ISBN 9781419916854

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Hidden Fire Copyright© 2008 Terry Odell

With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing Inc., 1056 Home Avenue, Akron, OH 44310-3502.

Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.  (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/)

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

Chapter One

Under the table, Sarah’s toes found the cuff of Randy’s pants and inched their way up his calf, the coarse hair tickling her foot. His eyes widened, his eyebrows arched and the standard restaurant candle-in-a-jar caught the hazel flecks in his otherwise brown eyes. He brushed a lock of hair from his forehead, but it flopped back the way it always did.

She smiled at the hovering waiter, placed her hand over her empty coffee cup and shook her head. “No more, Tony. Thanks.”

Tony refilled Randy’s coffee cup and whisked away his empty pie plate. Randy’s eyes returned to Sarah, moving between her dessert and her face. He smiled, but she could sense his impatience. She continued her torment by dipping her spoon into the chocolate mousse in front of her. Slowly, carefully, she filled the spoon with the rich delight.

His call had surprised her yesterday, when he announced he’d be coming back from San Francisco a day early. She wriggled her toes higher up his leg, trying not to laugh as he squirmed. She’d chosen her outfit with special care this morning. Demure didn’t begin to cover it. Prim? Prissy? That was closer. Navy blue slacks, a pale blue silk blouse buttoned to the neck and a navy blazer. Not quite a suit, but close enough. Of course, the thong beneath the slacks and the lace demi-bra under the blouse were anything but prissy. She’d sensed Randy’s eyes on her behind as they walked up the steps to the restaurant. And maybe his hand had crept a little lower than the small of her back as he’d guided her to their booth.

She poised the mousse-laden spoon in front of her mouth, parting her lips a fraction. With her other hand, she fingered the pearl button at her neck.

“It’s warm in here, isn’t it?” One button, then a second, slipped through its hole. Randy leaned forward.

“You’re killing me,” he whispered.

Her tongue wrapped around the mousse. Her eyes closed. She sighed.

“You’re going to finish that, aren’t you?” he asked, resignation in his tone.

Without opening her eyes, she said, “Every bite.”

He blew out a long, slow breath.

She met his gaze and smiled at his obvious annoyance. “It’s chocolate. Some things shouldn’t be rushed.”

She slid her foot out from inside the restriction of his slacks and worked it up his thigh. He reached for his glass and swigged gulps of water. When her toes met his lap, he choked. Coughing, eyes watering, he reached down and encountered her waiting foot. Still choking, he clutched it closer to his groin and she felt his hardness. She lowered her eyes to her mousse and took another bite, swirling her tongue around her lips.

Tony appeared and refilled Randy’s water glass. “Are you all right, Detective Detweiler?”

Randy nodded and waved him off, gesturing for the check. Sarah covered her mouth with her napkin, trying to erase her grin.

“So, tell me all about your violent-crime work,” she said. “Not much call for that in Pine Hills. Or do people get violent when they get parking tickets?”

He wiped his mouth and set the napkin beside his plate. “To tell you the truth, Sarah Tucker, I’m thinking about all the gruesome pictures, which is the only thing keeping me from embarrassing the hell out of myself right here.”

Heat burned in his eyes. Her nipples pebbled behind the lace of her bra and moisture pooled between her legs. She scraped the remnants of the mousse from her dish, the clicks of metal against glass barely audible over the blood pounding in her ears. She wanted him. Now.

Tony returned and dropped the check on the table, not meeting Randy’s eyes. “Whenever you’re ready, Detective.” He pivoted on his heel and left.

“All finished,” Sarah said, smiling. “You want to go, or have more coffee?”

In response, Randy dumped some bills on the table, angled himself out of the booth and extended his hand. She fumbled, trying to get her foot back into one of the sensible pumps she’d worn to complete her stodgy look. Grasping his fingers, she scooted across the vinyl bench. He gave her the leverage she needed and she rubbed against him as she stood.

He stroked her hand. “After you.” His aftershave wafted to her nostrils, counteracting the myriad cooking aromas.

He quickened his pace. By the time they hit the porch surrounding the rustic restaurant, he half-dragged her down the steps and elongated his stride across the unpaved parking lot. Earth and pine scents mingled, still unable to compete with his special scent. Spice and Randy. A lethal combination.

“Hey,” she said with a laugh. “You in a hurry? I’m not six-six, remember? Short legs.”

