Waking the Dead (14 page)
“Holy shit.”
“Fuck a duck,” Kristy breathed. The two of them stared, nonplussed. “What the hell
is
that?”
is
that?”
“Some kind of picture. Drawings,” Cait corrected herself. “You brought the UV lens for the digital scanning camera?”
“Yeah.” But the other woman didn’t move right away. Both of them were rooted in place, peering at the miniature scene in green and blue that they’d uncovered. “Is that some sort of new fad, a bone tattoo?” Kristy sounded only half kidding. “I mean, I’ve got a tat on my left ass cheek, product of a misspent youth, but this . . .”
“It’d be sort of a bitch getting it.” Cait didn’t know what exactly this was. Had never run across it before. But it ripped wide open the tiny window she’d previously had of the perp’s mindset.
She couldn’t stem the flood of excitement at the thought. “Get that UV lens.” Without waiting for her assistant’s return, she turned to the next gurney. Gingerly flipped the scapula over and aimed the lamp at it.
The pink and yellow images on the bone sprang into relief. Similar technique but different pictures this time. A feeling of urgency had her moving to the next gurney. And the one after that.
“I’ve got it.” Several minutes later, Kristy hurried back in the room, words tumbling from her lips. “Was afraid for a few minutes there that I’d forgotten it, but I found it behind the . . . What’d you find? Did you check them all?”
Cait rose, still slightly dazed. “Yes.” Her mind was still reeling with possibilities. “And each set of remains has a different scene painted on the posterior of the scapula. Except near the inferior angle of each, there’s the same image.”
Kristy crowded closer for a better look. And Cait found it difficult to tear her own gaze away from the tiny skull painted at the base of the bone.
Chapter 7
“Okay.” Barnes was the first to speak in the darkened lab. “What is it exactly we’re looking at?”
The deputy, Andrews, and Cait were grouped around the computer monitor. It was past nine o’clock. Cait had shooed Kristy from the lab hours earlier. There was no reason the woman should have to hang around until the sheriff could get there.
Using the remote, Cait clicked to the next set of images on the screen. “We found these when we were testing the remains for latents.”
“You found them?” Andrews glanced at her. “Where?”
“These are scanned pictures of the painted images located on the back of the right scapula—shoulder blade—on each victim.” She stopped, waited for the reactions of her audience.
But both stared at her in stunned silence. Barnes found his voice first. “What the hell—you just turned the bone over and found a little mural on it?”
“It was a bit more involved,” Cait said dryly, “but yeah, something like that. Wait. I’ll show you.” Swiftly she handed out two pair of UV goggles, turned on the lamp, and demonstrated for them with the scapula from male D. “I’d done a thorough visual examination prior to beginning the latent testing. Nothing could be seen with the naked eye, not even with the help of an ALS. We wouldn’t have caught this at all, but I prefer working with the fluorescent magnetic powder in latent exams.”
“Fluorescent . . .” The sheriff still seemed to be searching for words even as she stared at the scapula with rapt attention. “You’re saying these pictures only show up under a black light?”
Cait switched off the UV lamp and nodded. “I spent a couple hours researching it. Didn’t know whether the substance was ink or paint at first, but I tested it, and it appears to be paint. There are several online sources for this kind of thing. It’s billed as invisible paint because you only see evidence of it under certain types of lighting. They use it for black light posters, haunted houses, that sort of thing. By mixing the paints, it’s possible to achieve any color desired. There are a slew of manufacturers, but the paints have varying degrees of transparency, which is the element that renders them impossible to detect without a UV light.”
She peeled off her gloves as she spoke. “The most common of the samples would allow you to see a black-and-white picture or design with a light source, or at least in sunlight, and the colors only become apparent under a UV lamp. But there are also several outfits that sell invisible paint that is impossible to detect with the naked eye.” Collecting the sets of goggles, she laid the equipment on the counter next to the computer cart. “We should be able to trace the manufacturer of the product after I run comparison samples. The problem will be in acquiring their customer order list. A couple of the sources are overseas.”
“Putting them outside the scope of any warrant we could get,” Andrews said grimly.
“We may get lucky. The perp could have bought the paint in a store here in the US,” Barnes interjected.
Nodding, Cait said, “Or he could have ordered online from a domestic company. At any rate, I placed orders with each place and should have samples of paint coming in a couple days.”
“Damn good work.” Andrews’s gaze had returned to the monitor. “And the pictures are different for each victim?”
“There are similarities, but the only identical image is the one at the bottom of each.” Rapidly she flipped through the images on the screen, pausing at the last one.
“A skull.” The sheriff gave a tight smile. “Coincidentally, the body part missing from each set of remains. The bastard is taunting us. Could it be a sequential scene of what led to each victim’s death? Maybe he stalked them first. Learned their habits. And each pic he painted represents a separate point in that process.”
“Maybe,” she returned slowly, studying the image again. She’d had the same thought. Especially given the gleaming skull that concluded each set of images. “Certainly there seems to be a sequence to the images. They’re magnified on screen. Much harder to make out on the bones themselves. It’s also possible that the progression doesn’t refer to the final days or weeks before their death, but to their life.” She felt both sets of eyes on her. “I can’t be certain until we identify some of the remains. But see here . . .” She pointed at the monitor. “This looks like the Golden Gate Bridge. And then there’s a ball and bat.” She traced the images on screen. “And this . . . I looked this symbol up. It’s the mascot for UCLA. And here’s a tiny wedding cake. See the bride and groom on top?”
“Christ.” Barnes sounded shaken. “It’s like he researched each victim. Knew everything about them.”
“Or the major points in their life.” Cait cocked her head, still puzzled by the next picture. “That book . . . it could represent anything. A hobby, a job . . . I’m not sure. But this one . . .” she tapped the screen. “I can’t quite make it out. Maybe it’s an animal? Or a monster?”
