The Body in the Woods (9 page)

Nick jerked his hand back, and Ruby let go. She saw what he was looking at now. A half dozen strands of blond hair about five inches long.

After Nick called for a halt, Mitchell took one look and then called over Detective Harriman. When he saw it, he made a little grunt. Ruby's gut told her this find was far more important than any of the other bits and pieces they had flagged today. She only wished she had been the one to spot it.

Mitchell and Detective Harriman conferred in low voices. Ruby strained to hear, but couldn't make anything out. Then Mitchell clapped his hands. “We're going to break for lunch, people.”

Everyone backed out carefully and then went down the trail to where they had left their backpacks. Mitchell and Jon began handing out sandwiches while the others gathered in small clumps and talked.

Instead of joining them, Ruby ducked under the tape and watched the detective.

This morning she had snuck her SAR backpack and outdoor clothes out to the trunk of her car before her parents were awake. Then she had called in sick to the school's attendance office. Her parents got up but didn't say much more to her than good morning. They weren't really morning people, and she guessed that they were just happy she was no longer arguing with them.

After putting her bowl in the dishwasher, she'd picked up her school backpack and called out a good-bye. Instead of driving to school, though, she had gone to the sheriff's office, parked, and hopped into the SAR van.

Ruby had never before defied her parents. But this was her chance to be part of something she had only read about, a real crime scene investigation. Their ultimatum had been based on irrational fears. She might be different than other kids, but being part of SAR was good for her. She was socializing with her peers, the way her parents always advocated. And because of the clues they were discovering, SAR might actually help catch a killer.

She watched with interest as Detective Harriman took a series of photos. The first ones showed the larger scene from outside the crime scene tape. Next he ducked under the tape and took medium-range shots that included the spot where the girl's body had been. Then he took close-ups of the pieces of hair, using a flash to show every detail.

For the last set of photos, Detective Harriman laid down a ruler. Finally, he pulled on gloves, carefully gathered the hair, and slid it into a small, clear evidence envelope. That envelope went into a slightly bigger manila envelope, which went into his coat pocket.

When he was done, he wove around the other evidence flags and ducked under the crime scene tape. Ruby followed him. They both grabbed sandwiches.

He walked off as he started to unwrap his sandwich. When he realized she was still following, he turned around. “Yes?”

“Another girl was found murdered in Portland a month ago. Strangled in Washington Park. Did you know that?” In case he didn't, Ruby had a printout of the article in her coat pocket.

His eyes narrowed. “It's not like we have that many homicides. And I heard that wasn't a girl. That was a woman. An adult.”

“Have you identified her yet?”

“No.” He didn't offer anything more.

“But look at the hoodie she was wearing.” Ruby pulled the color printout from her pocket and unfolded it. “No adult would wear that. Girls at my school wear that brand all the time. It's something skaters wear. Skaters and their girlfriends. And when you consider the angel wings and all that pink and sparkles, you've got something that no woman would wear.”

“Uh-huh,” the detective said. He was nodding rapidly, which Ruby had learned either meant that he felt it was his turn to speak or that he was bored. Or maybe both.

“So that makes two. Two homeless girls strangled in Portland. Maybe there's a serial killer. And a lot of serial killers strangle their victims.”

Detective Harriman sighed. “The truth is that a lot of murder victims are homeless people. They panhandle, so they're constantly interacting with strangers. It's pretty common for them to sleep outside, which means anyone can walk right up to them and they won't even know until it's too late. They're vulnerable, mobile, and nobody asks too many questions if one of them just disappears. But none of that matters, Ruby, because we've already got an ID on the girl you guys found yesterday. And she's most definitely not homeless. She goes to school right here in Portland.”

“What school? What's her name?”

“That information hasn't been released yet. We're still notifying relatives.” His eyes narrowed. “And remember, you can't talk about what you learn here. What happens in SAR stays in SAR.”

“Don't worry. I already know that. But I still think you need to consider whether it's a serial killer.”

