The woman had no idea how much help she’d get—only it wouldn’t be in the direction she’d planned.
What he wanted to know was what the hell had Phil and he done to deserve this babysitting job? She might be enrolled at Hillsborough Community College and had taken some classes in law enforcement, but she was still a civilian; and civilians shouldn’t investigate homicides. But an order was an order.
Gina had a file folder, a pad, a pencil and a bottle of Evian water. Hunter appreciated her enthusiasm, but he’d bet his finest bottle of scotch she’d be guzzling coffee before she left her six-week internship. To top it off, her health food regime would be kissed goodbye, and that alone might make her quit.
Phil stuffed a gooey, chocolate donut in his mouth and pointed to Gina’s folder. “What you got there?”
As she watched Phil eat the sugary mess, her face scrunched up. “I was thinking about what kind of person would bury naked bodies in a remote site.”
“A sicko?” his smart-ass partner tossed back.
“Well yeah, but that’s not what I meant.”
“Do you think if they’d been clothed they’d be any less dead?”
Hunter nudged Phil under the table. If his partner made it obvious they were trying to be jerks, Gina would catch on and run to Uncle Jack. And that would be bad. Hunter didn’t want to fail at this assignment.
“Are you mocking me, mister policeman?” she said with a glint in her eye.
Phil placed a hand over his heart. “No. I wouldn’t think of it.” Then he smiled.
Gina batted her eyes. “I was thinking.”
Hunter cleared his throat.
“What about?” Phil said, his tone back to being bad cop hard.
“I imagine as homicide detectives, you think these deaths were murder.”
Phil chugged the rest of his Coke.
Hunter’s partner swiped a napkin over his mouth “Yeah, well, you can’t blame us. All four were abused, or so said Doc Herlihy. Kind of makes us think along sinister lines.”
“I see where you’re coming from,” she said, “but hear me out.” Her eyes widened. “I’m sorry. If I’m overstepping my boundary here, let me know, okay?” She straightened the pile of papers on the table. “Uncle Jack said I should pretend like I’m one of the team members.” Gina’s southern drawl turned even more pronounced.
“By all means continue,” Hunter said, impressed she’d worry about police protocol.
Gina rifled through her folder. “Okay. I did a little research. I found out about a case a few months ago near Fort Myers where an undertaker didn’t want to spend the money to bury some of the people who didn’t have the funds to pay for a funeral. So...he dug this big old hole and dumped in the bodies. Can you believe that?”
Hunter scribbled some notes on his yellow pad. “I heard about that case, but I don’t think it applies to these people—gut instinct only. Different MO. For starters, the undertaker hadn’t stripped the subjects.”
Gina tilted one shoulder forward. “Or they were all prostitutes and no one wanted to claim them. They’d likely be abused, given their profession, and the death rate for such women is rather high, you know.”
“Point taken.”
“Do you have any persons of interest?” Phil asked.
“As a matter of fact I do.” She held up a police report and tapped the cover with a fancy red nail. “Samson DeMarco used to be a funeral director in Seminole. Emphasis on used to. He apparently made a deal with the county to bury any dead prisoners. He was paid by the state.”
Hunter’s patience was wearing thin. “I’m guessing Mr. DeMarco forgot to mention the burial fee didn’t come with a wooden casket?” He guzzled down another cup of black coffee. Sugar gave him a headache, but oh how he loved sweet coffee.
“At least for one of them he didn’t.”
Phil grabbed another donut. “So how was he caught?” The man took acting indifferent to an art form.
“The report says some kids were playing near some preserve. Fishing, I think. Anyway, when they saw a finger sticking up from the ground, they told their folks, who then reported the discovery to the police.”
“Don’t tell me the body was in the North Tampa site,” Hunter said, suddenly interested.
“No. West of here, near some wetlands. Closer to Westchase. The undertaker was caught about two months ago. I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it.”
Was the rookie actually challenging him? “Can’t know everything.” Hunter kept his gaze lasered on her face. He thought she blushed, though he was hard pressed to tell given her dark complexion.
“I like the idea,” Phil said. “We could subpoena his records and see if any of the former morgue inhabitants match our bodies.” Phil ping-ponged his gaze between Hunter and Gina.
Hunter decided to play along. “I bet he’s not the only undertaker who’s thought about dumping bodies if the families don’t pay. I know the M.E.’s office spends a shit load of money burying or cremating their unclaimed bodies.”
Gina leaned forward and her boobs practically spilled out of her top. Hunter didn’t think her theory would pan out, but hey, he’d heard of crazier ideas. “I say, subpoena away if you can get a judge to go for it.” He was rewarded with a smile from both of them.
“Great,” Phil said.
His partner looked like a love-sick puppy. Stupid guy. But hell, who was he to criticize? Gina was single, close to Phil’s age, and intelligent. “Why don’t you two follow up on that lead? I want to compare the missing persons’ list against Dr. Herlihy’s stats.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Phil stood. “Don’t have too much fun.” He turned to Gina. “Ready for your first ride along?”
“Absolutely.” The excitement in her eyes spelled trouble.
5
Kerry wiped her forearm across her face to clear the cobwebs from her mind. She’d been lucky when she found an identifying mark on Jane Doe #2. The female had a tattoo of a sailboat.
During the autopsy John had called her in and showed her a faint discoloration on the ankle. Kerry had dabbed a bit of diluted household bleach on the skin, a trick she’d learned in New Orleans, and the image of a boat appeared. John seemed impressed—always a good thing for a person on contract.
Underneath the boat was the name Bra_y_ne. The skin had broken apart in the middle of the word, making identification difficult but not impossible. One good thing about the woman’s choice of shapes was its uniqueness might help identify her.
Once John finished the autopsy, he handed the body over to Kerry. She photographed the details of the tattoo, and then began the painstaking job of cleaning the bones. She understood all too well the results from the autopsy would not be back for days.
It was evident from the fracture on the boat lady’s body that her arm had been broken about three years ago. The spiral nature of the injury implied abuse. The broken jaw looked more recent.
Kerry had been working on the body for less than an hour when her lab door squeaked open and John popped his head in.
“Hey, Doc. I just received another call.”
Her heart sank to her stomach. Another call. Another death.
“What do we have?” The usual heart thumping and belly souring blasted her.
“It’s...bad. They think they found the bones of an infant. They’re hoping you’ll tell them the remains are animal.” He scratched his beard and looked out the window.
“What aren’t you telling me?” John was an easy read.
“A piece of a child’s jacket was beside one of the bones.”
Damn. “Let me gather my gear.”
Forcing her emotions aside, Kerry grabbed her kit. She’d left the shovel and some of her digging tools in the M.E.’s van, ready to go at a moment’s notice.
They drove in silence for a good ten miles, east past Brahman University, then headed north another five miles. The area was close to where they’d found yesterday’s bodies.