“Which could represent the perp,” the deputy said with dark humor.
“I still think this is more apt to depict the last few weeks of the victim’s life,” Andrews muttered. “But that would still allow for the perp being the monster.”
“Then I’d expect to see that image in each scene, but the only commonalities in the pictures are the skulls.” Cait traced the next image. “Here’s some sort of small boat. A kayak or canoe, looks like. Then a . . . what? Skyscraper? Condo? There are eight images in all, counting the skull on each set.”
“Maybe this means the offender and victim knew each other,” suggested the sheriff, kneading the back of her neck. That the woman kept long hours was apparent. Regardless of the hour, she was always still at work when Cait contacted her. For the first time Cait wondered if she had a family at home, or if her job—and the one she had her eye on after this—consumed her life.
“What I don’t get is, why bother?” Barnes moved away from the screen to pace. “This proves the bones were cleaned prior to dumping.” He sent a quick look toward Cait. “I know you’ve said that all along, but now we can be sure. He goes to a lot of trouble.” Unconsciously he repeated the same thread of conversation she and Andrews had had just the night before. “What’s the point? Because you can be damn sure it means something.”
“All you can be sure of right now is, whatever his reason, this is about him, not the victims. He’s not paying them tribute, he’s not acknowledging them as individuals. These images might describe things from the victims’ lives. We won’t know for sure until they’re ID’d. But even if they do, the motivation for the pictures ultimately lies with him.” She was as yet unsure what the action told her about the UNSUB, but she was far closer to establishing a profile now than she’d been prior to the discovery of the paintings.
“They may go a long way to helping you establish identity if the images do depict the victims’ lives in some way,” the sheriff pointed out.
Cait nodded. She’d already thought of that. “Even if I can’t find a living relative to provide a DNA sample for testing, I may be able to tentatively match the remains to the history of the missing persons in the database.” It would be a DNA match that would provide a major break in the case. But the images would give them another strong basis for identification purposes, if a less certain one. “When I talk to the detectives again, I’ll describe the paintings on the remains matching their missing person and see if we’ve got any points of intersection.”
“What about the latents?” Barnes was still roaming the area, although he was careful not to touch anything. “Anything show up during your examination?”
“Not even a partial.”
“But you can test other bones, right?” Andrews glanced at the watch she was wearing. Cait wondered if she had plans for later this evening or if the woman was finally planning to call it a day.
“It would likely be a waste of time. The best deposit points are on the cranium and the long bones. We tested all the long bones today. Anything smaller than that and the likelihood of finding a latent decreases drastically. But there’s still the possibility that they’ll find a latent on the garbage bags. Any word yet from the crime lab?”
“I’ll give them a nudge tomorrow,” the sheriff promised.
“Any chance there are more of those”—Barnes nodded at the screen—“anywhere else on the bones?”
“We checked thoroughly. The images on the scapulas were the only ones we found.”
“So I guess you’ll be busy with stuff here tomorrow.” There was a note in Barnes’s tone that alerted her.
“Nothing Kristy can’t handle. Why?”
The man’s look encompassed Andrews, too. “We’ve been tracking down violators who have been issued tickets by the forestry service. Illegal camping, dumping, whatever. I’ve run criminal crosschecks on the names on those lists. Came up with a couple roamers I’d like to check out.”
Cait looked from one of them to the other. “Roamers?”
Frowning slightly, Andrews answered, “Basically homeless people who use the forests to camp year-round. They move around a lot to stay ahead of the forestry agents. They don’t have permits, of course, and they aren’t fussy about where they set up camp. We occasionally get calls from Roseboro—the lumber company—or private parties to chase one off their property. There are areas of the forest though where no permits are required. That’s usually where you’ll find them.”
“And the roamers in question had criminal histories?” she asked Barnes.
Taking a notebook from his back jeans pocket, he flipped it open, scanned for the information in question. “Stephen Kesey. He’s got a few bumps in county jails on his sheet over the last dozen years or so. Assaults. Breaking and entering.” He glanced up to meet Cait’s gaze. “He’s had no fewer than a dozen forestry violations in the last five years.” Returning to study his notebook, he continued, “And then there’s Bart Lockwood. Dishonorable discharge from the military for drug use. Convicted for manslaughter and served sixteen years in Folsom before being paroled six years ago. Given the dates of his forestry violations, he’s been around ever since.”
Drumming her fingers on the counter, Andrews muttered, “From the looks of our call logs, we’ve got a hell of a lot more than two roamers in the area.”
Barnes nodded. His mustache, Cait noted, was taking its sweet time to thicken. Right now it bore a sandy-colored resemblance to Hitler’s. “But none that have anything more serious than pot possession on their record.”
The sheriff lifted a shoulder and glanced at Cait. “You say you’re free here?”
“There’s nothing Kristy can’t take care of for now.”
“Good.” The woman started moving toward the door. “Mitch and his men will continue going through the violations list. We need to start a search for Kesey and Lockwood. I’ll have Deputy Simms try to round up a forestry agent to form another team. He can get in touch with Sharper to split the area each team will cover. I’ll arrange to have Sharper meet you at the General Store at McKenzie Bridge around eight A.M. That work for you?”
Despite the abrupt sink to her stomach, Cait replied, “That’s fine.”
“Give you a chance to collect more soil samples.” The sheriff’s expression went grim as she looked at her deputy meaningfully. “And none of this gets out.” She waved toward the computer screen. “Can you imagine the press if they got hold of this story? For right now, Cait’s most recent finding doesn’t leave this room.” When the man nodded his understanding, her gaze went to Cait. “Your assistant . . .”
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