Shadow Image.
by Jaye Roycraft.
Chapter One.
The mechanical ringing of the phone drowned out the tranquil chorus of crickets and bullfrogs. The first thing Shelby Cort did was to look at her watch. The second thing she did was frown. Nine-thirty. At this time of night the odds were better than even that it was bad news, not a social call.
She picked up her cordless handset from the patio table. "Cort."
"Sheriff, it's Rody. Sorry to bother you at home, but we got us a 10-79."
She sighed. "Jason, just tell me what you've got."
"'Notify coroner.' Digger's found another body."
Oh, God. She took a deep breath. No doubt about it. A dead body was always bad news. "Where are you?"
"The Luslow place on Salt Lick Road."
"How fresh is the body? Got an ID?"
A typical cop laugh, dark and full of twisted things, floated through the phone connection. More than that, it was a patented Jason Rody laugh, biting, like a chill night breeze. "No, the bloom's off the cheek on this one. No ID yet. The body's still in the hole."
Shelby sighed. "Okay. I'll be there soon, and I'll call up Marc to help out. Do me a favor, Rody."
"What?"
Jason Rody was not one of her favorite deps. It wasn't a secret that he didn't like female cops, though he was careful not to be overt in his prejudice. She could trust him in this, though. It was a small enough thing. "Call the office, get the home phone number for our new ME, and get him out there. He may as well get initiated. His name and number are right on top of my desk. Oh, and make sure you give the good doctor directions to the Luslow's. He'll never find it otherwise."
"Yeah, I got it."
"Okay. Anything else, and you can hit me on the box."
"Yep."
She disconnected the call and drew another deep breath, her eyes focused on the ceiling as if searching for divine assistance. Not only did she have to deal with her second homicide of the summer, an unheard of state of affairs for a community as small as Shadow Bay, but she had to break in a new medical examiner. The doctor had been in town less than a week. He had stopped by her office two days earlier to introduce himself, but she had been out on the road tied up on a bad traffic accident, so she hadn't yet had the pleasure. She quickly chided herself. Now was not the time to speculate on the new doctor. Besides, he'd be another fifty-something, graying gent looking for a quiet place to hang out his shingle as he eased into retirement. The small town country doctors always were.
She punched a preprogrammed number on her phone, not needing her call-up roster for Deputy Marc Montoya's home number.
When he answered, she gave him what few details she knew and told him to report to the Luslow house. She changed into her uniform and in another few minutes was winding her SUV over the rolling hills and curving roads.
It was a warm summer night, full of life. A fat, regal moon, attended by legions of faithful stars, lit the countryside, and the choir of nighttime insects performed in the limelight of the heavenly glow. But as soon as she turned onto Salt Lick Road, two miles east of Shadow Bay and already deep into northern Michigan woods, she saw the silent strobing of the red emergency lights far ahead of her. When she got closer she saw the yellow crime scene tape stretched across the front of the property, tied to trees at either end.
The warm summer night was also full of death.
She pulled up next to the squad car and ambulance already on the scene, exited her vehicle, and sought out Jason Rody. He was there with the privy digger, Lucius Moravich, the residents, Chester and Lattice Luslow, and the paramedics. Calling for an ambulance was standard procedure, but in this case it was more than obvious to all that the body was beyond saving. The paramedics stood patiently, their equipment on the ground, waiting for nothing more than to be released from the scene.
She nodded to Rody. "Did you take your photos already?" she asked him.
He nodded back, and there was something in the way he lifted his brows that told Shelby he knew what to do without being told.
She didn't have time to spare on bruised egos. "Okay, let's see it."
He strode across the back yard, and, flashlight in hand, she followed him to the edge of the woods that encroached on the rear of the property. Just a few feet into the woods was a mound of dirt. Beside the mound a dark hole gaped like a wound in the forest floor. She flashed her light into the cavity. About two feet down the head and shoulders of a corpse were visible, but dirt, decay, and the dark made it impossible to tell the age, sex or size of the body. Shelby had seen her share of dead bodies and had learned long ago how to don the skin of detachment necessary to do her job, but even so it was hard to feel nothing at all. Being buried in a privy hole was an undignified way to go.
