Page 32 of Nothing Hiding

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

"The body is in Hyde Park! In Hyde Park itself!"

Juliette shouted out the words to Wyatt as she raced down the hotel's stairs.

Sierra clattered down the stairs a moment later, her boots loud on the wooden treads, her hair still wild from sleep.

"Another victim? This is terrible." She gasped in a breath. "And you were right, Juliette. A serial."

"I wish I'd been wrong," she said darkly.

She felt traumatized by the news, all the more so because the body was in one of her most treasured London locations, somewhere that held so many beautiful memories—a destination of peace and joy that was now forever tarnished in her mind.

Wyatt emerged from his room, racing down the stairs, his short hair in as much disarray as she'd ever seen it.

"Hell," he said, a concise word that aptly described the circumstances. "Is this the woman we researched last night? Sophie Elder?"

"I think it might be Sophie,” Juliette said as they rushed out to the car. “But for all I know he's taken somebody else. We don't know how far this goes. But it's worse than we thought."

It didn’t take long for them to make the rushed journey, through almost deserted streets, to the side of Hyde Park where the body had been found. Juliette arrived there in time to see the park bathed in early morning sun. The idyllic picture was marred by the cluster of police cars at the park's entrance and the coroner's van. A policeman at the park gate was already keeping back a small knot of curious onlookers.

Showing her badge, Juliette led the way, and the three of them walked in.

What had happened? Her mind was whirling with the possible scenarios, and she was dreading to see that same shimmering waxen effigy, a mockery of human life and health, bathing the victim's face in its artificial glow.

But as she approached the bench where the police were clustered, Juliette realized there was another, more concerning sight.

Detectives Harris and Black were busy coordinating the scene. Harris's officious voice rang out through the still morning air, and it caused all of them to look his way. “Please control the crowds. We don’t want any photography. I want the public kept back far enough that nobody can do that.”

"They're here?" Sierra asked incredulously. "But they refused to believe you when you said it was a serial!"

"Maybe they've changed their mind," Wyatt said darkly. From his tone, Juliette knew that he, like her, expected trouble.

At that moment, Samantha Black swung around and saw them.

She stared, looking immediately hostile.

"What are you doing on the scene?" she asked, her voice so clear and piercing that a number of the police also swung around. Suddenly, Juliette felt like an unwanted guest, like someone who didn't have the permission to set foot on the scene. It was an unpleasant, although only temporary feeling. Then, deciding that assertiveness was needed here, she marched up to the duo.

"Our supervisor at the Manhattan FBI office called us," she said. "Why didn't you? You have our details. It's the ambassador's directive that we should be working together."

Harris turned away from managing the scene and marched over to stand next to Black.

"We don't take orders from your boss in Manhattan. We take orders from our Scotland Yard superiors, who assigned us to this case when it was called in, and they haven't yet authorized us to work with any outside personnel."

That was ridiculous, and Juliette was fuming. Right now, they were working with cops from other divisions, with forensics, with the coroner, with all sorts of people. Apart from the Americans. Without even wanting to, they'd become embroiled in a destructive turf war over who was handling the case.

She swallowed down an angry reply. It wouldn't help, because with people like these, they'd use any retaliation as further ammunition. In fact, she sensed they were waiting for it.

“We’ll continue on our own, then,” she said quietly.

Rather than getting into a shouting match with the two detectives, she then simply turned away and focused her attention on the victim instead, although her heart felt heavy with anger towards the duo. This was a matter of life and death, and she couldn't let their petty politics interfere.

Hearing raised voices to her right, she picked up that the sturdily built man with the flushed face, who'd found her, was telling his story to a waiting policeman. She had no idea if he'd been interviewed by the Scotland Yard duo or not, but either way, he was a talkative man who was using the chance to tell his story again. Listening in, she heard him tell his story—not for the first time, she guessed.

"I was just sitting on the bench to take a call! She was there when I arrived, and she didn't move. I only realized when I'd finished the call that there was something strange about her. How can anyone do such a thing?" He sounded agonized. “I mean, it was pure chance I sat down there. How long could she have stayed there?”

Meanwhile, Juliette moved over to the coroner, who was busily working on the woman, now slumped prone on the ground. Right now, she needed to put herself in the killer's shoes and try to imagine how his mind had worked as he’d gone about creating this deadly scenario.

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