The Killing Hour (8 page)

CHAPTER 7

Quantico, Virginia
10:03
A
.
M
.
Temperature: 86 degrees

“
ONE MORE TIME,
Kimberly. How did you end up off the PT course?”

“I got a stitch in my side, I went off the course. I was trying to walk it out, and . . . I don’t think I realized how far I had wandered.”

“And you saw the body?”

“I saw something up ahead,” Kimberly said without blinking. “I headed toward it, and then . . . Well, you know the rest.”

Her class supervisor, Mark Watson, scowled at her, but finally leaned back. She was sitting across from him in his bright, expansive office. Mid-morning sun poured through the bank of windows. An orange monarch butterfly fluttered just outside the glass. It was such a beautiful day to be talking about death.

At Kimberly’s cry, two of her classmates had come running. She’d leaned forward and taken the girl’s pulse by then. Nothing, of course, but then Kimberly hadn’t expected any signs of life. And it wasn’t just the girl’s wide, sightless brown eyes that spoke of death. It was her violently stitched-up mouth, some kind of thick black thread sealing her waxy lips in macabre imitation of Raggedy Ann. Whoever had done this had made damn well sure the girl had never screamed.

The second classmate promptly threw up. But not Kimberly.

Someone had fetched Watson. Upon seeing her grisly find, he had immediately contacted the FBI police as well as the Naval Criminal Investigative Service. Apparently, a death at the Academy’s front door did not belong to the FBI, but rather to NCIS. It was their job to protect and serve the Marines, after all.

Kimberly and her classmates had been hastily led away, while young Marines in dark green camouflage and more sophisticated special agents in white dress shirts descended upon the scene. Now, somewhere in the deep woods, real work was being done—death investigators photographing, sketching, and analyzing; an ME examining a young girl’s body for last desperate clues; other officers bagging and tagging evidence.

While Kimberly sat here. In an office. As far away from the discovery as a well-meaning FBI supervisor could bring her. One of her knees jogged nervously. She finally crossed her ankles beneath the chair.

“What will happen next?” she asked quietly.

“I don’t know.” Her supervisor paused. “I’ll be honest, Kimberly, we’ve never had this kind of situation before.”

“Well, that’s a good thing,” she murmured.

Watson smiled, but it was thin. “We had a tragedy a few years ago. A National Academy student dropped dead on the firearms course. He was relatively young, which led to speculation. The ME determined, however, that he had died of a sudden massive coronary. Still tragic, but not so shocking given the sheer numbers of people who pass through these grounds in any given year. This situation, on the other hand . . . A facility of this kind relies heavily on good relations with the neighboring communities. When word gets out that a local girl has been found dead . . .”

“How do you know she’s local?”

“Playing the law of averages. She appears too young to be an employee, and if she were either FBI or Marine, someone at the scene would’ve recognized her. Ergo, she’s an outsider.”

“She could be someone’s sweetheart,” Kimberly ventured. “The mouth . . . Maybe she talked back one too many times.”

“It’s possible.” Watson was eyeing her speculatively, so Kimberly pressed ahead.

“But you don’t think so,” she said.

“Why don’t I think so?”

“No violence. If it were a domestic situation, a crime of passion, she would show signs of battery. Bruises, cuts, abrasion. Instead . . . I saw her arms and legs. There was hardly a scratch on her. Except for the mouth, of course.”

“Maybe he only hit her where no one would see.”

“Maybe,” her tone was doubtful. “It still doesn’t explain why he would dump the body on a secured Marine base.”

“Why do you think the body was dumped?” Watson asked with a frown.

“Lack of disturbance at the scene,” Kimberly answered immediately. “Ground wasn’t even stirred up until I crashed in.” Her brow furrowed; she looked at him quizzically. “Do you think she was alive when he brought her onto the grounds? It’s not that easy to access the base. Last I saw, the Marines were operating at condition Bravo, meaning all entrances are guarded and all visitors must have proper ID. Dead or alive, not just anyone can access Academy grounds.”

