Georgia clay squishes underneath the soles of my boots as I traipse through the thicket of river birch trees. Everything is dense and green, but still covered in the fresh morning dew.
My dark hair is pulled up in a neat bun, making it open season on my neck. The damn bugs are out of control this time of year. The humidity is so thick, it feels like a wet blanket suffocating me. Sweat saturates my black dress slacks. Gotta love summers in the South. Shoving a stick of Big Red gum in my mouth, I proceed with caution the rest of the way down.
“Detective! Over here.”
I follow the rocky path toward the sound of the officer’s voice, until I cross the yellow tape and reach the blue tarp. When I pull it back, an odor—one I’m all too familiar with—punches me in the face. I bury my nose in the crook of my arm to lessen the blow, but it doesn’t help. Death has a unique smell, one that buries itself so deep inside your lungs you’ll never forget it.
I squat down and use a nearby stick to move aside a small strand of blonde hair. The second her face comes into view, the cinnamon flavor of my gum tastes like acid on my tongue. “Damn it.” Her vacant green eyes stare back at me. They’re eerily similar to the color of my own, which is a bit unnerving, but I push that feeling aside and keep focused on my job.
“Another one?” Officer Miller asks from next to me.
“It is. The signature’s the same. Ligature marks on her neck”—I point with the stick—“here and here. And the number eight drawn on her forehead.” My eyes zero in on her broken fingernails and find the similar markings on her wrists. Whoever this girl was, she put up one hell of a struggle.
“We patrolled this area last night and didn’t find anything.” Officer Miller’s brown eyes glance over her body a beat before he roughly wipes the sweat away from his bald head. I don’t blame him one bit for being frustrated because we don’t see this kind of thing around here. It just doesn’t happen.
White Oak is such a small town that most folks around here don’t even lock their doors. There’s no need to. Everyone knows everyone. And if they don’t, they’ll bake you a peach cobbler and pester you with questions until they do.
“There’s no sign of decomp, which means she hasn’t been out here long.” My hands press against my thighs as I slide up to my feet. I ignore the beads of sweat dripping down my face and take in the rest of the crime scene. Most of the surrounding area looks undisturbed, but I’m not taking any chances. “Bag everything up and I’ll meet y’all back at the station.”
“You think we’ll find anything at this one?”
“The bastard’s bound to slip up sometime, Miller.” I toss the stick to the ground and head toward my car. There’s nothing more I can do here.
Back at the station, my desk is a mess of crime scene photos and paperwork. I go over each file and piece of evidence with a fine tooth comb. There has to be a connection among all of them, something that I’m missing, and it’s driving me crazy. I chomp on a fresh piece of gum, as I keep at it. Hours later, the flavor’s gone and I’m still coming up empty. I’m ready to bang my head against my desk.
“Coffee?”
A mug is shoved into my line of sight and I take it without looking away. “Thanks, Captain.”
“Don’t mention it.” He leans against my desk, legs crossed at the ankles. When his silver eyebrows rise and he stays there sipping his coffee, I know something’s up.
“What?” My eyes narrow at the attention.
“It’s late. You should go home and get some rest.” Wrinkles surround his blue eyes as he runs a hand through his salt and pepper hair.
“You buttering me up?” I arch a dark eyebrow at him. I’m not buying his good guy act. There’s more to it.
“Sort of.” He smiles and shrugs.
“Out with it.” My lips purse, and I blow a bit of the steam away from my mug before I take a small sip.
“They’re bringing someone in from the GBI to help us with this case.”
I damn near spit out my coffee at that little tidbit of info. “No way! The last thing we need is the Georgia Bureau of Investigation coming in and taking over. I can handle this on my own.” I set my mug down, lean back in my chair, and cross my arms over my chest. Maybe I’m acting like a spoiled child, but this is my case and I’m going to see it through to the end.
“We live in White Oak, Claire. Our town is so small that we’re not even on the damn map. Hell, I’ve only lived here three years and know the most crime we’ve had to deal with is Mrs. Kroger’s parrot swearing in church.”
A snort escapes me. I love that damn bird.
He ignores my outburst and keeps on going. “There’s no way we’re equipped to handle this. We need someone with more experience.”
“I can handle it!” My hand slams down against the desk, as my emotions get the best of me. He may be right, but I’m too stubborn to admit defeat.
His face softens at my outburst. “Got no choice, Anderson. Go home.” He raps a knuckle on the top of my desk before walking away. “That’s a direct order,” he calls from over his shoulder.
I glance down at the mess on my desk and sigh. Tomorrow is a new day. And it might not be so bad having a fresh pair of eyes, as long as they don’t take over my case. I hit the lights and head home. Things always look better in the morning.