Sandman Page 4

  Zahra’s round sprigs of hair fell like a dark cloud around her face as she took pictures from every angle of the sandy grave. Her special training in forensic crime scene investigations was evident in her synchronized movements with Dr. Webb. Katia begged them to let her help, even though she wasn’t trained and would never be allowed past the barricade that separated her and the other onlookers from the immediate scene.

  From where she stood, she found it hard to make out exactly what was happening. Gina’s body was being prepared for removal. Katia recognized the growing collection of evidence, which included a clear jar filled with beach creatures taken from various body crevices. They squirmed and slithered. Her stomach did the same.

  After what seemed like hours but was in fact less than thirty minutes, Dr. Webb zipped closed the black body bag and looped the plastic security tag through the zipper and metal ring. He nodded toward two men who stood just inside the yellow barrier. They would take the body to the staging area until it was safe to transport it to the closest morgue in Raleigh.

  Katia intended to accompany the unit to the morgue when the time came. Until then, she considered her options. She had nothing else to do at the scene. All of the neighbors whose homes were affected by the touchdown of the tornado were accounted for. She wasn’t a police officer or crime scene investigator—a CSI. Zahra made that clear. She wasn’t hungry, but she decided to force herself to put something in her stomach and was ready to head back up to the asphalt when she caught sight of Dr. Webb. His posture was off. She looked in the direction he faced. She couldn’t see what he saw, but she heard the angst in his voice when he spoke.

  “Zahra,” Dr. Webb said. He motioned for her to join him. “Bring the camera.”

  Zahra moved with purpose toward him. Within moments, the shutter on her camera was opening and closing at rapid speed.

  Katia hated being sidelined while others moved with purpose. A man, whose badge read, “Levine,” snapped orders to the officers who arrived with him only moments before. “We’ll set a second perimeter here. Vitkus, grab the stakes and tape. Doc? How far?”

  “All the way down,” Dr. Webb said.

  Vitkus grabbed the roll of crime scene tape and began defining the new perimeter. The area now included a series of connected dunes that ran for several hundred feet perpendicular to the Atlantic Ocean. Others went to work inside the perimeter, dividing the dunes into smaller sections in preparation for Dr. Webb’s tedious job of brushing away sand and gathering clues.

  Katia edged her way closer to the newly sequestered area. She fought her urge to duck under the yellow tape. From her vantage point, she saw what looked like small twigs pushing up through the sand. Instinctively, she knew they were bones, though she couldn’t tell from what body part. A foot, maybe. Or a hand. Fuck. Her eyes slowly took in the area around the twig shapes. Smooth, rounded beach. A board. A backpack. And more bones. A lot of them. Please be animal bones. She took a deep breath. The CSI people wouldn’t be so frantic if they were animal bones.

  Webb put his hand on Zahra’s shoulder, stopping her. “Wait.” He moved his gaze to Vitkus. “I’m going to need buckets from the van. And the screen. Will you?”

  Vitkus looked toward Detective Levine, who nodded his approval. “Sure, Doc. On it.”

  The buckets would be lettered to match the tiny flags placed in each quadrant of the sequestered dunes. The screen would be placed close by to sift particles. Clothing, metal, wood chips, everything would be catalogued. Dr. Webb, who was often called to assist in cases along the East Coast where evidence seemed minimal to nonexistent, would work tirelessly and methodically. If this were a burial ground for a monster, if even a small trace of evidence existed, he would find it.

  With his reputation and talent, Dr. Webb could have gone anywhere through the years, places that would have been much more exciting, places that would have lined his pockets and uplifted his name, but he chose to stay here on Hatteras Island, the place of his birth.

  Total respect. Katia knew how good Dr. Webb was. She was happy he was here. Total respect and gratitude for his presence no doubt was shared by every person on this beach today.

  Zahra hung the camera around her neck, its bulk resting against her full, curvy frame. She stepped over a board and squatted down next to Dr. Webb. Katia watched the two, following Dr. Webb’s gloved fingertip with her eyes. He was brushing gently at the sand.

  “It’s a bone,” he said. “A pelvis.” He finished wiping away the sand and held it up for inspection.