“I don’t think we should—”

“That doesn’t make sense, either, though,” Kimberly persisted, her frown deepening. “If the girl’s alive, then she would have to have clearance, too, and two security passes are harder to find than one. So maybe she was dead. In the trunk of the car. I’ve never seen the guards search a vehicle, so she wouldn’t be too hard to sneak in that way. Of course, that theory implies that the man knowingly dumped a body
on
Quantico grounds.” She shook her head abruptly. “That doesn’t make sense. If you lived here and you killed someone, even accidentally, you wouldn’t take the remains into the woods. You’d hightail it off the base, and get the evidence as far away from here as possible. Leaving the body here is just plain stupid.”

“I don’t think we should make any assumptions at this time,” Watson said quietly.

“Do you think he’s trying to make a personal statement against the Academy?” Kimberly asked. “Or against the Marines?”

At that comment, Watson’s brows fired to life. Kimberly had definitely crossed some unspoken line, and his expression firmly indicated that their conversation was now over. He sat forward and said, “Listen, the NCIS will be handling the investigation from here on out. Do you know anything about the Naval Criminal Investigative Service?”

“No—”

“Well, you should. The NCIS has over eight hundred special agents, ready to be deployed anywhere around the globe at a moment’s notice. They’ve seen murder, rape, domestic abuse, fraud, drugs, racketeering, terrorism, you name it. They have their own cold case squad, they have their own forensics experts, they even have their own crime labs. For heaven’s sake, these are the agents who were called upon to investigate the bombing of the U.S.S.
Cole
. They can certainly handle one body found in the woods at a Marine base. Is that understood?”

“I didn’t mean to imply—”

“You’re a rookie, Kimberly. Not a special agent, but a new agent. Don’t forget that difference.”

“Yes, sir,” she said stiffly, chin up, eyes blazing at the unexpected reprimand.

Her supervisor’s voice finally softened. “Of course NCIS will have some questions for you,” he allowed. “Of course you will answer to the best of your ability. Cooperation with fellow law enforcement agencies is very important. But then you’re done, Kimberly. Out of the picture. Back to class. And—this should go without saying—as quiet as a church mouse.”

“Don’t ask, don’t tell?” she asked dryly.

Watson didn’t crack a smile. “There are many times in an FBI agent’s career when she must be the soul of discretion. Agents who can’t be prudent don’t belong on the job.”

Kimberly’s expression finally faltered. She stared down at the carpet. Watson’s tone was so stern, it seemed to border almost on threatening. She had found the body accidentally. And yet . . . He was treating her almost as if she were a troublemaker. As if she’d personally brought this upon the Academy. The safe course would be to do exactly as he said. To get up, seal her lips, and walk away.

She’d never been good at playing it safe.

She lifted her gaze and looked her supervisor in the eye. “Sir, I’d like to approach NCIS about assisting with the investigation.”

“Did you just hear anything I said?”

“I have some experience in these matters—”

“You know
nothing
about these matters! Don’t confuse personal with professional—”

“Why not? Violent death is violent death. I helped my father after my mother’s body was found. I’m now seven weeks from becoming a full-fledged FBI agent. What would it hurt to jump the gun a little? After all, I found her.” Her tone was possessive. She hadn’t meant to sound that way, realized it was a misstep, but it was too late to call it back now.

Watson’s face had darkened dangerously. If she thought he’d appeared stern before, he was downright intimidating now. “Kimberly . . . Let’s be frank. How do you think you’re doing as a new agent?”

“Hanging in there.”

“Do you think that’s the best goal for a new agent?”

“Some days.”

He smiled grimly, then steepled his hands in front of his chin. “Some of your instructors are worried about you, Kimberly. You have an impeccable resume, of course. You consistently score ninety percent or higher on your exams. You seem to have some skills with firearms.”

“But?” she gritted out.

