Page 13 of Last Girls Alive
“What about…” began Katie. She paused and then said, “Can we see her back?”
“Of course.”
Dr. Dean rolled the girl to one side so Katie and McGaven could see her back. Katie pulled her cell phone from her pocket and took a quick photo of the writing.
“What do you think made those marks?” she said.
“Hard to say, but it was definitely done post mortem. The blood had already stopped pumping, which made it easier for the killer to make the letters with less bleeding and no movement.”
Katie leaned closer.
“If you look at it magnified it’s not a clean cut you would get from a precision instrument like a scalpel. It’s thick with a blunt or a curved side.” He read the words out loud. “My Italian is minimal, but it’s something about a tracker?”
“Close. It means hunter-gatherer.”
“Wasn’t there an old movie calledHunter-Gatherer?”
Katie looked at McGaven as the doctor let the body lie on its back again.
He shook his head. “I don’t know, but I’m going to check everywhere.”
“There you go,” the doctor said. “I’m sorry, but I’m late for an appointment. Do you need anything else right now?”
“No, I think we can get started.”
“Nice to see you both,” he said, looking directly at Katie.
“Thank you for the speedy information, Doctor.”
“My pleasure. I wanted you to know that your victim isn’t Candace Harlan as soon as possible,” he said and left the room.
Katie took another look at the body before she headed for the door.
“So, Candace Harlan is still missing?” said McGaven following her.
“Afraid so,” she said.
“So is it still our homicide? I mean, it’s not one of our cold cases.”
Katie sighed. “Technically, you’re right. We need to talk to the sheriff.”
“I was afraid you were going to say that.”
Seven
Monday 1935 hours
Katie drove the unmarked police cruiser up her long driveway and cut the engine. She sat behind the wheel and didn’t move at first. It was only Monday and she was already exhausted. Glancing at her watch, it was later than she realized. A familiar sound interrupted her musings over the new homicide. The distinct bark could only belong to a German shepherd. Loud. Rapid. And at times incessant.
“I’m coming, Cisco,” she said, popping out of the car and trudging toward the front porch of her farmhouse carrying her thoughts about the case along with her physical things.
Opening the front door, the sleek black dog with wolfish amber eyes bounced with happiness around her, barely allowing her to enter the living room.
“Hey, big guy. You have a good day?” she said. Her voice only made him even more excited. She dropped everything she was carrying by the front door as the eighty-pound dog circled several times around her and then bounced up and off the couch before he began to settle down. A few high-pitched whines and a look as if to say “where have you been?” followed Katie into the kitchen where she set to work preparing his meal.
“Sorry I’m so late today. We have a new case. At least, I think it’s our case,” she said, watching him gobble down his food and remembering the times she had fed him when they were on tour in Afghanistan—outside, in tents, and various other makeshift camps. Not all those memories were traumatizing. She had been paired with Cisco and made friends there she would keep forever. They were all bonds that could never be broken. She was grateful that her uncle was able to call in some favors and coordinate Cisco’s release back to the US—as a hero dog after several tours and dozens, if not a hundred, of explosive finds. Katie had lost count.
Katie hurried to her bedroom and quickly changed into a comfy pair of pajamas. She was going to get to bed early tonight, because tomorrow was going to be a long day at work. There were so many things running through her mind that she just wanted to get sleep over and done with so she could get started.
