Whispers of the Dead (2 page)

Tom kept his eyes on the road. 'Seems like it. I wasn't told much,
but from the sound of things the body's in bad shape.'
I was starting to feel unaccountably nervous. 'Will there be any
problem with me coming along?'
Tom looked surprised. 'Why should there be? I often take someone
to help out.'
'I meant because I'm British.' I'd had to go through the usual red
tape of visas and work permits in order to come out here, but I
hadn't anticipated anything like this. I wasn't sure how welcome I'd
be on an official investigation.
He shrugged. 'Can't see why that should be a problem. It's hardly
national security, and I'll vouch for you if anyone asks. Or you could
keep quiet and hope they don't notice your accent.'
Smiling, he reached to turn on the CD player. Tom used music the
way other people smoked cigarettes or drank whisky, claiming it
helped him to both clear his mind and focus his thoughts. His drug
of choice was fifties and sixties jazz, and by now I'd heard the half
dozen albums he kept in the car often enough to recognize most of
them.
He gave a little sigh, unconsciously settling back in the car seat as
a track by Jimmy Smith pulsed from the speakers.
I watched the landscape of Tennessee slide past outside the car.The
Smoky Mountains rose up ahead of us, shrouded in the blue-tinged
mist for which they'd been named. Their forest-covered slopes
stretched to the horizon, a rolling green ocean that was a stark
contrast to the commercial bustle of the retail outlets around us.
Garishly functional fast food outlets, bars and stores lined the highway,
the sky above them gridded with power lines and telegraph
wires.
London and the UK seemed a long way away. Coming here had
been a way to regain my edge and resolve some of the issues preying
on my mind. I knew that there were some hard decisions to make
when I got back. The temporary university contract I'd held in
London had ended while I'd been convalescing, and although I'd
been offered a permanent tenure, I'd received another offer from the
forensic anthropology department of a top Scottish university. There
had also been a tentative approach from the Forensic Search Advisory
Group, a multi-disciplinary agency which helped the police locate
bodies. It was all very flattering, and I should have been excited. But
I couldn't muster enthusiasm for any of it. I'd thought coming back
here would change that.
So far it hadn't.
I sighed, rubbing my thumb across the scar on my palm without
realizing it. Tom glanced across. 'You OK?'
I closed my hand on the scar. 'Fine.'
He accepted that without comment.'Sandwiches are in my bag on
the back seat. Might as well share them before we get there.' He gave
a wry smile. 'Hope you like beansprouts.'
The country outside the car became more thickly wooded as we
drew nearer the mountains. We drove through Pigeon Forge, a brash
resort whose bars and restaurants chased along the roadside. One
diner we passed was themed in a faux frontier style, right down to
the plastic logs. A few miles further on we came to Gatlinburg, a
tourist town whose carnival atmosphere seemed almost restrained in
comparison. It had sprung up on the very edge of the mountains, and
although its motels and shops clamoured for attention, they couldn't
compete with the natural grandeur that rose up ahead.
Then we left it behind and entered another world. Steep, densely
forested slopes closed in around us, plunging us into shadow as the
road wound through them. Part of the huge Appalachian Mountains
chain, the Smokies covered eight hundred square miles and spanned
the border between Tennessee and North Carolina. They'd been
declared a National Park, although looking out of the car window I
thought that nature was blithely unaware of such distinctions. This
was a wilderness that man had even now barely scratched. Coming
from a crowded island like the UK, it was impossible not to be
humbled by their sheer scale.
There was less traffic now. In a few weeks it would be much
busier, but this was still spring and there were hardly any other cars
to be seen. After a few more miles Tom turned off on to a gravelled
side road.
'Shouldn't be much further now.' He checked the satnav display
mounted on the dashboard, then peered up ahead. 'Ah, here we are.'
There was a sign saying Schroeder Cabins, Nos 5--13 by a narrow
track. Tom turned off on to it, the automatic transmission complaining
slightly as it compensated for the gradient. Spaced well out from
each other, I could make out the low-pitched roofs of cabins set back
amongst the trees.
Police cars and unmarked vehicles I took to belong to the TBI
lined both sides of the track ahead of us. As we approached, a
uniformed police officer strode to block our way, hand resting lightly
on the gun holstered on his belt.
Tom stopped and wound down the window, but the officer didn't
give him time to speak.
'Sir, you cain't come up here.Y'all have to back up and leave.'
The accent was pure deep south, his politeness like a weapon in itself, implacable and unyielding. Tom gave him an easy smile.
'That's all right. Can you tell Dan Gardner that Tom Lieberman's
here?'