“Look—it's Ruby, isn't it?”

She nodded.

“So, Ruby, I'm tired. Late last night I had to go tell these parents that their baby girl was dead. Do you know how hard that is? Now I just want to eat my lunch without having to make conversation and then I want to go back out there with you guys and find the clues that will help me catch this girl's killer. That's all I want. I don't want to talk about whether it's a serial killer, because it's not. We have a homeless black woman and a rich white high school girl. Serial killers have types. They don't just go around killing anyone.”

“They were both strangled.” Ruby reiterated the obvious.

“So? Strangulation is perfect if you don't want to make much noise, if you don't want to attract attention.” He held out one of his big hands, all hairy knuckles, and flexed it. The other was still wrapped around half a sandwich. “It doesn't even require any special tools. And just because someone gets strangled doesn't mean a serial killer did it. A guy might go to rob someone, or there's a physical altercation, and things go south. When he doesn't have access to a weapon, he has to use the only weapons he's got. His hands.”

“But was the other girl also strangled with a ligature? The newspaper didn't say.”

“Okay, Ruby, that's it.” Detective Harrison waved his free hand. “Get out of here and let me eat my sandwich in peace.”

 

 

They spent another three hours searching, finding two dozen more small bits of trash but nothing Ruby considered of any significance. By the time they finished, her knees were aching and her chilled hands had lost some fine motor skills.

When they got back to the lot where the van was parked, a reporter for the
Oregonian
was waiting. Detective Harriman didn't allow him to ask questions, but he did let him take a photograph of them walking down the trail, and he gave their names. Mitchell said it would be good publicity for the unit.

Ruby realized it also meant she had to figure out something before her parents picked tomorrow's paper off the driveway.

CHAPTER 17

WEDNESDAY

HIDDEN

The girl cowered on her knees, arms tied behind her back. Her blue eyes were wide over the white gag that separated her full red lips. Her black hair tumbled over her shoulders.

Nick's drawing was only in pencil, but in his head, he still saw the colors. He was seated in the far back corner of the meeting space at the sheriff's office, his free hand shielding his paper. Doodling helped him to focus on what was being said, allowed him to sit still, but he had found that most adults didn't understand. Not just the act of drawing, but his choice of subject matter. One of his teachers had even claimed his drawings were “disturbing.” Which was ridiculous.

Tonight they were covering urban searches. Jon said, “Usually in an urban search, we're looking for either very young children or old people with Alzheimer's.” He clicked on the next PowerPoint slide, which showed a guy in a yellow helmet carrying a sleeping toddler. “In some ways, it's easier, because the navigational landmarks in an urban area are pretty clear. I mean, we've got street signs. But urban searches are also harder, because the subject may not want to be found or may be being purposely hidden by an abductor.”

Nick started a new drawing, one with him in it. A slightly idealized version of him. Some of the other guys in class looked more like men, with muscled chests and thick arms. Nick was wearing a T-shirt he'd gotten in ninth grade, and he still didn't fill it all the way out. In the drawing, he gave himself strong arms to hold the girl, her head hanging back, her breasts jutting out like twin mountains.

At the break, he tucked the paper in the back of his binder then gathered with the others around the lemonade and tray of rubbery snickerdoodles from Safeway that the sheriff's office provided.

“Can I give you guys a ride home tonight?” Ruby asked Alexis. She was using a napkin to pick up the carton of lemonade. Nick had noticed she didn't seem to like to touch things.

“Sure,” Nick said, who far preferred Ruby's car to the bus. But why was Ruby offering both of them a ride? Alexis lived on the other side of the river. Not that he would mind riding with her.

“Oh, that's okay.” Alexis was already starting to move away. “I'll just take the bus.”

“Actually it's important.” The lemonade dripped on the table when Ruby set it down. Instead of wiping it up with the napkin, she swiped at it with the cuff of her sweater. “There's something I need to talk to both of you about.” She leaned closer and whispered, “In private. About the girl.” By the time she reached the word
girl
, Ruby was only mouthing it.