The rumble of a motorcycle carried on the night air and disrupted Shelby's thoughts. Even though it had been nearly two years since she had moved from Milwaukee to Shadow Bay, Shelby never failed to be surprised at how sound carried in the country as compared to the big city. One had to be careful even in whispering in the great outdoors. It was something to always keep in mind around citizens.
She jogged across the yard and peered down the long gravel drive to the road. Great. Just what we need. A sightseer.
A long-haired man on a red motorcycle rolled to a stop next to her SUV and cut his engine, returning the setting once more to the appropriate stillness of a death scene.
Well, not for long. She did a half turn and signaled to Rody, who had followed at a more sedate pace. "Go down and tell Mr.
Thrill Seeker to look elsewhere for his evening's entertainment. We don't need an audience. Then stay by the road until Marc gets here and make sure the curious stay on the other side of the tape." Shelby had learned long ago that many people ignored "do not cross" tape. Others thought it was meant for someone else, but not for them. She didn't know if it was ignorance, a lack of respect, or stupidity, and she didn't know which category this long-hair might fall into, but she couldn't take any risks with the integrity of a homicide scene.
Rody nodded and strolled down the drive. She turned and started to head back to the yard when the sound of voices carried to her from below. She heard Rody's authoritative tones, but it was the unfamiliar voice that made her pause and listen. It was deep- pitched yet silken, a strange combination of sounds that were at the same time human and animal. But behind the sound was an almost inorganic vibration, like far-off thunder on a hot summer night. It was a purr that rolled on the wind and didn't melt in the air, but sank into her bones and created shivers in the evening's heat-cold shivers that made her feel more uncomfortable than she already did.
She threw off the feeling, believing it nothing more than the memory of the corpse in the hole, but as she watched the stranger glide up the long drive with Rody, she knew it was more than that. Rody was five foot ten, solidly built, and strode with the ease and confidence of a veteran cop, but the stranger topped Rody by at least four inches and moved with an unhurried grace that made the deputy look awkward by comparison.
She sucked in a quick breath and almost choked on air that was so thick it was as though the humidity had suddenly increased enough to curl her hair. She stood and stared. His long hair was tied back behind his head, but at one temple the wind had loosened long locks that embraced the side of his face like tawny fingers. The features beneath the hair and a pair of gold wire- rimmed glasses were surprisingly youthful and clean-cut. Her gaze floated downward over the brown leather jacket to the long, lean legs encased in snug blue jeans and motorcycle boots. In his left hand he carried a black leather bag. Rody and the stranger halted in front of her.
The deputy spoke first. "Ah, Sheriff, this is Dr. De Chaux, the medical examiner."
There was a heartbeat of hesitation on both sides before hands were extended. She couldn't see his eyes behind the tinted gray lenses of his glasses, but was he just as surprised to find a female sheriff as she was to see a young attractive doctor?
She grasped his leather-encased hand. "Doctor. Shelby Cort."
His grip was firm. "Sheriff. My pleasure, and please, call me Ric." His head turned. "What have we got here?"
She followed the direction of his attention to the yard behind them. "Our local privy digger, Lucius Moravich, unearthed a body in the course of his latest dig. The body's still in the hole. It looks like it's been there awhile."
She felt the weight of his stare return to her before she turned her head and saw that he did indeed appear to be looking at her again. The force of his eyes, even shielded by the glasses, was an uncomfortable pressure she couldn't explain. She flicked her gaze downward to his black bag. She knew from experience that this was the doctor's "murder bag." It would contain gloves, a waterproof oversuit, a camera, thermometer, instruments, syringes, and containers for holding samples.
"You lost me already, Sheriff. 'Privy digger?'"
She raised her eyebrows, remembering that she herself had once been taken aback at Lucius' passion in life. "He makes a little money at it, but mostly it's a hobby for Lucius. He gets permission from people who live in older homes to search their yards for filled-in privy holes."
"Whatever for?"
"In the old days, when people dug new privy holes, they used the old holes for depositing trash. Bottles, jars, cans, things that were broken or no longer needed. Lucius looks for antiques and unbroken bottles. Sometimes they're worth money. He shares a percentage of his profits with the residents, but mostly I think he does it for the fun. He never knows what he's going to find."