In response, he simply scooped her up and covered the rest of the distance to his pickup. “If I hurry now, maybe I’ll be able to take it slow when it counts. Damn, woman, I’ve missed you.”

“Me, or the sex?” she said.

He paused, as if he wasn’t sure. “You,” he said at last. “You, you, you.”

“Oh, so you don’t want the sex?”

He unlocked the doors to his truck and worked the passenger door open, then lowered her onto the seat. “You’re going out of your way to torment me, aren’t you?”

She ran her tongue across her lips. “Maybe.”

“No maybes about it.” He wrapped his arms around her, buried his face in her hair. She reached around him, his wool sweater rough against her cheek.

“I missed you, too.” She raised her face and parted her lips. “Welcome home.”

He leaned into the cab, meeting her mouth with his own. He cradled her face in his hands and she surrendered to the warmth of his kiss. She ran her fingers through his hair, sending tingles all the way to her toes. Tongues teased and danced with promises of more to come. He tasted of apples and cinnamon, of coffee and Randy. A vague impression of couples passing, of headlights coming and going, of car doors opening and closing hovered at the edge of her consciousness. A whistled catcall broke through the final barrier.

“Guess we should go,” she said. “I’ve got a few surprises for you at my apartment.”

“My place is closer,” he murmured between kisses.

When his cell phone rang, he swore.

“Duty calling?” Sarah said, trying to keep too much annoyance from her tone. “Now?” After a six-week separation? How could they? How could he leave her?

“I’m off duty, dammit. I’m not here. I’m out of town until tomorrow. Noon at the earliest,” he growled as he released her and fumbled for the phone at his belt. He studied the display. “Shit.”

She smoothed her hair and reached behind her for the seatbelt. “Guess we won’t be going to your place or mine.”

“Let me check. Maybe it’s a false alarm.” He got behind the wheel and punched buttons on his cell. “Detweiler.”

His jaw dropped. Sarah watched as a cop replaced her lover.

“Should I call a cab?” she asked.

“No way. I’ll drop you at your place. But that was the chief. I’ve got to go.”

After a hurried goodbye, Sarah trudged up the stairs to her apartment, thoughts milling through her head. Struggling to keep her shop afloat after her husband David’s untimely death. Finding out someone she’d thought was a friend had been sabotaging her business. Meeting Randy. Falling in love again.

Tonight wasn’t their first instance of dateus interruptus. Six weeks apart had blurred the memory of how much time his job demanded. She and David had worked side by side, their jobs and their lives inextricably entwined. With Randy, it would be different.

She loaded her CD player with Simon and Garfunkel, then changed her mind. Justin Timberlake? Alanis Morrissette? Melissa Etheridge? What the heck. She put all three into the machine, hit “shuffle” and settled into her nightly routine.

She leafed through her mail, separating the junk from the bills. Her answering machine had two hangups, one recorded sales pitch and a reminder from Saint Michael’s that they’d canceled the pottery class she taught Tuesday night because they would be stripping the floors in the rec room. Could she come Monday instead and help with a children’s dance recital?

She returned the call and marked it on her calendar. The seniors loved it when kids came in and performed, no matter how amateur the production.

After recording her daily sales data into her computer, she smiled. Business was definitely on the rise. And Hugh Garrigue’s new pottery collection would kick autumn sales up another notch. In years past, he’d given her shop half a dozen pieces once or twice a year. Now Hugh allowed his wares in one or two shops at a time. She’d scored a coup when he’d agreed to a three-month exclusive for That Special Something.

How best to display it? She closed her eyes and did a mental walk-through of her shop, with its out-of-the ordinary fittings. The spiral staircase? Or the library table? Maybe the roll-top desk or the Welsh dresser. Or should she clear the center of the room and set everything on the picnic table she and David had refinished as their first real display table?

She decided she’d wait for the shipment to arrive tomorrow. Her assistant, Jennifer, would be in and she always had good ideas.

Sarah turned off her computer and the CD player and called it a night. She yawned. After Randy’s message yesterday, she hadn’t slept well, thoughts of their reunion keeping her brain charged. And a few other parts.

In her bedroom, Sarah sighed as she folded her new silk nightgown and put it back in the drawer. She pulled on her cotton nightshirt and shuffled into her bathroom. As she brushed her teeth, she glared at her reflection in the mirror.