The uniformed officer moved away a few paces and spoke into his
radio. Whatever he heard reassured him.
"Kay. Park up there with the rest of the vehicles.'
Tom did as he was told. The nervousness I'd been feeling had
solidified into a definite unease as we parked. I told myself that a few
butterflies were understandable; I was still rusty from my
convalescence, and I hadn't banked on working on an actual murder
investigation. But I knew that didn't really account for it, even so.
'You sure it's all right my being here?' I asked. 'I don't want to
tread on anyone's toes.'
Tom didn't seem concerned. 'Don't worry. Anyone asks, you're
with me.'
We climbed out of the car. After the city, the air smelled fresh and
clean, rich with the outdoor scents of wild flowers and loam. Late
afternoon sunlight dappled through the branches, picking out the
coiled green buds like fat emeralds. This high up, and in the shade of
the trees, it was quite cool, which made the appearance of the man
walking towards us even stranger. He was wearing a suit and tie, but
the jacket was slung over one arm, and his pale blue shirt was stained
dark with perspiration. His face was flushed and red as he shook
Tom's hand.
'Thanks for coming. Wasn't sure if you were still on vacation.'
'Not any more.' Tom and Mary had only returned from Florida
the week before I'd arrived. He'd told me he'd never been so bored
in his life. 'Dan, I'd like you to meet Dr David Hunter. He's visiting
the facility. I said it'd be OK for him to come along.'
It wasn't quite phrased as a question. The man turned to me. I'd
have put him just the far side of fifty, his weathered, careworn face
lined with deep creases. The greying hair was cut short, with a side
parting that might have been drawn with a ruler.
He extended his hand. His grip was tight enough to be a
challenge, the skin of his palm dry and calloused.
'Dan Gardner, Assistant Special Agent in Charge. Pleased t'meet
you.'
I guessed the title was the equivalent of Senior Investigating
Officer in the UK. He spoke with the distinctive twang of Tennessee,
but the easy-going manner was deceptive. His eyes were sharp and appraising. Reserving judgement.
'So, what have you got?'Tom asked, reaching in the back of the
station wagon for his case.
'I lore, let me,' I said, lifting it out for him. Scar or no, I was in
better shape than Tom to carry it. For once he didn't argue.
The TBI agent started back up the trail into the trees. 'Body's in a
rental cabin. Manager found it this morning.'
'Definitely homicide?'
'Oh, yeah.'
He didn't enlarge.Tom gave him a curious glance but didn't press.
'Any ID?'
'Got a man's wallet with credit cards and a driver's licence, but we

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I
can't say for sure if they're the victim's. Body's too far gone for the
photograph to be any use.'
'Any idea how long it might have been here?' I asked without
thinking.
Gardner frowned, and I reminded myself I was only here to help
Tom. 'I was kind of hoping you'd be able to tell us that,' the TBI
agent answered, though to Tom rather than me. 'The pathologist's
still here, but he can't tell us much.'
'Who's the pathologist? Scott?'Tom asked.
'No, Hicks.'
'Ah.'
There was a wealth of meaning in the way Tom said it, none of it
complimentary. But right then I was more concerned with the way
he was starting to labour a little on the uphill trail.
'Just a second,' I said. I set down his case and pretended to fasten
my boot. Gardner looked irritated, but Tom drew in relieved breaths,
making a show of wiping his glasses. He looked pointedly at the way
the agent's shirt was darkened with perspiration.
'Hope you don't mind my asking, Dan, but are you all right? You
seem . . . well, a little feverish.'
Gardner looked down at his damp shirt as though he'd only just
noticed. 'Let's just say it's kinda hot in there.You'll see.'
We set off again. The trail levelled out as the woods parted to
reveal a small, grassy clearing, paved with a gravel path clogged with
weeds. Other paths forked off from it, all of them running to cabins
barely visible amongst the trees. The one we were heading for was at
the furthermost edge of the clearing, well away from the others. It
was small, the outside clad in weather-faded timber. Bright yellow
tape declaring POLICE LINE, DO NOT CROSS in bold black
capitals had been strung across the path leading to its door, and there
was the usual bustle of activity around it.
This was the first crime scene I'd attended in the US. In most
regards it was the same as I was used to, but the subtle differences
gave it an unreal quality. A group ofTBI forensic agents in white
overalls were standing by the cabin, their faces flushed and sweating
as they drank thirstily from bottles of water. Gardner led us to where
a young woman in a smart business suit was talking with an overweight
man whose bald head shone like a polished egg. He was
completely hairless, without even eyebrows or eyelashes. It gave him
a look that was both newborn and slightly reptilian.
