Jack Andries faced Phil, his neck muscles straining. “We found Willie Wyble with a bullet in his head. I want you to be principal on this one.”

Oh shit. “Tell me what you have.”

“The cemetery owner, Jeff Lamont, found the body under some trees. I don’t have any other details”.

“Thanks, Captain.”

The moment his boss slipped out of sight, Gina rushed up to him. “So?”

“I have a DB I need to investigate.”

“I want to go.”

“No.”

She clung to his arm. If Jack Andries happened to come back, his boss would have a fit if he found his niece all over him.

“How am I supposed to learn anything if you keep me away from all the fun?”

Phil figured one look at a smelly dead body and she’d puke. It would be the end of her short career, and his boss would be happy. “Fine.”

The moment she climbed in the cruiser, Gina started in on him again. “What did Uncle Jack say when I left? He was pissed, wasn’t he?”

“Ya think? You’re lucky he didn’t chain you to the chair because of what you’re wearing.” Phil glanced over at her. She tugged on the neckline of her top and pulled down her skirt. Enough said. “You sure you want to see a dead guy? It could be gruesome.”

“I’m not some delicate flower.”

He refused to comment and would reserve judgment for after the viewing.

In light traffic, they made it to the cemetery in under twenty minutes. Three cop cars were sitting in front of the main building, lights swirling. Jeff Lamont, the proprietor of the cemetery, was talking to Quay Desmond, Phil’s former partner. Good guy, but a little over the top in interrogation tactics.

“It’s show time,” Phil sang as he crawled out of the driver’s seat.

The blistering heat caused instant sweat to pool under his arms. Gina smiled as she oozed out of the car. “So where is he?”

“Gotta ask first.” Phil approached Quay. Gina followed right behind. “Whatcha got?”

“Why don’t I let Mr. Lamont tell you?” Quay said. No rancor in his tone, but Phil wasn’t naïve enough to think their rift was over.

Phil directed his gaze at Lamont. “The report said you found the body.”

“Yes. I saw the front loader at the edge of the cemetery. That doesn’t look good for the digger to be in plain sight, especially when we were about to have a viewing, so I went over to investigate. I admit I kind of panicked when I saw a foot sticking out from under some low lying branches.”

Understandable. “Did you touch the body?”

“Kind of. There was a lot of blood, so I felt for a pulse.” He shook his head once. “I was hoping he’d cut himself and had just passed out, but I didn’t find any signs of life.

“Can you show us where you found him?”

“Sure. Let me get the golf cart. It’s quite a walk.” The cemetery proprietor whipped out a handkerchief and wiped his damp brow as he headed toward the large cement building. Being excessively overweight must be a bitch in late June.

“Mind if I tag along?” Quay asked.

“Sure. I can’t quite get a handle on Lamont’s agenda. You know Jack Andries’ golden rule—safety in numbers.”

“Oh, yeah, and you always did follow rules.”

Phil caught the sarcasm in his tone. “I do when it suits me.”

Quay chuckled. “By the way, I talked to the gardener. He didn’t see or hear anything.”

“Maybe the shooter used a silencer.”

Quay shrugged. “The lab will be able to confirm or deny that theory.”

“Did you call the M.E.?”

“On his way.”

“Good.”

Quay seemed to have overcome his two-year snit. Had Phil known Courtney was dating Quay, he never would have asked her out. Friends didn’t snake dates from each other. He’d apologized, but Quay wouldn’t forgive him.

Lamont rolled up in a golf cart, and the three of them climbed in. The bumpy drive took only a few minutes to reach the crime scene. Yellow police tape ringed the backhoe and small wooded area.

Arms crossed, Officer Ricardo stood watch, his face sheet white. Phil nodded to his fellow officer. “Jose.”

Ricardo stepped into the shade. Gina stayed on the cart while Phil and Quay examined the backhoe. Blood spatter on the seat neatly outlined the shape of a head. The shattered front glass implied the shooter stood in front of the victim when he took aim.

“If he was shot here,” Gina said, “why move the body?”

Phil whipped around. He hadn’t heard her approach. “You’ll have to ask the killer, though it’s possible he wasn’t dead on impact.”

Gina slinked closer, looking cool and calm, despite the heat and the blood bath on the tractor and ground. “Unless the killer thought someone might come and investigate. If Willie Wyble was slumped over the wheel, it might draw more attention.”

“I think the blood spatter would be a dead giveaway something was wrong.”