You should have gone along with Randy’s suggestion, idiot. Dessert first, then takeout. He still would have gotten the call, but you wouldn’t be so—frustrated. Oh, say it. You’re horny.

She checked her alarm and crawled into bed. Tomorrow, they’d start where they’d left off tonight and if they never got to dinner—well, they’d have a big breakfast.

She’d drifted off when the phone rang. Her pulse raced as she fumbled for the receiver. Was Randy finished with his case already? Before she could answer, Maggie, her neighbor from across the hall, spoke breathlessly.

“Sarah, go turn on the Channel Six news. I saw Randy. I’m coming right over.”

* * * * *

A familiar sense of apprehension filled Randy as he approached the location Chief Laughlin had given him. The property, a land development gone bust years ago, bordered on the city-county line. Over the years, there was talk of turning it into a park, a campground, a resort and someone had even tried to convince the people of Pine Hills they needed a mall out here. However, the absentee owner paid his property taxes, preferring to leave twenty-five acres of Oregon the way Mother Nature had created it.

The portable banks of lights, five Pine Hills vehicles, plus another three County Sheriff cars, yellow crime scene tape and the CSI van filled Randy with his expected pre-case jitters. The sort that honed his senses. The anticipation of the unknown, of a jigsaw puzzle dumped in the middle of the floor with no picture to go by and you didn’t know if all the pieces were there, or if they even belonged to the same puzzle.

He eased his Ford F-150 behind a patrol car and took a slow, cleansing breath. Then another, not so slow, when he saw Salem’s Channel Six News van pull up behind him. A camera-ready reporter, microphone outstretched with a cameraman backpedaling in front of her, beelined toward him. He was dressed for the wooded terrain, but the reporter was having a hell of a time with the uneven footing. He didn’t recognize her—probably a newbie out to make a name for herself.

He rubbed his jaw. At least he’d shaved before his date with Sarah. He’d look presentable while he told her where she could stick that microphone. He shoved the truck’s door open and strode toward the patrol officer on perimeter duty, avoiding eye contact with either the reporter or the camera. She pivoted to jog behind him, motioning for her cameraman to follow.

Not slowing his pace or shortening his stride, he begrudgingly acknowledged her approach.

“Detective Detweiler? Penny Scholnik, Channel Six News. What can you tell our viewers?” She thrust the microphone toward his face. Since she was barely five feet tall in her bare feet, she had to stretch her arm to its full length to get the mic anywhere near his mouth.

“Give us a break, Miss Scholnik,” he said. “I just arrived. I’m not going to speculate before I get some facts.”

“Do you think this might be the work of a serial killer?” she said, holding the mic in front of her mouth, then extending it toward him.

He stopped dead in his tracks. She almost collided with him. The cameraman’s reflexes were a bit sharper. Too bad. Maybe one less camera on scene would make his job easier.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Randy turned and stared directly into the camera. “Right now, all we know is we have a dead body. Until we determine how he died, we can’t even say it was a homicide. It’s unconscionable to create unnecessary fear in the citizens of our community for the sake of a story. When we have facts—facts we can substantiate—I will be the first to let you know. However, at the moment, you are interfering with a police investigation and I strongly suggest you and your camera get back to your van. It’s your job to report the news, not create it.”

He spun on his heel and resumed his trek toward the crime scene. He gave his name and badge number to the officer at the edge of the yellow tape, who printed them on his clipboard in a neat, careful hand, then turned it so Randy could sign. Randy scrawled his name, noting at least a dozen names above his. Crap. Forensics had enough to do without eliminating evidence from people who wanted a look-see. Many of the names were unfamiliar.

“These all official?” he asked. “No press, right?”

“Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir. They’re all law enforcement.”

He took a closer look at the officer. Brody. He searched his memory. Craig? No, Greg. A rookie. Redhead with freckled complexion to match. Baby-faced. A little green around the gills. Probably sent out here where he wouldn’t embarrass himself.

“Tough scene?” Randy asked. “Your first?”

“Yes, sir, to both.” He stood at attention, met Randy’s eyes. “I’m fine, sir.”

Did he detect disgruntlement in the rookie’s tone? “I don’t doubt it. You’re not being punished, Brody. Your job here is vital. Every extra footprint, every bit of cigarette ash, fiber or hair contaminates the scene and makes our job harder.”

“Yes, sir. I know my job, sir.”

Randy scanned the names again. He was pleased to see Charlotte Russell, the medical examiner, near the top of the list. Once she removed the body, they could work the scene in earnest.