He turned as we approached, thin mouth splitting in a smile when
he saw Tom. But it was a humourless one.
'Wondered when you'd show up, Lieberman.'
'Just as soon as I got the call, Donald,'Tom said.
'Surprised you needed one.Y'all could smell this one all the way
to Knoxville.'
He chuckled, unperturbed that no one else seemed to find the joke
funny. I guessed that this was Hicks, the pathologist Gardner had
mentioned. The young woman he'd been talking to was slim, with the
compact athleticism of a gymnast. She held herself with an almost
military bearing, a look emphasized by the navy blue jacket and skirt
and short-cropped dark hair. She wore no make-up, but didn't need it.
Only her mouth let down the clinical appearance; full and curving, the
lips hinted at a sensuality the rest of her seemed at pains to deny.
Her grey eyes settled on me briefly, expressionless but coldly
assessing. Against the lightly tanned skin of her face, the whites
seemed to shine with health.
Gardner made quick introductions. 'Tom, this is Diane Jacobsen.
She's just joined the Field Investigations Unit. This is her first
homicide, and I've been giving you and the facility a big boost, so
don't let me down.'
She extended her hand, apparently unmoved by Gardner's attempt
at humour. Tom's warm smile was met with the barest one of her
own. I wasn't sure if the reserve was natural or if she was just trying
too hard to be professional.
Hicks s mouth twitched with annoyance as he watched Tom. He
realized I was looking at him, and jerked his chin irritably in my direction.
'Who's this?'
He spoke as though I wasn't there.'I'm David Hunter,' I said, even
though the question hadn't been addressed to me. Somehow I knew
there was no point in offering my hand.
'David's temporarily working with us out at the facility. He's
kindly agreed to help me,' Tom said. 'Working with' was overstating
it, but I wasn't going to quibble over the white lie.
'He's British?' Hicks exclaimed, picking up on my accent. I could
feel my face burning as the young woman's cool stare settled on me
again. 'You're letting tourists here now, Gardner?'
I'd known my presence might raise a few hackles, just as a
stranger's would in a UK inquiry, but his attitude irked me all the
same. Reminding myself I was Tom's guest, I bit back my response.
Gardner himself looked far from happy as Tom cut in.
'Dr Hunter's here on my invitation. He's one of the top forensic
anthropologists in the UK.'
Hicks gave an incredulous snort. 'You mean we don't have enough
of our own?'
'I mean I value his expertise,'Tom said easily. 'Now, if we're done
here, I'd like to make a start.'
Hicks shrugged with exaggerated politeness. 'Go ahead. Believe
me, you're welcome to this one.'
He stalked off back towards the parked cars. Leaving the two TBI
agents outside the cabin, Tom and I headed for a trestle table where
boxes of disposable overalls, gloves, boots and masks had been set. I
waited until we were out of earshot.
'Look,Tom, perhaps this isn't such a good idea. I'll wait in the car.'
He smiled.'Don't mind Hicks. He works out of the morgue at UT Medical Center, so we cross paths occasionally. He hates having to
defer to us in situations like this. Partly professional jealousy, but
mainly because the man's an asshole.'
I knew he was trying to put me at ease, but I still felt uncomfortable.
I was used to being at crime scenes, but I was acutely aware that
I didn't belong at this one.
'I don't know . . .' I began.
'It isn't a problem, David. You'll be doing me a favour. Really.'
I let it go, but my doubts remained. I knew I should be grateful to
Tom, that few British forensic experts ever get the opportunity to
work a crime scene in the States. But for some reason I felt more
nervous than ever. I couldn't even blame Hicks's hostility; I'd put up
with a lot worse in my time. No, this was about me. At some point
in the last few months I seemed to have lost my confidence along
with everything else.
Come on, get a grip. You can't let Tom down.
Gardner came over to the trestle table as we were ripping open the
plastic bags of overalls.
'You might want to strip down to your shorts under those. Pretty
hot in there.'
Tom gave a snort. 'I haven't undressed in public since I was at
school. I don't aim to start now.'
Gardner swatted at an insect buzzing round his face. 'Don't say I
didn't warn you.'
I didn't share Tom's modesty, but I followed his example all the
same. I felt enough out of place as it was, without stripping down to
my boxers in front of everyone. Besides, it was only spring, and the
sun was already starting to go down. How hot could it be in
the cabin?
Gardner rummaged amongst the boxes until he found a jar of
menthol rub. He smeared a thick dab under his nose, then offered it
to Tom.
'You'll need this.'
Tom declined.'No thanks. My sense of smell isn't what it used to
be.'
Gardner silently held out the jar to me. Normally I didn't use it