A ghost of a smile tugged on one side of the doctor's very nice mouth. "I'd say this find was one for the books. Lead the way, Sheriff."She had no trouble keeping up with the doctor. As tall as he was, his strides were slow and easy, as if he had all the time in the world to do his job. She almost laughed. Indeed, why hurry? The victim wasn't going anywhere.
"Oh, this isn't the first body Digger's found. He unearthed one about six weeks ago. We were never able to identify the body, just bones really, and our former ME couldn't come up with a cause of death. Male, about five foot six-that's about all we could determine. The doctor estimated the body had been buried for twenty or so years. One guess is that it was a migrant worker.
Before the orchards started using mechanical cherry pickers, they hired transient workers to do the picking. Just a guess, though.
Technically the case is still open."
"This body look that old to you?"
She didn't hesitate. "Oh no. Definitely not."
They arrived at the hole. The doctor peered down at the remains. "Still, I'd like to see your report on that last finding."
"Sure thing. You need some help?"
"No, I can manage. All I need is a shovel."
Shelby flashed her light at the tools littering the ground. In addition to a thin, metal pole about six feet in length was a large shovel.
"I'm sure Digger won't mind if you borrow his."
The doctor pulled his leather gloves off, one finger at a time, stuffed them in his jacket pockets, and shrugged out of the jacket. He laid it over a nearby stump. "'Digger?'"
Shelby couldn't help looking at the wide shoulders and lean torso revealed by the beige ribbed-knit shirt. When he pushed up the three-quarter length sleeves to above his elbows, exposing muscled forearms that belonged in a gym, she decided she'd better get back to work. Distractions like Ric De Chaux's body were the last thing she needed.
"Would that be Mr. Moravich?"
She had forgotten he had asked her a question. "Yeah. Everybody around here just calls him Digger. Holler if you need anything."
She started walking away before he could call her on her offer.
Rody was striding toward her, brushing a hand across his dark crew cut. "Marc's here. He's down by the road. What do you want me to do?"
Out of the corner of her eye she saw the doctor step over to the paramedics. She assumed he was releasing them from the scene.
"Did you take statements from Digger and the Luslows?"
"Sure did, Sheriff." His eyes were steady, but once more she heard the unspoken reply behind his words. I know my job, lady.
"Good." Her tone, like his, was proper. The words that formed in her mind but never voiced told her that she had better conduct her own interviews as well. Rody's reports were known to be less than thorough. "Okay. I know it's a long shot, but canvas the other houses on the road. Get names of all the residents and find out if anyone's seen strangers in the woods around here. We don't have a time of death yet, but go back about a month. Take the west side of the road first. If I can spare Marc later, I'll send him to help you."
It was Rody's turn to nod. Curt, but not overtly rude. Rody knew how to play the game.
Shelby knew that going door-to-door wasn't a fun job, but it had to be done. She watched him saunter down to the road, sighed, and swung her gaze to Deputy Marc Montoya. She could see him leaning on one of the squad cars, talking to a few of the neighbors who had wandered over to find out what had happened.
Marc had at one time been her favorite deputy, on-duty and off. Marc was attractive and intelligent, and she had wanted to trust again, to be able to open herself to someone who understood the daily pressures a cop was under. But the relationship hadn't worked. He had wanted a one-room affair-the bedroom. As soon as that had become glaringly apparent, she had broken it off.
Even if Marc had wanted more from her, she wasn't sure if she was ready to trust after all. The memory of the near-scandal in Milwaukee that had, in the end, cost her her job, was too fresh. Since she and Marc had stopped dating, she had worked hard to maintain their friendship-not an easy task. He displayed a lot of common sense and skill on the job, and she still valued his opinion. But it was all the things that were left unsaid, like with Jason Rody, that made every minute with him a burden to be shouldered.
She would talk to Marc, but it would have to be later. She pulled out her cell phone and put in a call to the transfer company. It would be their job to transport the body to the mortuary. Her next priority was the Luslows. She didn't really trust Rody to have gotten a thorough statement, but more than that, she needed to show the couple support. They were both elderly, and Shelby knew that Lattice's health hadn't been the best lately.