“Yes, sir,” Brody said again. “Sergeant Kovak and Mike Connor are on scene.” He stood even more erect and tapped the clipboard. “A lot of these are from out of area. The Deputy Sheriffs said it’s close enough to the city-county line.”

Randy resisted the urge to pat the kid on the head. “Keep it up, Brody.” He scanned the area for Kovak. He didn’t see his partner, but he did see Mike Connor, Pine Hills’ head forensics investigator. He moved toward the flashes from the man’s camera.

Connor lowered the camera and turned, catching Randy’s eye. “Hey, Detweiler. Welcome back.”

“Yeah, you guys know how to throw a party.” Randy stepped to Connor’s side. “What do we have?”

“White male, five-eight, about one-fifty. Shot in the back of his head, stripped to his birthday suit, abdominal cuts, but the M.E. will have to determine in what order. Four kids found the body and called it in. Kovak took their statements. Released them to their parents, who are probably giving them holy hell for coming out here in the first place. I’ve got names and addresses.”

“The kids contaminate the scene?” Nothing like puking on a corpse to mess up the evidence.

Connor shook his head. “They dropped everything and ran.” He pointed to three six-packs of cheap beer and a stack of girlie magazines near a trail of trampled dirt and grass. “I’ve already got finger and shoe prints for elimination and they said they didn’t get close to the body once they smelled it.” He smiled. “They won’t be getting their beer back. Think I should give them the magazines?”

Randy chuckled. “They might need them. I have a feeling they’ll be confined to their rooms for a good chunk of the foreseeable future.”

“On the down side, no telling how many other kids have used this place as a bedroom substitute. Once the body is out of here, I’ll be able to focus on what’s in the immediate vicinity. I’d hate to have to analyze twenty-five acres’ worth of trace. Hell, the condoms per square foot would keep the state lab working round the clock for a month, easy.”

“Where’s Kovak?” Randy asked, getting back to business.

“He and a couple of uniforms are knocking on doors. This place is remote, but the M.E. says this is the crime scene. Someone might have heard or seen something.”

“ID?” Randy asked. “Cause of death? Time? Anything?”

A woman’s voice interrupted. “Based on rigor and lividity, preliminary time of death is probably between eight and midnight yesterday. Most likely killed here, judging from the blood. You’ll have the rest as soon as I know, Detweiler.”

“Hi, Doc. Thanks for getting here so quickly.” Randy inhaled, exhaled, braced himself, then turned toward the body.

Charlotte Russell rose. Her lips were narrowed, her brow creased. “Sick bastards.” In her late forties, she was almost six feet tall and as strong as most of the men on the force. Fitter than many. She covered the entire county and nobody messed with her—or her bodies. “At least it’s a decent hour. It’s nice not to get dragged out of bed for a change.”

The stench of death—blood, decomp and assorted body fluids—was stronger here. He forced his gaze to the naked body lying curled on his side in the dirt. Only the blood-matted hair at the back of its skull gave evidence of violence. That and the fact that it was blood and body fluids, not rain water, that turned the otherwise dry earth to mud around the victim.

Although the soil soaked up some of the mess, Randy agreed with Charlotte’s assessment that the victim had been killed here, not brought in. Not having to find a second crime scene made things easier.

“Any idea who it is?” Randy asked.

“You tell me, Detective. You ever seen him before?” She stepped back, giving Randy his first close look at the corpse. She shone her flashlight, better illuminating the man’s face. Or what used to be his face.

His dessert did a quick flip. Randy swallowed at the sight of the bloody pulp. He let his eyes drift to paper bags neatly securing the victim’s hands. “No, can’t say that I have.”

“Give me a hand turning him,” Charlotte said.

Randy held his breath as he helped position the body on its back. Charlotte moved the light down over his torso. “These cuts are post-mortem. And deep. Like the killer was angry.”

Randy leaned closer at three Xs sliced into the victim’s abdomen, above a horizontal line. Curiosity replaced his queasiness. “Ever seen a pattern like that?”

“No.”

He withdrew his notebook and copied the pattern. “Did Connor get pictures?”

“Yes, he did. I’ll get prints and dental records started. I think there’s enough of his lower jaw left, but if you can find any bone fragments, pick them up for me.” She waved her flashlight around the area. “If the critters haven’t already scattered them, we might get enough to create a sketch. There’s also a lot of dirt under his fingernails that doesn’t seem to match the terrain. I’ll let you know when I’m ready to do the autopsy—or will this be Kovak’s case?”