  Zahra raised the camera and captured a few pictures.

  Katia’s gaze moved between the blue-gloved hands holding the camera and the off-white-and-tan protrusion in the sand.

  Dr. Webb took a measuring tape from a black-leather bag that sat open next to his left leg. He carefully avoided contact with an Adirondack beach chair that was wedged against the small dune.

  Katia noted the angle of the chair’s seat and thought it might be nice to sit and feel the waves and sand crabs roll over her feet. She wished it were yesterday morning when the world was right side up.

  The doctor tapped the Record button on a device in his shirt pocket and said, “Second victim. Dry remains. Bone size indicates female.” He paused the recorder and took measurements. He pressed Record again and continued. “Sub-pubic angle of 78.” He laid the bone gently on the sand, stood, took out his phone, and dialed.

  “Hi, Paige,” Dr. Webb said. A pause. “Listen. I’m out in Buxton. Close to the…” Another pause. “Yes. Worse. Do you have an available dog?” Dr. Webb waited. “It’s complicated. Not directly storm related. We need your help.”

  Dr. Webb hung up the phone and placed it in his pocket. He turned to Zahra, and the two of them engaged in a deep conversation with Detective Levine, discussing calls that needed to be made, what they each needed to do, how far out the search should be.

  “At least a half mile in each direction,” Dr. Webb said. His arms gestured wildly to the left then the right. “I’m not sure what we have here, but we need to be thorough.”

  Afternoon faded into evening. Neighbors who helped through the morning and early afternoon were replaced with emergency personnel from all along the coast. People returned to their homes to feed their families and get their children ready for bed. The injured were being tended to in the high school gym and either released or made as comfortable as possible until they could be moved to proper care facilities. Katia should be at the high school tending to the injured, but she couldn’t leave.

  Zahra turned from the huddle and faced her. “Are you okay to be here? Why don’t you go home? You don’t need to be a part of this. I can drop by tomorrow.”

  “I’m not leaving,” Katia said. “This is my beach. Our beach. Some son-of-a-bitch killed one of our own. I want to be here.” Sweat trickled from her armpits and curled down around the underside of her small breasts. Her heart pounded. She studied Zahra’s expression.

  Zahra held her gaze. “There’s nothing else to do here. It’s up to Dr. Webb and our team and the nose of the dog Paige brings. She’s good, Katia. You know she is.”

  “I know. Still staying.” Katia crossed her arms over her chest.

  Paige owned Johnston’s Training Facility with her brother, Bob Johnston. They trained and honed the skills of cadaver dogs and those who handled them in the field. Paige and Bob worked with Zahra and Dr. Webb on a missing child case several years ago. Katia was a part of the search team, along with many others. When Dr. Webb suggested the division bring in the SAR trainer, some questioned the ability of the dog to tell one scent of death from another. Dr. Webb was patient but stern. He schooled residents on this type of search and on the idea that one should never dismiss any type of help that may bring peace to a family missing a loved one.

  In that specific case, Johnston’s German shepherd, using his more than 220 million olfactory receptors, intelligence, and training, was able to pick up the scent of the seven-y
ear-old girl’s remains buried fifteen feet underground.

  Katia found the process of the search dogs fascinating and even visited the training facility to watch the dogs in motion. During her tour of the facility, she learned that with patience, and repetitive behaviors, the dogs could be trained to recognize and discover remains as small as a human tooth or single drop of blood. It was nothing short of amazing. Paige and Bob Johnston were heroic in her eyes, and she was glad they were here.

  Just as it was last year, the nature of the current scene was going to require complex strategies, cooperation, and understanding. Katia felt certain this was exactly what they had with Paige and Bob.

  “The Johnstons’ ETA?” Katia asked. She turned away from the sound of the water and the smell of the dune.

  “About twenty minutes out,” Zahra said. She glanced at her watch. “They’ll start about a mile up and look for other sites while we work here. I’m going to stay to help the doc start the collection of additional samples from the dune and surrounding area of this site. See what else we can come up with that might help us put this puzzle together.”

