Page 28 of Last Girls Alive
Did the victim suffer the same injuries?
Would there be the same disturbing message carved on the victim’s back?
Could they have a serial killer on their hands?
She ran over in her mind what she needed to pay particular attention to when looking for evidence in the dark. She’d need to work more of a spiral grid than a typical cordoned zone search to assess the area. The first impressions of a crime scene were usually the most important, so she’d have to use all her senses to capture as much as she could in the dying light.
Parking in an available area, Katie saw McGaven and a few familiar patrol officer faces in the crowd. He approached her car just as she got out of the driver’s seat and they hurried together towards the entrance to the hiking trail.
“How did you get here so fast?” she asked, switching on a large flashlight she’d grabbed from the trunk.
“I caught a ride with Deputy Anderson. Everything okay?”
“Fine. Why do you ask?”
“No particular reason,” he said. “But your blouse is undone…”
“Just stick to crime scenes,” she said, clutching her shirt underneath her jacket and trying to hide her smile.
“Noted, Detective.”
Katie watched the patrol officers set up lights along the trail which led down to the creek. They went some way to illuminate the area, but the contrast and color of the trees and surroundings were muddled in the darkness. There were more shadows than light.
With all the rain they’d had in the past few weeks, the creek was higher than normal going into the fall season. The sound of water rushing along the rocky bed grew louder and louder as they approached the crime scene, blocking out the voices around them.
As Katie picked up her pace, McGaven slowed to allow Katie to take point and survey the body and immediate crime scene alone. As always, he hung back to cover the areas of entry, exit, potential evidence, and anything deemed unusual or possibly left by the killer.
As she approached the body, the crackling sound of police radios faded and voices all around her lowered to a muted tone. She blocked out everything that might interfere with her concentration and focus. Refining extreme focus was something she had learned in the army—it kept her attention expertly sharpened and alive.
This time, Katie decided that she wasn’t going to stop and speak with Detective Hamilton first, but forge straight ahead while she still had a little light to work with. She needed to stop worrying about the other detectives and keep her attention on her orders from the sheriff and on the investigation.
The crime-scene techs were readying themselves and waiting for the order to document and collect evidence. They nodded at her as she made her way around several large trees until she reached the yellow tape.
The sound of running water from the creek increased in volume again as she felt a slight mist spray her face where the intensified humidity hit cold air. Her boot heels started sinking into the soil; it took her total concentration to keep from falling down or slipping into the creek.
Why did the killer pick this spot?
Was it because no one would hear the girl’s screams or pleas for help?
Katie stopped abruptly and sucked in a breath as her eyes adjusted to what was in front of her. Approximately three feet away, illuminated in a yellow pool of lamplight, lay the naked body of Mary Rodriguez, lying on her side, eerily reminiscent of the other victim. Her arms were tied behind her back, one shoulder protruded upward, horribly discolored as if it had been dislocated, and her face looked directly at Katie with open eyes. Her expression was that of torture and pleading—Katie had difficulty keeping her eyes locked on the body.
Steadying her trembling hands, Katie slipped on a pair of gloves. To the outside world she appeared calm, but her anxiety was always ready to wreak havoc on her nervous system during accelerated times of stress.
There were no obvious footprints or drag marks around the body, which seemed strange: either the killer expertly covered his tracks or had some way of tossing the body without any evidence of detection.
Unusual.
Disturbing.
In Katie’s peripheral vision, she saw Detective Hamilton talking to McGaven. She knew that there were others around, but tried to block everyone out and focus only on the victim.
She leaned down to examine the girl’s wrists tied behind her back. There were numerous deep red and purple marks with areas of dried blood on her wrists and up her forearm, indicating that she had been restrained for some time before she drew her last breath. Her neck was also ringed with the same type of ligature marks, which indicated she had been strangled. There was no sign of decomposition—just the beginning stages of rigor mortis with the stiffening of limbs. If Katie had to guess she would estimate this poor girl had been dead less than a few hours, but the medical examiner would confirm in the report.
She noticed that the victim’s short blonde hair had dark roots and showed areas of damage with patches missing from her scalp, as if the killer had pulled the hair out forcefully in a struggle.
Taking in the positioning of the body one final time, she carefully moved the torso to one side so that she could see between the girl’s shoulder blades and down to the lower back. The body’s stiffening limbs made it somewhat difficult, but Katie managed to see what she dreaded most—hand-carved letters on the skin with slightly running ink that read ‘raccoglitore di cacciatori’.
Hunter-gatherer.