“I got back in town a few hours ago,” he said. “Call either of us—we’ll coordinate.” Penny Scholnik’s serial killer question swam to the front of his brain. “Wait. Did any reporters get back here?”

Charlotte shook her head and stepped away from the body. “Not while I was here. But no telling what happened before then.” She raised her arm and motioned with her fingers. “Let’s go, gentlemen.” Two uniforms came over with a body bag.

Randy glanced back to the perimeter of the site. Reporters, both print and television, had gathered behind the tape. He got on his radio. “Brody. They’ll be bringing the body out soon. Keep the newshounds behind the line. The victim is a person, not a story.”

“Will do, sir.”

“Did any reporters get to the site and see the body before you secured it?” Randy asked.

“No, sir. They got here after I did. They tried, but I wouldn’t let them through.”

“Very good, Brody.” He turned to Charlotte. “Can you pull your van around to that clearing?” He pointed to a spot about twenty-five yards from where they stood. “Kind of like the back door.”

“No problem. I’ll go throw the reporters a bone and keep them occupied while we get the body loaded.” She pulled off her latex gloves and stowed them in a pocket of her blue jumpsuit.

“Thanks, Doc.” If anyone respected the dead, she did. Until they had an ID on the body, the field was wide open. He set off to find the county deputies. Maybe they had information he could use.

“Hey, Jim,” he said when he found the small cluster of deputies standing outside the tape. “What gets you out from behind your desk?” He’d worked with Jim Eldridge before the man had been promoted to lieutenant and if things didn’t fall in place quickly, he might be needing county help.

“Randy.” The man nodded and stepped away from his colleagues. He lowered his voice. “Looks ugly. Not your typical Pine Hills crime.”

Randy couldn’t tell if Eldridge meant he thought the Pine Hills police weren’t up to handling a high-profile violent crime, or if he was sincerely offering to help. He decided to go with the latter until there was a reason to think otherwise. If Eldridge wanted to diss his small-town force, he would have done it loud and clear in front of his men. This was no time to get into a pissing contest.

“Agreed. I’d like to close this one out fast. Anything you have, I’m open to it. Can you get your CSI team out here?”

“Already called them, at Connor’s request, Detweiler. Kovak approved it. Or is this your case?”

“To be honest, we haven’t discussed it. Kovak can have the lead if he wants. Hell, we don’t even have an ID yet.”

“Yeah, no face can be a problem. You have any missing persons reports that match?”

“I’ve been in ‘Frisco for six weeks. Haven’t had time to hit the station for updates.”

Eldridge rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll check on my end and let you know. The CSIs should be here soon. Need anything else tonight?”

Randy hesitated, but homicides in Pine Hills were rare—so rare he could only remember three in his ten years on the force—and none was a premeditated murder. His stomach did a little twist as he remembered being responsible for a shooting death himself. It was justified, since the man he killed was robbing a bank and was going to shoot a hostage, but he’d still taken a life.

He shook off the memory. “Our guys are out knocking on doors. If you’ve got any manpower to spare on your side of the line to see if anyone heard something, that would help.”

“Not a problem.” Eldridge turned to his men. “Hatch, Frasier—canvass the neighbors on our side of the property. Report directly to Detweiler and keep me apprised of anything you find.”

Two men nodded and peeled off, leaving Eldridge with one other deputy. “All right, Claussen,” Eldridge said. “You can get back to work. And I need your nightly reports on my desk by nine tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir,” Claussen said.

After the man left, Eldridge shook his head. “Decent cop, but he hates the paperwork. He’s taken twelve calls already tonight. Can’t seem to get it through his head that without the reports, he’s keeping everyone in a vacuum.”

“I hear you. At least everything’s computerized now.” He extended his hand. Eldridge’s grip was firm with no attempt at one-upmanship.

Eldridge departed and drove off in the last county car as Kovak’s car pulled up. The Pine Hills Police Department’s other detective got out and strode toward him. Under the bright lights, his close-cropped blond hair glowed almost pink from the scalp beneath it. He smiled his crooked grin.

“Glad to see you back, big guy. I didn’t expect you until tomorrow.”

“Can’t say I’m glad to be here. This is a mess.”

Kovak nodded. “Once I saw the scene, I knew we had an all-hands-on-deck case and called the chief. How’d you get here so fast?”