  “I’ll call El,” Katia said. “Let him know what we found. I’ll hang out up top.” She pointed toward the parking area. “Let you guys do your thing.” Hearing Dr. Webb talking into his recorder behind them, she paused to listen.

  “Victim is female. Clothing present but disintegrating. Decedent in putrefaction decomp. Throat slashed. Approximately 1.7 meters in length. From on-site visuals of pubic area and skull, victim is Caucasian, adult…”

  “Zahra?” Katia looked at the full, well-shaped lips, deep dimples, and almond-shaped eyes with pupils so dark they were barely distinguishable from the iris. What she wanted to say was, “I wish we were anywhere but here. I wish I wasn’t a paramedic and you weren’t a cop. I wish I could wrap my fingers in that kinky, untamed hair you hate, get lost in the curves of you.” She couldn’t say any of that. She still didn’t know Zahra well enough to know if she would understand her sense of coping with pain. Sex was Katia’s escape. She didn’t think it was Zahra’s.

  “Yeah?” Zahra’s tone was soft but hurried.

  “Nothing. I’m—I’m just glad you’re here. On this.”

  “Me, too.”

  Chapter Three

  Andrew spoke into the recording app on his phone. “Name: Andrew Hunter. Time of incident: Four o’clock AM. Incident type: Tornado stemming from Hurricane Anna. Rescue and recovery. Location: Buxton Beach. Tower Circle Rd. Multiple injured transported to Buxton High School. Six casualties…”

  He hit Pause when he heard someone enter the station. Exhaustion was competing with nerve endings that pulsed after more than thirteen hours of constant movement and discovery. He needed to talk about the day with another human. He hit Record and finished his brief: “Released from the scene at five twenty-eight PM. All patients taken to high school to await further transport.” He hit Stop on the recorder and slid his phone into his shirt pocket.

  He hoped it was Katia who entered from the rear of the station, nearest the showers. He wanted to know why she ran away from the woman with the purple shoe. As an outsider, he didn’t know everyone the way the others did, and hard as he tried, no one seemed willing to change that. Right now, he would settle for a targeted conversation about every glorious, adrenaline-pumping moment of the day.

  It wasn’t Katia. He guessed she was still on the beach where they left her when they transported the last of the bodies to the school. It was Brent.

  “Thought I heard someone.” Andrew watched Brent peel the wet work shirt off. “I was just finishing up my report.”

  “What a day, huh?” Brent was looking toward his open locker and not toward Andrew. His T-shirt, the same shade of blue as the shirt he just removed, hung on a hook on the open door. Underneath, Andrew knew, was a picture of his daughter, who was, according to Brent, his favorite human on the planet.

  “It was that. Katia didn’t come with you?” Andrew glanced around the empty room.

  “Nah. Elliot headed home to hug the wife and kids. She stayed to travel with the body from the dune. It hasn’t been identified as such, but it’s definitely a local real estate agent. The mom of Katia’s ex.”

  Andrew didn’t respond right away. He tried to judge whether or not Brent was open to discussing the full scope of the death of the day.

  “Everything okay, Andrew?”

  “Oh. Sorry. Yeah. Just thinking about the corpse we found. So Katia knew her well?” Andrew took a deep breath. His brain registered the smells of sea and rain, salt and sand, and the life and death that hung on the windbreakers, button-up shirts, and pants of both men. It was a smell he enjoyed more than he cared to admit.

  “Name’s Gina Dahl. Her daughter, Elizabeth, and Katia were a thing in high school and until a couple of years ago. It ended badly. Elizabeth moved to Virginia to work in some art gallery. And maybe to get away from Katia.”

  “That’s harsh. Katia doesn’t seem like that big of an asshole.” Andrew didn’t want to say too much. This was the most any of them had opened up to him since he arrived. The catastrophic event might be his way in.

  Brent slid the T-shirt over his head and closed the locker. “I don’t think so, but I don’t date her. Who really knows anyone?”

  Andrew decided it best to move away from Katia and edge toward the aftermath of the tornado. “The Clark family. You know them, too?”

  “Pretty well. Yeah. My kid is in the same class as the oldest one. It’s hard to fathom that all four kids and their parents are gone just like that.”

  “The baby was still in the crib. That was some creepy shit.”