She glanced at the doctor. He had a portable lantern on the ground and was wearing the protective suit and gloves. It looked like he had the body out of the hole. Having all those lean muscles apparently didn't hurt any.
Keeping one eye on the doctor, Shelby spoke in low tones to the Luslows, carefully weaving questions in with her reassurances.
Yes, said Chester, they'd lived here nearly forty years. Yes, they were aware of the privy hole. Originally it had been covered by an outhouse. When the outhouse came down, the hole had been used for trash. No, they didn't use it anymore. No, he couldn't remember filling in the hole. They had just stopped using it. Besides, it hadn't been a deep or dangerous hole any longer. The trash and nature herself had filled most of it in so that it was more of a shallow pit than anything. No, they couldn't remember the last time they had actually checked the condition of the hole. Lattie used a cane now and didn't get around so easily, and there was just no reason to make trips to the far side of the yard. The hole had been a part of the past, of little importance.
Until Lucius asked permission a few days ago to check it for long forgotten treasure, she thought.
She tried a new line of questioning on the elderly couple. Had the Luslows seen anyone in their yard or in the woods behind their house this spring?
Chester gave her the kind of snort that old people did so well. It was the kind of sound that implied you hadn't lived on this earth very long. "Well, sure, Sheriff. They're always folks in the woods. People looking for mushrooms, wildflowers, hunters, kids with their dogs, all sorts."
Shelby ignored the mild censure. She asked about construction or repairs on the house. Had any workmen been out lately?
"Well, let's see..." said Chester, rubbing his chin.
His wife spoke up. "We had the roof repaired on the back porch. You know, with the winter we had and all the snow..."
Chester interrupted. "The sheriff doesn't care about the snow, Lattie. Tuxbridge Construction came out to do the roof in May. We also had a new well put in. Weldon Pump and Well Service."
Shelby made some notes in her memo book and glanced at the doctor. He was staring at her. At least she thought he was staring.
With the dark glasses it was hard to be sure. How can he see what he's doing in the dark with those glasses? "Excuse me, folks."
She strode over to the doctor. "Well? Got anything for me?"
He shook his head. He had stripped off the protective suit and gloves and swept a hand over his head, trying to brush the loose hair out of his face. It flopped back. "Not yet. Have a look."
She crouched and shone her light on the body, but the features were long past being recognizable.
The doctor squatted next to her, too close for comfort. "Hasn't been here very long. With this heat, not more than two or three weeks. No ID. Somebody was thorough and cleaned out all his pockets before dumping him in the hole. Male Caucasian, fairly young, five-seven, about one hundred thirty pounds. No visible trauma. Do you have some sort of transfer company to transport the body?"
She nodded and looked at the doctor's face, but he was still gazing at the corpse. The doctor's skin looked dreadfully pallid by the light of the lantern and flashlights. Surely a medical examiner wouldn't be bothered by a sight like this? But if he was any more pale, he'd be green. Maybe it was just a trick of the lantern light. A drop of sweat gathered at one temple and crept down the side of his face. He didn't bother to wipe it away.
She had to remind herself he had asked her a question. "Yeah. They should be here any minute now. Did you get everything you need?"
Finally he looked at her.
He might be white as a sail, but she felt her face flush. "The victim information, I mean."
It bothered her that she couldn't see his eyes. Using dark glasses to hide their eyes was an old cop trick, but even cops didn't normally wear tinted lenses at night. She didn't like having the tables turned on her, not even by a citizen on her side of the law. She felt a trickle of sweat run down her spine, and she had the equally uncomfortable sensation that his eyes were likewise crawling down her body.
"For now." His throaty voice was soft, making his answer more a sound than words. He unfolded to his full height with the ease of one who had never known knee problems. Yet the doctor had an athlete's body. Either he didn't go in for sports, or he was lucky and had never been injured. Shelby was jealous. Her own knees ached like the devil when she squatted.
She stood up and stepped back from the body, drawing a deep lung full of air with the realization that she had hardly breathed at all while hunkered down on the ground. "Good. You know the body'll go to Maritime. There's no mortuary in Shadow Bay.
Maritime County has the closest facilities."
He nodded, still gazing at her. She couldn't see behind the glinting gray lenses, but the goose bumps on her arms told her in no uncertain terms that his eyes were still on her.