“My last case wrapped up early. I was already in town when the chief called me.”

Kovak’s gaze swept over Randy. “And from the way you’re dressed, he called you away from something. Let me guess. You were having dinner with Sarah. Rob’s or Martinelli’s?”

Randy shook his head. “Rob’s. I trained you too well, partner.”

“Sorry to cut your evening short.”

“Not as sorry as I am.” He pushed those regrets aside. “You get anything from the neighbors? Gunshots should have been loud enough.”

“Yeah, right.” Kovak thumbed through his notebook. “The usual excuses. Not home, watching television, in the shower. Asleep, thought it was a car backfiring. Kids take pot shots in here all the time, nobody pays much attention. A lot of wild oats sowing, maybe a little grass smoking. ‘Kids will be kids’ seems to be the attitude.”

“What about the busybodies? There are always a few,” Randy said.

“Of course. They saw suspicious characters lurking last week, last night. Saw someone in the grocery store who looked like a criminal. Might be male, female, black, white, or anything in between.” He glanced at his notes again. “Mrs. Crenshaw is positive she saw the latest America’s Most Wanted suspect.”

“I’ll get back to her. Cars?”

“Always, but no two said the same thing. Houses are set back from the road and it’s not a high-traffic street. We’ve got a van, SUV or sports car. Maybe a pickup. Or a Corvette. Red, or black, or blue. Going to be impossible to track down.”

But they’d have to try. Thoughts of sleep flew away like a scattered flock of pigeons.

Connor called out. “Hey, if you two are done with the reunion bit, I could use some help. We have a scene to process. County’s sending backup with their fancy gizmos, but no reason we can’t make some headway while we wait. For now, our lower tech equipment will have to do.”

“Let me grab a coverall from my truck and I’ll be right with you,” Randy said.

“Get my metal detector,” Connor said. He tossed Randy a set of keys. “With all the leaves and undergrowth, it’s going to be hard to spot a shell casing without it.”

Kovak followed Randy to the edge of the woods where they’d parked. “You want me to go run databases or help with the scene?” he asked.

“Technically, it’s your case,” Randy said. He found his kit behind the seat of his truck and pulled out his coveralls. “You got the call out.”

“I’ve got no problem turning it over. I’ve got enough to do closing the cases I’ve worked while you were gone. Nothing like this, of course, but you’re the senior detective and I’m happy to let you bask in the glory.”

“Yeah—you mean you don’t want to deal with reporters.” Randy climbed into the blue jumpsuit and zipped it closed, then got his flashlight from under his seat.

Kovak grinned. “See—that’s why you’re the head detective. You’ve already deduced an important fact.”

“With any luck, we can toss the media to the chief. He’s the master of the ‘talking without saying anything’ hype. But fine, I’ll lead. And as leader, I say we work the scene until the county CSIs get here. Maybe we can impress them with an amazing find.”

“You got it. I’ll change and get a camera.” Kovak headed toward his unmarked unit.

Randy filled his pockets with evidence bags, hung a camera around his neck, then unlocked Connor’s van and retrieved the metal detector. “I’ll start where they found the body,” he said.

“I’ll see if I can find where they came in,” Kovak said. “They didn’t beam down into the middle of that copse of trees.” He stood at the edge of the property and scratched the top of his head. “This sucks. Twenty-five acres of potential crime scene?” He swept his arm in a broad circle. “Any leaf, twig or rock could have trace on it. We could be here for months.”

Randy took his notebook from a coverall pocket and opened it to a clean sheet. He drew a circle. “Okay, this is the property. The body was found here, about thirty yards in.” He marked an X in the circle. “Seems to me, they’d have entered somewhere on this side. Why take the long way around, especially if you’ve got someone who’s not happy to be there? Or, if you’ve already rendered him unconscious, why carry the dead weight?” He drew two lines in an upside down V with the apex at the body and the wide portion at the edge of the circle. “I’m guessing if there’s a point of entry, it’s somewhere along here.” He tapped the paper on the outside of the arc he’d drawn. “This area is all densely wooded, or covered with undergrowth. I say if there’s evidence to be found it’ll be in here.”

“Got it,” Kovak said. “But it still sucks.”

Randy adjusted the headset over his ears and set off for the point where the body had been discovered. “X marks the spot,” he muttered.

Connor called from the distance. “Detweiler. Over here.”