She punched him in the arm. Guess she didn’t like sarcasm. Welcome to the force.

Wanting to examine the body, he stepped over to the prone corpse. No need to ask Gina to join him, she’d be right behind him.

They ducked under the low-lying magnolia tree branches that gave some relief from the heat. Wyble’s body was half under the tree, half out. From the body’s position, Wyble could have fallen off his seat, and then crawled ten feet to his death.

Phil squatted behind the body. “These look like claw marks, like he pulled himself under the tree.”

Quay joined him. “We’ll need forensics out here, but I have to agree with you on this one.” He shook his head. “How Wyble could move after being shot in the head is a mystery to me.”

“The body can do some amazing things.”

Gina knelt next to the body. Willie’s right eye was dangling out of its socket where the bullet had entered. How could Lamont have thought Willie might have survived such an injury?

Dried blood covered the top part of Wyble’s face, and flies were swarming around the gapping holes, enough to gag a seasoned cop. Phil expected her to puke. Instead, she reached toward Willie’s fingers. On reflex, Phil yelled, “Don’t touch him. As a matter of fact, we need to stay away from him until the medical examiner and crime scene unit do their thing.”

She looked up at him. “I wasn’t going to touch him. I wanted to see what he’d written.”

“Written?” Phil and Quay inched closer.

Gina pointed to the ground. “Looks like a D and then an o.”

Phil had to agree. “Let’s let the CSU team photograph it. With the enhancement software, they might be able to make out the third letter. Good catch.”

Gina smiled and lust grabbed him hard. Not the right response in this situation, but God, she was getting to him.

* * *

Kerry walked down the hallway to Dr. Quentin Dobbins’ autopsy room. John had mentioned Dr. Dobbins had agreed to do the workup on the infant they’d found. Now that Tameka Dorsey and Janet Kopetski had been identified, and #4’s face was in front of the public, Kerry wanted to focus on the remains of the little girl. If John couldn’t confirm #4’s cause of death, she’d investigate the woman’s bones more thoroughly.

It sickened her to think she might never be able to identify #3. The killer had stolen her skull.

Nothing she could do about the theft now. The sheriff’s department was working on the case. Her job now was to identify the baby. No mother should wonder about the fate of her child.

Hunter had pulled all the missing person files of infants for the past year, but none came close to the description of Baby Doe. She couldn’t help but wonder if someone had smothered the girl in order to keep her from crying. Or had the baby died of some horrible disease? Had the parents wanted to cover up her death because they’d failed to act in time to save her?

Only good old-fashioned forensics would supply the answer.

Dr. Dobbins was busy working on a mature male when she slipped into his cold room. “Knock, knock.”

The tall, thin man looked up. “Yes?” His hands continued to probe the body, and blood streaked his goggles and rubber gloves.

They’d never met, but John claimed Quentin was one of the best pathologists he’d ever worked with. “I’m working with John Ahern on the four women found in the field in North Tampa.”

He plopped a liver into a tray and removed his mask. “How can I help you?” Not the most friendly greeting, but given the chore in front of him, she couldn’t blame him for being a bit testy.

“We brought in an infant about three weeks ago. John said you’d be doing the autopsy, and I haven’t gotten the results.”

Dobbins removed his gloves and goggles and stepped over to a file cabinet. “Oh, yes. Sad case. John requested a rush on her. I finished running the tests quite some time ago and sent the report over to him.” He lowered his chin and glared over his glasses. “Were you with him when the body was discovered? I don’t recall seeing you before.”

She didn’t care for his accusatory tone, but she was the beggar here. “Yes. I’m Kerry Herlihy, a forensic anthropologist consulting for the summer.”

He half smiled. “Oh, you’re the one from Brahman University that John found.”

“Yes.”

“Welcome on board.” His tone came out civil this time. “I usually work the late shift, so that’s why we haven’t crossed paths.”

“Ah.” Kerry straightened her lab coat. “I just assumed someone would have handed the little girl’s remains over to me for identification purposes. I hadn’t realized I needed to ask for them.”

“No problem.” He pulled open his desk drawer and leafed through a stack of folders. “Here is a copy of the report.” He handed her the paper.

Kerry read what he’d given her. “Natural causes?”

“Nothing else was conclusive. I ran a tox screen but came up with nothing. The pathology showed only healthy tissue.” His posture softened. “We only had the lower part of her body and nothing pointed to a violent COD.”

She wondered if he’d studied the bones for fractures. “Where’s the body now?”