“But you also have an attitude. Nine weeks here, Kimberly, and by all accounts you have no close friends, allies, or associates. You offer nothing to your classmates. You take nothing from them. You’re an island. Law enforcement is ultimately a human system. With no connections, no friends, no support, how far do you think you’re going to get? How effective do you think you can be?”

“I’ll work on that,” she said. Her heart was beating hard.

“Kimberly,” he said, gently now, and she winced further. Anger could be deflected. Gentleness was to be feared. “You know, you’re very young.”

“Growing up all the time,” she babbled.

“Maybe now is not the right time for you to join the Bureau—”

“No time like the present.”

“I think if you gave yourself a few more years, more space between now and what happened to your family . . .”

“You mean forget about my mother and sister?”

“I’m not saying that.”

“Pretend I’m just another accountant, looking for a little more excitement in my life?”

“Kimberly—”

“I found a corpse! Is that what this is about? I found a blight on the Academy’s front porch and now you’re kicking me out!”

“Stop it!”
His tone was stern. It finally shocked Kimberly into silence and in the next instant she realized everything she had just said. Her cheeks flamed red. She quickly looked away.

“I would like to go back to class now,” Kimberly murmured. “I promise not to say anything. I appreciate the task NCIS has before it, and I wouldn’t want to do anything to compromise an ongoing investigation.”

“Kimberly . . .” Her supervisor’s tone was still frustrated. It appeared he might say something more, then he just shook his head. “You look like hell. You obviously haven’t slept in weeks, you’ve lost weight. Why don’t you go to your room and get some rest? Take this opportunity to recuperate. There’s no shame in slowing down a little, you know. You’re already one of the youngest applicants we’ve had. What you don’t accomplish now, you can always accomplish later.”

Kimberly didn’t reply. She was too busy biting back a bitter smile. She had heard those words before. Also from an older man, a mentor, someone she had considered a friend. Two days later, he’d put a gun to her head.

Please don’t let me tear up now. She would not cry.

“We’ll talk again in a few days,” Watson said in the ensuing silence. “Dismissed.”

Kimberly headed out of his office. She walked down the hall, passing three groups of blue-clad students and already hearing the whispers beginning again. Were they talking about her mother and sister? Were they talking about her legendary father? Or maybe they were talking about today, and the new body she of all people had managed to find?

Her eyes stung more fiercely. She pressed the heels of her hands against her temples. She would not give in to pity now.

Kimberly marched to the front doors. She burst back into the blistering hot sun. Sweat immediately beaded across her brow. She could feel her T-shirt glue itself stickily to her skin.

But she did not return to her room. NCIS would want to talk to her. First, however, they would want to finish up at the scene. That gave her a solid hour before anyone would come looking for her.

An hour was enough.

Kimberly made a beeline for the woods.

CHAPTER 8

Quantico, Virginia
11:33
A
.
M
.
Temperature: 89 degrees

“
TIME OF DEATH?
”

“Hard to tell. Body temperature reads nearly ninety-five, but the current outside temp of eighty-nine would impede cooling. Rigor mortis appears to be just starting in face and neck.” The white-clad ME paused, rolled the body slightly to the left and pressed a gloved finger against the red-splotched skin, which blanched at his touch. “Lividity’s not yet fixed.” He straightened back up, thought of something else, and checked the girl’s eyes and ears. “No blowfly larvae yet, which would happen fast in this heat. Of course, the flies prefer to start in the mouth or an open wound, so they had less opportunity here . . .” He seemed to consider the various factors one last time, then delivered his verdict. “I’m going to say four to six hours.”

The other man, probably an NCIS special agent, looked up from his notes in surprise. “That fresh?”

“That’s my best guess. Hard to know more until we cut her open.”

“Which will be?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

The special agent stared at the ME.

“Six
A
.
M
.?” the ME tried again.

The special agent stared harder.

“This afternoon,” the ME amended.

