Besides, I’d like to keep this quiet for now. Doug can’t keep his mouth shut.” Hugh reached across the desk and inched the envelope closer to Reed. “Just take
the file home and give it a look-through. Any ideas come to you, call me. That’s all I’m asking.”
Reed kept his eyes off the envelope. He’d moved his son fourteen hundred miles to get away from violence, death, and the media attention associated with both of those things. “Sorry, Hugh. I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
Reed didn’t answer. His phone vibrated. Probably a text from Scott. Reed stood and turned away. He and Scott were going to cut their Christmas tree that afternoon.
Hugh’s gaze leveled him. “How old’s your boy?”
“Seventeen.”
Hugh reopened his file and tossed another color photo onto the desk. “That’s just one year younger than Zack Miller.”
Reed knew it was a mistake, but his eyes sought the image anyway. The gangly kid in the senior yearbook picture didn’t even look like he needed to shave. A familiar pang of anger and loss poked at Reed as the young face, full of promise and bursting with life, smiled up at him. Zack Miller wasn’t going to see another Christmas. How would his parents bear the upcoming holiday?