Karen Rose - Have You Seen Her?

"Thank you for the lesson in crime-scene investigation," Steven replied dryly and Kent's cheeks went redder than chili peppers.

Kent sat back on his heels and looked away. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I'm frustrated. I've checked this entire area three times. Whoever left her here didn't leave anything else behind."

"Maybe the ME will find something on the body," Steven said.

Kent sighed. "What's left of it." He looked back at the corpse, clinical detachment on his face. But Steven also noted the flicker of controlled compassion in the young man's eyes and was satisfied. Kent would do his job, but still remember the victim. Another stroke in the newbie's favor.

"Sorry, Steven," said a ragged voice behind him and Steven turned to find Agent Harry Grimes taking labored breaths as he slipped a handkerchief in his pocket. Harry's face was pale, although the green tinge had passed along with the Egg McMuffin Harry had downed on his way to the scene.

New to the SBI, Harry had been assigned to Steven for training. Harry showed a lot of promise, except for his very weak stomach. But Steven couldn't blame him too much. He might have lost his own breakfast had he taken the time to eat any. "It's okay, Harry. It happens."

"Have we found anything?" Harry asked.

"Not yet." Steven crouched down next to the body, a pen in his gloved hand. "Nude, no ID or clothing anywhere around. There's enough left of her to know she was female."

"Adolescent female," Kent added and Steven's head shot up.

"What?"

"Adolescent female is my guess," Kent said, pointing to the corpse's torso. "Pierced navel."

Harry's gulp was audible. "How can you tell?"

Kent's mouth quirked up. "You could see if you put your face a bit closer."

"I don't think so," said Harry in a strangled voice.

Steven balanced himself on the balls of his feet, still crouched. "Okay, an adolescent female. She's been here at least a week. We'll need to run a check through missing persons." He gently rolled the body over and felt his heart skip a beat at the same time Harry cursed softly.

"What?" Kent asked, looking from Steven up to Harry and back at Steven. "What?"

A grimness settled over Steven and he pointed his pen at the remains of the young girl's left buttock. "She had a tattoo."

Kent leaned closer, then looked up, still squinting. "Looks like a peace symbol."

Steven looked up at Harry who wore a look of the same grim acknowledgment. "Lorraine Rush," Steven said and Harry nodded.

"Who was Lorraine Rush?" Kent asked.

"Lorraine was reported missing about two weeks ago," Harry said quietly. "Her parents went in to wake her up for school and found her bed slept in but empty."

"No evidence of forced entry," Steven added, looking at the corpse with new concern. "We had to assume she'd run away. Her parents insisted she never would run, that she'd been kidnapped."

"Parents always insist their kids would never run away," Harry said. "You still don't know that she didn't and just met up with some rough character along the way."

Steven could see in his mind's eye the picture of Lorraine as she'd been, the smiling girl in the photograph on the Rushes' fireplace mantel. "She was sixteen. A year younger than my oldest son." Steven let his thoughts briefly linger on his troubled son who'd undergone such a radical change in personality in the last month. But that was another worry. He'd dwell on his very personal problem of Brad when he'd put Lorraine Rush out of his mind. Whenever that would be.

"Damn shame," said Kent.

Steven pushed himself to his feet and stared down at what was left of what had once been a beautiful, vibrant young woman. Pushed back the primal rage at the monster who could take the life of another so brutally. "We'll need to inform her parents." He didn't look forward to that task.

Breaking the tragic news of a loved one's murder should have been easier after all these years.

Should have been.

It wasn't.

Thursday, September 29, 8:55 A.M.

"How are you, Steven?"

Steven looked up to find his boss, Special Agent in Charge

Lennie Farrell, looking down at him with that troubled expression that made Steven want to groan. When most people said how are you , they meant how are you ? but when Lennie Farrell said how are you , it meant they were going to have a chat, which in Steven's case would almost certainly include a discussion of "the incident" from six months before. Which Steven didn't have the emotional energy to go through. Not now.

Not after yet another argument with seventeen-year-old Brad last night over his oldest son's month-old attitude that gave "sullen teenager" new meaning. They'd fought, screamed at each other, and Steven still didn"t know why or who had won.

Not after yet another over-breakfast argument with his aunt Helen over the "nice young woman" she'd lined up for him to meet this weekend. Helen never understood that he was determined to remain a widower for the foreseeable future, at least until all his boys were grown.

Steven pressed his fingertips to his throbbing temple. And especially after trying to hug his youngest son before leaving the house and once again having seven-year-old Nicky push him away. Nicky and "the incident" were inextricably intertwined.

Steven would rather date one of Helen's debutantes than talk about it again.

But Lennie's expression said that's what he'd come to talk about and although Steven had learned from experience that Lennie would not be deterred, he did know his boss could be distracted. So to his boss's how are you , Steven replied, "About like you'd think after looking at pictures of a mutilated, animal-scavenged corpse." He pushed the folder to the edge of his desk.

Lennie took the bait, flipping through the pictures of the body in the clearing, his seasoned cop's face showing no sign of emotion. But he swallowed hard before closing the folder.

"And our suspects?" Lennie asked, his eyes still on the folder cover.

"Not many," Steven said. "Lorraine Rush was a well-liked girl, a cheerleader at High Point High School. Sixteen, no boyfriends her parents knew about. Her friends are stunned."

"And her teachers?'

"Nothing mere either. We've checked her whereabouts every day for three weeks before she was reported missing and nothing stands out. Lorraine was a clean-cut all-Ameri-can girl."

"With a tattoo on her buttock," Lennie said.

Steven shrugged. "She was a teenager, Lennie. They paint and pierce themselves, God knows why. In my day it was dyeing your hair green and sticking safety pins in your nose. We ran a tox screen on what was left and didn't find any evidence of the usual teenage party scene."

"So, in other words, no suspects," Lennie said, frowning.

"Nope."

"And the Forensics report?"

"She was killed there in the clearing. Her blood was found soaked three inches into the soil."

"It's been so dry lately," Lennie murmured. "The ground just drank her up."

Steven eyed his half-drunk coffee with new distaste. "Yeah. Cause of death may have been stabbing, but the ME wouldn't swear to it There just wasn't enough of her body left. She'd been there five days based on the larval state of the maggots that were busy eating what the animals left behind. She was probably raped, although the ME wouldn't swear to that either."

Lennie's mouth tightened. "What will the ME swear to?"

"That she's dead."

Lennie's lip twitched. Once. Through all the horror, they had to find ways to lighten the stress. Humor normally sufficed, as long as they kept it to themselves. But the humor was a trapping, a cover that just hid the horror for a moment or two. Then it was there again, staring them in the face.