The special agent finally cracked a smile. The ME sighed heavily. It was going to be one of
those
cases.

The investigating officer returned to his notes. “Probable COD?”

“That’s a little trickier. No obvious knife or gunshot wounds. No petechial hemorrhages, which rules out strangulation. No bleeding in the ears, which eliminates some brain traumas. We do have a large bruise just beginning to form on the left hip. Probably occurred shortly before death.” The ME lifted up the girl’s blue-flowered skirt, eyed the contusion again, then shook his head. “I’m going to have to do some blood work. We’ll know more then.”

The investigating officer nodded. A second man, also clad in khakis and a white dress shirt, moved in to snap more shots with a digital camera, while several grim-faced Marines stood guard along the yellow-ribbon-draped scene. Even in the deep shade of the woods, the heat and humidity were impossible to escape. Both NCIS special agents had sweated through their long-sleeved shirts, while the young sentries stood with moisture rolling down their chiseled faces.

Now the second special agent, a younger man with the requisite buzz-cut hair and squared-off jaw, looked down the heavily wooded path. “I don’t see drag marks,” he commented.

The ME nodded and moved to the victim’s black sandals. He picked up her foot and studied the heel of her shoe. “No dirt or debris here. She must’ve been carried in.”

“Strong man,” the photographer said.

The first special agent gave them both a look. “We are on a Marine base cooccupied by FBI trainees; they’re all strong men.” He nodded back toward the victim. “What’s with the mouth?”

The ME put his hand on her cheeks, turned her head from side to side. Then suddenly, he flinched and snatched his hand away.

“What?” the older agent asked.

“I don’t . . . Nothing.”

“Nothing? What kind of nothing?”

“Trick of the light,” the ME muttered, but he didn’t put his hand back on the girl’s face. “Looks like sewing thread,” he said curtly. “Thick, maybe like what’s used for upholstery. It’s certainly not medical. The stitching is too rudimentary to be a professional’s. Just small flecks of blood, so the mutilation probably occurred postmortem.”

There was a green leaf caught in the girl’s tangled blond hair. The ME distractedly pulled it free and let it flutter away. He moved on to her hands, flung above her head. One was curled closed. Gently, he unrolled her fingers. Inside her grip, nestled against her palm, was a jagged green-gray rock.

“Hey,” he called to the younger special agent. “Want to get a picture of this?”

The kid obediently came over and snapped away. “What is it?”

“I don’t know. A rock of some kind. Going to bag and tag?”

“Right.” The kid fetched an evidence container. He dropped the rock in and dutifully filled out the top form.

“No obvious defensive wounds. Oh, here we go.” The ME’s gloved thumb moved up her left arm to a red, swollen patch high on her shoulder. “Injection mark. Just the faintest bruising, so it probably occurred right before death.”

“Overdose?” the older agent asked with a frown.

“Of some kind. An intramuscular injection isn’t very common for drugs; they’re generally administered intravenously.” The ME lifted the girl’s skirt again. He inspected the inside of her thighs, then moved down to between her toes. Finally, he inspected the webbing between her index finger and thumb. “No track marks. Whatever happened, she’s not a habitual user.”

“Wrong place at the wrong time?”

“Possibly.”

Older Special Agent sighed. “We’re going to need an ID right away. Can you print her here?”

“I’d prefer to wait until the morgue, when we can test her hands for blood and skin samples. If you’re in a real hurry, though, you can always check her purse.”

“What?”

The ME smiled broadly, then took pity on the Naval cop. “Over there, on the rock
outside
the crime-scene tape. The black leather backpack thingy. My daughter has one just like it. It’s very hip.”

“Of all the stupid, miserable, incompetent . . .” Older Special Agent wasn’t very happy. He got the kid to photograph the purse, then had two sentries expand the crime-scene perimeter to
include
the leather bag. Finally, with gloved hands, he retrieved the item. “Note that we need to take full inventory,” he instructed his assistant. “For now, however, we’ll detail the wallet.”