Alexis's eyes widened and then she nodded.

 

 

“Is this really your car, Ruby?” Alexis asked after she opened the passenger door of the black Scion, illuminating the interior.

Nick remembered how surprised he had felt when had first gotten a ride with Ruby. How could someone who seemed to have issues with germs have such a filthy car? The interior was filled with loose papers covered with scribbled notes, thoughts, and diagrams. Some of the papers were actually unopened mail. Bowls and plates sprinkled with bread crumbs and wilted bits of lettuce were stacked on the back seat and scattered across the front passenger floor next to cups with dried orange juice or old coffee congealed on the bottom.

“Sorry,” Ruby said absently as Nick clambered into the back seat, bulldozing everything over to the other side. Alexis picked up a garbage-stuffed Burger King bag from the front passenger seat and then looked around uncertainly. “What should I do with this?”

Ruby tossed it over her shoulder and said, “So the dead girl's name was Miranda Wyatt, and she lives in the West Hills.”

“How do you know that?” Nick asked. The West Hills was one of Portland's most expensive neighborhoods.

“I overheard Chris telling Jon.”

He guessed it hadn't been much of an accident. Ruby was like a cat, always quiet, creeping around the edges, slipping unseen through shadows.

“And I've been thinking,” she continued. “We're the ones who found her. We're the ones who talked to all those people that day. Maybe we saw something that could help find the killer.”

“That's why Harriman interviewed us,” Nick said. “But we
didn't
see anything.”

“Sometimes things that don't seem to be clues turn out to be,” Ruby said. “Don't you want to help figure out who did it?”

“Aren't we supposed to not talk about it?” Alexis asked.

“That was only talking to outsiders,” Ruby said. “Not people in SAR. I think whoever killed Miranda Wyatt might be a serial killer.”

A thrill raced from the soles of Nick's feet to the top of his head.

“A serial killer.” Alexis didn't look impressed. “This isn't a movie, Ruby.”

“There are serial killers in real life, Alexis, not just in movies,” Ruby said with more than a trace of impatience in her voice. “The FBI estimates that
right now
there are somewhere between thirty-five and fifty serial killers active in the US
alone
. And that girl we found, that Miranda, she isn't the first dead girl found in a Portland park.” She pulled a printout from her pocket and put it on the center console, then turned on the overhead light. “Check this out.”

Nick and Alexis bent over the short article. Ruby stabbed her finger at the photo of the hoodie the body had been found in.

“They're saying that she was an adult, but look at that hoodie. I've seen that brand at my high school a lot. And that particular one is all pink and glittery on the back. No adult would wear that. I tried to tell Detective Harriman, but he wouldn't listen. He thinks the two deaths aren't connected because the victims are too different: one's a white rich girl, and one's a homeless black woman.”

A Lexis thought, but didn't say, that an adult like her mom might still wear that hoodie.

“But they were both strangled,” Nick pointed out.

“According to him, a lot of women are strangled, but that doesn't mean it's a serial killer. But the thing is, some serial killers strangle their victims because they like having the ultimate power. It's literally in their hands as to whether the victim lives or dies.”

At Ruby's words, Alexis shivered and then drew her coat tighter around her. Nick wished that she were sitting in the back seat with him so he could casually drape his arm over her shoulder.

Ruby continued, “The FBI says there are two kinds of serial killers: organized and disorganized. Disorganized ones are messy and don't have a plan. This guy is probably organized, which means he's smart, plans his crimes, and lures his victims as opposed to forcing them. Ted Bundy used to put a fake cast on his arm and ask his victims to help him carry his books. Or organized serial killers will target people who willingly go with strangers, like prostitutes. They follow their own crimes in the media. And—this is really weird—it's pretty common that after they're caught, people who know them say they are kind and would never hurt anyone.”