  Andrew’s tone must have set something off in Brent. His facial features changed and his body tensed. He ran his fingers through his hair as he spoke. “I didn’t see the baby. I transported the middle two boys. They didn’t look creepy. They looked sweet. And dead. And I’m beat. I better go.”

  “You headed home?” Andrew wasn’t ready to let Brent off the hook quite so fast. “Shift has me wired.”

  Brent looked at Andrew. “I’m thinking a shower, a beer, and bed.”

  Andrew shrugged. Obviously Brent was finished and Andrew remained an outsider. “Whatever. I’m out, too.”

  Andrew started home on Highway 12. One way in. One way out. That describes the Outer Banks. His dad’s voice was in his head. Not a big deal in the summer, but those winter months… Just remember, I warned you.

  Andrew glanced at the cars parked alongside the highway. Rescue workers weren’t easily shocked, but little could have prepared them for the amount of death and destruction they uncovered today. He drove slowly to avoid patches of high-standing water and swirls of sand that spilled over onto the road.

  He meant to drive past the disaster-site-turned-crime-scene. With no reason to stop, he could say he was there to check on Katia, but he knew no one would believe him. Better to wait until there was a legitimate reason to return to the dunes. Still, the draw was too great. He turned his wheel to the left, and the car drifted into a crowded parking lot. It seemed the men and women who earlier went home to tend to dinner and families were back.

  Andrew stood away from the crowds that formed on the blacktop. They were close enough to get a glimpse of any gruesome dune find and far enough away to keep a decaying or decayed body out of their nightmares. About five feet to the left of him, Andrew noticed two women. The duo appeared to be the nexus of knowledge. Everyone around them listened to their words, shook their heads, and asked questions while they pointed this way and that.

  Andrew moved closer. They were oblivious to him. He watched one and then the other as each answered questions. Both women wore flip-flops and sweats, a combination often seen in the lonely winter months on the Outer Banks, known locally as the OBX.

  “Girl, they’re bringing a dog,” the thinner, older woman said as she crossed her arms over her chest.

  “A dog?” The rounder
woman looked perplexed. “For what?”

  They probably think it’s a regular dog—a little home mutt with no training or manners. Andrew hated pet dogs. He simply couldn’t understand the draw to having a creature in your house that served absolutely no purpose other than to bark and shed.

  “Said there’s probably more bodies.” The older woman shook her head and sighed. “Ain’t safe anywhere these days. Told Hank we need to just sell the house and live on the boat. Ain’t likely to get to ya in a boat.”

  Andrew snickered. Stupid bitch. If someone wants to kill you, a boat isn’t going to save your ass. He started to walk away, but the older woman said something that stopped him in his tracks.

  “Think they’ll go back and question the ones from the teacher mess a few years back?” Her voice had a tone of worry. “I bet they do. Did ya live here then?”

  “No.” The round woman paused a moment before continuing. “Heard about it, though. Some say that kid what went missing was with her. Seventeen, I think. Never did find any proof, though, did they?”

  “None I know of, and I been here since right about the time. Questioned a bunch of locals. Some married guy. Said something about an affair.”

  The women fell into silence. The larger woman bit her nails and cracked her knuckles. He knew exactly the time they were talking about. The teacher and student had achieved ghost story status around here. It was common to hear locals weaving a tall ghostly tale around the two when a beach fire and beer were involved.

  The older woman pointed toward the area where the white tents that were placed on the police-dotted beach had begun to multiply. “Guessing whatever they’re finding down there will be telling, though. Heard along the way that several women gone missing over the years, but nothing found to show they didn’t just get in a car and leave.”

  Andrew endured a few more minutes of babbling from the women and then walked away.

  As he moved, he carefully stayed to the far edge of the crowd. He made his way to where the sand met the blacktop. As he did, he alternated between listening, observing, and watching the news on his cell phone. He got a kick out of seeing his surroundings flash on the tiny screen in his hand. He looked at the growing number of reporters and picked out the one who stood at the center of his screen. He glanced at the dark-haired lovely in the blue windbreaker, seeing her first on the blacktop and then on the tiny screen, one an echo of the other.