Mike Omer - In the Darkness

A second passed as Zoe processed this. “You think the unsub tried to break in to the gas station to destroy the security footage?”

“That’s what I had in mind. I mean . . . if he suspected the camera caught him killing someone. What do you think?”

“He’s pretty careful. But if it was an early killing, he would have been very agitated. It could spur him to react fast . . . like he did yesterday, trying to dig up Juliet to kill her. It’s the same reaction, a sudden gut fear that prods him into a risky maneuver. I can see it happening.”

“Right,” Tatum said, encouraged. “I hope that guy with the cadaver dog isn’t busy. I’ve got a job for him.”

It took Shelley, the cadaver dog, less than ten minutes to home in on a spot deep in the field, half hidden from the road by a few dry shrubs and cacti. Once there, the dog paused, scratched the earth, and whined. And Victor looked at him and said, “She found something all right.”

This time, there was absolutely no urgency, and they did it right. The crime scene technicians showed up and set up a crime scene tape and a wide three-walled screen to hide the excavation from the road. Several cops were dispatched to stop any curious onlookers or journalists from getting near. And the grave was dug carefully while Tatum and Victor watched, soon joined by Zoe and Foster. The entire crime scene was filling with cops and rangers, and Curly had already shown up as well, standing by Tatum’s side, waiting for the remains.

“Second body in five days,” Victor said sadly.

“Third for me,” Curly said.

“This city never used to be so violent back in the day,” Victor muttered.

“Yeah, it’s a terrible business.”

Tatum glanced down at the dog, who was sniffing at his shoe. “Your dog . . . Shelley is amazing at what she does.”

“She really is.” Victor sniffed. “Saw that Jones and Buster were on the front page of the San Angelo Standard-Times with that girl, Juliet.”

“Jones and Buster?” Tatum asked, confused. “Oh, that guy with the dog who found her? Yeah. It was a nice picture.”

“It was.”

The officers got out of the grave one by one, and then one of them leaned forward into the hole and yanked the lid. All of them turned away, grunting in disgust.

Victor sighed again and shook his head. “Come on, Shelley—let’s go write our report.”

The K-9 officer left, and Tatum approached the grave, Zoe already two steps ahead of him.

This one was definitely different.

For one, these remains were much older. The body had suffered from insect activity, and putrefaction was very advanced. The insects could reach her easily, since the box was not as well made as the previous ones, and there were thin gaps between the planks. The box was square, not rectangular, more like a crate. The skeletal body was curled inside in a fetal position. If this girl had been buried alive like this, her death must have been even worse than the other victims, with her body forced into this unnatural position just so she could fit into the box.

Tatum turned away, feeling sick. In the background he heard some muttering from the people around him.

“No camera,” Zoe said dryly.

Tatum felt a flash of anger, and he wasn’t sure if he was angry at himself for not seeing it or at Zoe’s ability to notice such a detail when faced with such a horrid scene. He forced himself to look again and saw she was right. The box was as plain as could be. Perhaps its original use had been to contain fruits or vegetables. No infrared camera was located inside or a hole through which the cable could be fitted.

“Excuse me.” Curly shouldered his way through.

“We’ll need to lift the box out,” Foster told him. “No room for you in the pit.”

“Just take care not to spill dirt into the box while you dig.”

They ended up closing the box before they commenced digging again, freeing it from the soil. Tatum took a few steps aside, watching them. He’d followed a threadbare lead, and it had ended up leading them to another dead girl. He was anything but victorious.

“That’s his first victim,” Zoe said, joining him by his side.

“You sure?”

She shrugged. “Can’t be sure of anything. But it looks like it. Just the basic fantasy, bury a girl alive. He didn’t even have a box in the right size. The location is far from perfect, too close to the city. Not well hidden. He was lucky no one saw him.”

“He probably buried her at night. It must have been pitch dark.”

“Yeah. But still, there are markings of inexperience everywhere. Then, once he was done and had his sexual relief, he became focused enough to notice the gas station. And he began wondering.”

“About the security cameras.”

“He was worried that the cameras might have caught him. He put on a ski mask and some gloves . . . I’m guessing he had both of those handy. And he tried to break inside to destroy the footage.”

“The camera isn’t even aimed at this area,” Tatum said. “What a dumb asshole.”

“Right.” Zoe raised her eyebrow, clearly surprised at his angry tone. “He isn’t dumb anymore. He had plenty of time to think about his mistakes and to avoid making them again.”

Tatum nodded, not wanting to debate it. He was tired of analyzing the killer, trying to get into his head. For once, he just wanted to think of him as a monster, a vile evil creature that couldn’t be explained, that should be hunted with pitchforks and torches and destroyed.

“He might have a link to the victim,” Zoe added. “Maybe he lived close to her; maybe she was an acquaintance. If we figure out that link, we might catch him.”

“Maybe,” Tatum grunted.

Perhaps sensing his mood, Zoe walked away, probably trying to imagine what the killer had seen that night. By tomorrow she’d have a perfect picture of how the event of that night had taken place.

The officers managed to pry the box out of the pit, and Curly approached it, instructing them to be careful. He opened the lid, his hands gloved, and leaned into the box, inspecting the body. Tatum imagined him taking the skeleton’s pulse to determine if it was really dead and let a humorless smile stretch his lips.

Curly pulled out a small purse and handed it to Foster without a word. Tatum stepped forward, feeling curious.

Foster opened the purse and took a cursory glance at it. “Some money here, forty dollars and change. A crumpled bus ticket . . . ah. There’s the driver’s lice—” His mouth went slack, eyes widening, filling with surprise and pain.

“What is it?” Tatum asked.

“I know this woman,” Foster croaked. “She . . . we went to school together. Debra Miller. Aw, shit.”

“I’m sorry.”

“She was so lovely,” Foster said. “Everyone adored her. But she left town after school. Pretty sure I heard she moved to California.”

Tatum said nothing, watching as Curly examined the body. Despite her supposed move to California, this woman had ended up in a crate, buried under the soil of her hometown.

Zoe joined Lyons to notify Debra’s parents.

“Why tag along?” Lyons asked her on the way. “There’s literally nothing harder in this job than notifying family. Do you like suffering?”

Zoe wasn’t sure if Lyons meant to ask if she liked to suffer or if she enjoyed other people’s suffering, but the answer was the same in any case. “No, I don’t. But people reveal a lot when their guard is down.”

“This is the worst kind of notification,” Lyons muttered.

“We don’t need to give them the gory details,” Zoe pointed out. “Especially since we don’t know.”