The kid set down the camera and immediately took up paper and pencil.

“Okay, here we go. Wallet, also black leather . . . Let’s see, it contains a grocery store card, a Petco card, a Blockbuster card, another grocery store card, and . . . no driver’s license. There’s thirty-three dollars in here, but no driver’s license, no credit cards, and for that matter, no kind of any card bearing a person’s name. What does that tell us?”

“He doesn’t want us to know her ID,” the kid said eagerly.

“Yeah.” Older Special Agent was frowning. “How about that? You know what? We’re missing something else. Keys.” He shook the bag, but there was no telltale jingle. “What kind of person doesn’t have keys?”

“Maybe he’s a thief? He’s got her address from the license, plus the house keys . . . It’s not like she’s going to come home anytime soon.”

“Possibly.” But the Naval officer was looking at the stitched-up mouth and frowning. From her vantage point behind a tree, Kimberly could read his thoughts: What kind of thief stitched up a woman’s mouth? For that matter, what kind of thief dumped a body in the middle of a Marine base?

“I need to fetch paper bags for the hands,” the ME reported. “They’re back in my van.”

“We’ll walk with you. I want to review a few more things.” The older Naval officer jerked his head toward his counterpart, and the younger man immediately fell into step. They headed off down the dirt path, leaving the sprawling corpse alone with the four sentries.

Kimberly was just considering how to make a stealthy exit herself, when a strong hand snapped around her wrist. In the next instant, a second hand smothered her mouth. She didn’t bother with screaming; she bit him instead.

“Damn,” a deep voice rumbled in her ear. “Do you ever talk first and shoot later? I keep running into you, I’m not gonna have any hide left.”

Kimberly recognized the voice. She relaxed against his large body, but grudgingly. In return, he removed both hands.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered, casting a furtive glance at the crime-scene attendants. She turned to face Special Agent McCormack and he frowned.

“What happened to you?” He held up a silencing hand. “Wait, I don’t want to see the other guy.”

Kimberly touched her face. For the first time she felt the zigzag welts creasing her nose and cheeks with flecks of dried blood. Her scramble through the woods had taken its toll after all. No wonder her supervisor had tried to send her to her room.

“What are you doing here?” she asked again, voice low.

“Heard a rumor. Decided to follow it up.” His gaze briefly skimmed down her body. “I heard a young new agent made the find. I take it you had the honors? Little ways off the PT course, don’t you think?”

Kimberly simply glared at him. He shrugged and returned their attention to the crime scene.

“I want that leaf,” his voice rumbled in her ear. “You see the one the ME pulled out of the victim’s hair—”

“Not proper protocol.”

“You tell him, honey. I want that leaf. And as long as you’re here, you might as well help me get it.”

She jerked away from him. “I will not—”

“Just distract the sentries. Strike up a conversation, bat those baby blues and in sixty seconds, I’ll be in and out.”

Kimberly frowned at him. “You distract the guards, I’ll grab the leaf,” she said.

He looked at her as if she were slightly slow. “Honey,” he drawled. “You’re a
girl.
”

“So I can’t grab a leaf?” Her voice rose unconsciously.

He covered her mouth with his palm again. “No, but you surely have a bit more natural
appeal
to young men than I do.” He glanced down the wooded path at the direction the ME and two Naval investigators had gone. “Come on, sugar. We don’t have the rest of our lives.”

He’s an idiot, she thought. Sexist, too. But she nodded anyway. The ME had been grossly negligent to pull the leaf out of the girl’s hair, and it would be best if someone retrieved it.

Mac motioned to the left pair of guards and how he wanted her to draw them to the front. Then he’d go in from the back.

Thirty seconds later, taking a deep breath, Kimberly made a big production of walking from the woods right onto the dirt path. She made a sharp left and walked straight up to the pair of sentries.

“I just need to see the body for a moment,” she said breezily.

