Faye Kellerman - Bone Box

“We’ll pack up and leave as soon as possible.” He checked his watch. “We’ll try to make it back before seven. We should still have some daylight.”

“Enough for you to see the remains.”

“By remains, do you mean another skeleton?”

“Yes.”

“Male or female?”

“We haven’t gotten to the pelvic area yet, just the human skull. We’ve got some hair but far less and it looks to be shorter than Pettigrew’s hair.”

“What color?”

“Brown. We also found a watch and more than one earring this time. We found seven. Mostly studs and cuffs.”

“Multiple ear piercings. What about nose or tongue piercings?”

“There’s no soft tissue. Maybe there’s a little cartilage so there could be a pierce through it. No tongue, but there might be a stud inside the jaws. The coroner just got here. It would be good to have you here before we dig up any more graves.”

“Good Lord, I hope not.”

“Decker, we’ve got two bodies interred close to each other. I’m no big-city expert, but what are the odds that this is a coincidence?”

“It’s no coincidence.”

“Any thoughts?”

“A lot but they’re a little jumbled right now.”

“Well, unjumble them. It’s not like I can go on Amazon and pick up a copy of Serial Killers for Dummies .”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Mike.” Decker cut the line.

“That would make for interesting reading,” McAdams said. “What can you tell me about serial killers in …” The kid checked his watch. “In ten minutes.”

Decker was about to brush him off, but the question made him think.

“They’re rare, and despite what you’ve been told by TV and movies, they don’t fall into neat categories. Some are smart—or organized as the FBI likes to say. Some are dumb and disorganized. Some are organized sometimes, and disorganized at other times. There are those who kill within race, but others don’t give a damn about the color of the skin. Some have a definite type, for others any type will do. Some stalk, but some don’t. Some are loners, but others have families—wives and kids.

“Almost all of them are opportunistic. If it’s easy and convenient and they’re in the mood, they’ll hit. Most of them—if they have a car—spend lots of time driving around at night, looking for prey. Some have long-distance driving jobs that make looking for prey easy—like truckers or house movers. Some have transient jobs like short-order cooks and work temporary construction crews. But others hold down regular day jobs and prowl around after the wife and kids go to sleep. They clock lots of miles on their cars. It’s not only their transportation, it’s their place of operation.

“That’s the who and the how. As to the why? Your guess is as good as mine. They kill for sexual satisfaction, they kill because it gives them a physical charge that’s exciting, they kill because they’re warped, they kill because they get their jollies playing cat and mouse with the police, the press, and the public. In other words, they kill because they can.”

McAdams said, “That’s the last time I ask you a question.”

Decker checked his watch. “I still have six minutes to go.”

“Is there anything else you’d like to add?”

“Yes, there is as a matter of fact. Maybe it is a serial killer—but right now, let’s not get fixated on that idea. It could be just what you said before: that Karen went up north and found Pettigrew and the Doe we just unearthed were involved in a tryst.”

“A love triangle.”

“Possibly. It also could be that Pettigrew and Doe were murdered at the same time—not sequentially.”

“Okay. Sure. Fair enough. And what if we find other bodies?”

“You’re really into this being a serial killer.”

“I’m just asking a question, Old Man.”

“If we find other bodies, then I’ll revise my thinking accordingly.”

After dropping off Rina, Decker and McAdams headed for the crime scene. They arrived at Bogat just as the sun was sinking behind the horizon. It was cooler in the forest than in town, even cooler than a couple of days ago when they had discovered Pettigrew’s body. The foliage was starting to turn—small peeks of gold and rust. The sky had burst into purples and pinks, and a cricket or two started in song as twilight emerged. Nightfall would hit soon and the woods would become lines and shadows.

Under the tent was a whirl of activity with police and coroner officials. There was a picnic table covered in white cloth. Atop were unearthed bones, tufts of hair, clothing fragments, and a few personal effects—jewelry and something that looked like leather—maybe a purse or a wallet. Two arc lamps attached to battery packs provided high-intensity illumination. Ben Roiters was watching the action from ringside. The man still had a head of hair—most of it dark—even though he had passed the six-zero mark a few years ago. He was stoop shouldered with a paunch and alert, dark eyes. He had been a seasoned detective in his heyday but had worked for Greenbury for the last ten years. Decker motioned him outside the tent.

Roiters said, “This is unbelievable. What’re the odds that you have two bodies in such close proximity that are not related?”

Decker shook his head. “Zero.”

“So what is it? A gang fight in the woods gone wrong? A satanic ritual? A serial killer?”

“My vote is on C,” McAdams said.

Decker turned to him. “Okay, Tyler. Defend your choice.”

McAdams shrugged. “I don’t know who the other body is, but there are no indications that Pettigrew was a hard-core gangbanger.”

“What about a satanic ritual?” Decker asked.

“Pettigrew was smacked in the head. If it was satanic, I’d expect to see more knife action in a ritual sacrifice: cut marks on his bones and things like that.”

Roiters said, “I agree with the kid, Pete. As soon as we found a second body, I thought of a serial killer.”

“Could be a one-off where the killer whacked two people at the same time,” Decker said.

“Coroner thinks the bodies weren’t buried at the same time. So a serial killing makes more sense.”

Decker said, “Then it’s someone who kills men and women.”

McAdams said, “Pettigrew had been consistently dressing as a woman when he came back to Greenbury.”

“Yeah, I know,” Decker turned to Roiters. “When was the Bogat hiking trail put in?”

“I don’t have a clue. I’m the quintessential couch potato.”

McAdams was already on his iPhone. “I can’t get reception. What are you thinking? That it doesn’t make sense to bury two bodies so close to a public trail?”

“Yep. I’m thinking the bodies were interred before the trail went public. Karen Osterfeld doesn’t remember Bogat when she was here around seven years ago. And it had just opened up when I came on the scene, after Delilah Occum’s disappearance.”

“Do you think there are more bodies out there?” McAdams stowed his phone.

“Possibly.” Decker blew out air. “Radar’s getting some dogs so we can cover a much bigger area.” He raised his eyebrows. “When are you going back to school?”

“Classes start in a week. But that doesn’t mean I have to show up right away.”

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