“In drawer number three. Help yourself.”

“Thank you.”

“I’d like to do a facial reconstruction on her and scan her face into our age progression software. I’m sure someone has to be missing her.”

“Given she was buried without a casket, I’m guessing that someone didn’t want anyone to find her.”

How could someone dump a baby in a grave in the middle of the woods? “Did you send her DNA in for testing?”

“No. I didn’t see the need given we have nothing to compare it to. If you can get a possible identity, then I’ll go ahead with the matching process. However, don’t hold your breath for an answer from the lab for a few months. They’re backed up right now.”

“If Tampa’s labs are anything like the ones in Cleveland, they’ll stay perpetually backed up.”

“Sad but true.” He pulled out the morgue drawer, removed the tiny body bag and placed her on a gurney. “Knock yourself out.”

Kerry’s heart ached for what she was about to do. She wanted to clean the bones to see if she could determine evidence of violence. “Thank you.”

“Just let John know you have her.”

“Will do.”

With a heavy heart, Kerry wheeled the young female down the hall. The edge of her gurney knocked into Steven’s thigh as he breezed out of John’s lab.

“I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“No I’m fine,” he said rubbing his leg.

Thank goodness he wasn’t hurt, but he did always seem to be under foot. “I must have been off in la-la land.”

Without asking permission, he grabbed the cart and steered it into her lab. “Who you got here?”

“The little girl John and I processed about three weeks ago. I want to do a facial reconstruction on her.”

“You have any luck with the other faces you did?”

She held open the door, and Steven pushed the gurney into the lab. “Actually, yes. Jane Doe #1 was identified by her fiancé. I’m still waiting to see whether anyone recognizes #4.”

“But a baby? They kind of look alike. Won’t it be hard?”

“Yes, very hard, but I have to try. Can you imagine the pain the parents must be in?”

“No, I can’t.”

Once he parked the cart under the overhead light, Kerry lifted up the maceration station hood and grabbed the large stainless steel pot.

“Here, let me help you.” Steven took the pot from her and placed it in the sink. “Dr. A told me some crank caller threatened you after he saw you on TV.”

“Yes, can you believe it?”

She filled the large container with water, and then added some mild detergent, along with some bleach. No use subjecting herself to more smell.

“Here, let me put this back on the burner for you.” Steven carried the filled pot to the station and set it on the burner. “That’s a heavy mother.”

“I know.” She’d hurt her back the last time she had to lift the water.

He swiveled to face her, his back blocking the burner. “I didn’t see your car in the lot when I drove in.”

“Excuse me.” Steven moved out of the way. “Detective Markum is driving me to work. He’s afraid my caller might come after me.”

His brows rose and the ends of his lips turned up. “I didn’t realize the police offered door-to-door service.”

Kerry face heated. “I think it’s more than the usual police concern.” She added the meat tenderizer, keeping her back to Steven, not wanting him to see the blush that colored her face.

“He likes you?” Steven hopped on the counter next to the station. “You want to talk about it? I’m a good listener.”

She turned back to him. “Some other time maybe.” Kerry smiled. “I really do need to work.”

The guy was sweet, but she couldn’t afford the time to chat. She was, after all, on temporary loan from Brahman University. If she ever expected more jobs from the M.E.’s office, she had to perform well.

He jumped down and saluted, nearly knocking her purse off in the process. “My bad.” He pushed her purse to the back of the counter, safely out of the falling zone. “Then I shall leave you to the infant.”

Before she could unzip the body bag, Steven disappeared out the door. She sobered the moment her fingers touched the body. The chore ahead would test her resolve to the max. This could have been her child had her baby lived.

Don’t do this to yourself. The only way to bring comfort to the parents was to find the identity of the child.

With a plastic utensil, Kerry scraped the soft tissue from the bones, forcing her mind on the technique, not on the person beneath. Next, she brushed the bones clean and placed them in the pot of warm, soapy water.

With the worst of the job complete, she studied the cranium, hoping to find a clue as to the baby’s cause of death, brushing away her tears with back of her hand. The skull had been broken into a few pieces, but with a little glue, she’d be able to recreate the whole cranium.

While she couldn’t tell what the baby looked like from the bones alone, she bet the child would break the most calloused of hearts.

It was such a horrible, horrible tragedy. When the tears blurred her vision, she closed the fume hood and placed the dried bones in anatomical order. Before she’d managed to put the hand together, her door creaked open. Hunter?

She looked up and froze.