“This area is restricted, ma’am.” The first sentry spoke in clipped tones, his gaze fixed somewhere past her left ear.

“Oh, I’m sure it is.” Kimberly waved her hand negligently and stepped forward.

The young sentry made a discreet move left and without seeming to exert any real effort, blocked her path.

“Excuse me,” Kimberly said firmly. “But I don’t think you understand. I have clearance. I’m part of the case. For heaven’s sake, I was the first officer at the scene.”

The Marine frowned at her, unimpressed. The other pair of Marines had moved closer, obviously prepared to offer backup. Kimberly flashed them a sickeningly sweet smile. And watched as Special Agent McCormack eased into the clearing behind them.

“Ma’am, I must ask you to depart,” the first sentry said.

“Where’s the crime-scene log?” Kimberly asked. “Just get the log and I’ll show you where I’m signed in.”

For the first time, the Marine hesitated. Kimberly’s instincts had been right. These guys were just foot soldiers. They knew nothing about investigative procedure, or law enforcement jurisdiction.

“Seriously,” she pressed, taking another step closer and getting everyone antsy now. “I’m New Agent Kimberly Quincy. At approximately oh-eight twenty-two hundred I found the victim and secured the scene for NCIS. Of course I want to follow up with this case.”

Mac was halfway to the body now, moving with surprising stealth for a big guy.

“Ma’am, this area belongs to the Marines. It is restricted to the Marines. Unless you are accompanied by the appropriate officer, you may not enter this area.”

“Who’s the appropriate officer?”

“Ma’am—”

“Sir, I found that girl this morning. While I appreciate that you’re doing your job, I’m not leaving a poor young girl like that to a bunch of camo-clad men. She needs one of her own around. Simple as that.”

The Marine glared at her. She’d definitely crossed some line in his mind over to wacky. He sighed and seemed to be struggling to find his patience.

Mac was now at the area where they had both seen the leaf flutter to the ground. He was on his hands and knees, moving carefully. For the first time, Kimberly realized their problem. There were many dried-up leaves on the ground. Red, yellow, brown. What color had been in the girl’s hair? Oh God, she already didn’t remember.

The backup sentries had edged closer. They had their hands on the stocks of their rifles. Kimberly brought up her chin and dared them to shoot her.

“You need to leave,” the first sentry repeated.

“No.”

“Ma’am, you depart on your own or we will forcefully assist you.”

Mac had a leaf now. He held it up, seemed to be frowning at it. Was he also wondering what color it should be? Could he remember?

“Lay a hand on me and I will sue you for sexual harassment.”

The Marine blinked. Kimberly blinked, too. Really, as threats went, that was a pretty good one. Even Mac had turned toward her and appeared sincerely impressed. The leaf in his hand was green. All at once, she relaxed. That made sense. The leaves already at the scene were old, from last fall. A green leaf, on the other hand, had probably been brought in with the body. He had done it.
They
had done it.

The backup sentries were now right behind the first pair. All four sets of male gazes stared at her.

“You need to leave,” the first Marine said again, but he no longer sounded as forceful.

“I’m just trying to do right by her,” Kimberly said quietly.

That seemed to disarm him further. His stare broke. He glanced down at the dirt path. And Kimberly found herself still talking.

“I had a sister, you see. Not that much older than this girl here. One night, a guy got her drunk, tampered with her seat belt, and drove her straight into a telephone pole. Then he ran away, leaving her there all alone, her skull crushed against the windshield. She didn’t die right away, though. She lived for a while. I’ve always wondered . . . Did she feel the blood trickling down her face? Did she know how alone she was? The medics would never tell me, but I wonder if she cried, if she understood what was happening to her. That’s gotta be the worst thing in the world. To know that you’re dying, and nobody is coming to save you. Of course, you don’t have to worry about such things. You’re a Marine. Someone will always come for you. We can’t say the same, however, for the women of the world. I sure couldn’t say the same for my sister.”