Chapter 5
The Canton County Medical Examiner’s name was Buckeye Boyd. He was an old friend of Claire’s and as good as gold, through and through. Tall and lean and bearded, with dark hair streaked iron gray, the two of them had fished for bass countless times out on the lake. Buck usually beat her in the stringer count, maybe because he’d won so many bass tournaments that Claire couldn’t keep up with them anymore. He was as smart as they came, and had gradually put together a crack team of criminalists, most of whom had stuck around and worked together amicably for years. They were a well-oiled machine, all the time, every time. Canton County was lucky to have them. They pulled up at the crime scene a bare fifteen minutes after Bud had placed his call.
Claire met them at the front door and gave tight hugs all around. She had missed the heck out of them, especially Johnny Becker. He was special to her, a crazy, goofy guy whom she adored like a little brother. The whole team had always called him Shaggy, Shag for short, because he looked so much like the character in the Scooby-Doo cartoons. He was probably the best criminologist the state of Missouri had ever seen, and he was the happiest of all to see her again. He locked her inside a great big bear hug, and then actually picked her up and swung her around. Not exactly professional, but it was Shaggy, so she let it go.
“Hell, Claire, I thought you’d gone off for good, never to be seen again,” he fussed at her. Then he placed her down on her feet and gave her his usual and utterly contagious grin. Claire probably would’ve already slugged or arrested anybody else who dared do that to her, but Shag, well, he was a different sort of guy. Brilliant, quirky, irresistible. A nerd through and through, but Claire had a tendency to like nerds. And the nerdier the better. He had worn dreadlocks for most of his life, but now they were gone. His blond hair was still fairly long, but this time straight and touching his shoulders, shorter than she’d seen it in years. He still had his multiple ear piercings, though, all eight of them. He was a southern California beach bum wannabe, but had never stepped foot on any Pacific sand. One could always tell his L.A. yearning by the way he dressed. It was the dead of winter, and he had on a yellow and black tropical shirt with surfboards printed all over it, ultra-long yellow surfer shorts, and snow boots. Luckily, he did have a heavy military overcoat that he’d bought at some army surplus store. Still, he never seemed to get cold. Crazy, but true.
Shag was absolutely brilliant at his job, found all kinds of things everyone else overlooked. Charlie even let him get by with wearing the surfer clothes in the lab because he was so good at his job. Shaggy and Claire had spent many a Friday night watching action movies at his house, eating pizza and drinking Mountain Dew. That was before she met Black, who tended to monopolize her time from that moment on.
“How you been, Shag? I missed the hell out of you. But a lot’s been going on in my life the last year or so.”
“Don’t I know it. But it’s cool. Newspapers just love you and Nick. Tabloids got a real romance going on with you guys.”
Then it got quiet all around. They all knew how Claire felt about reporters and the media in general, so Claire knew full well what was coming next. She decided to just go with it. Get it over with. “Okay guys, go on, do it. Laugh about those damn pictures. I know you want to. Get it out of your system. But let me tell you: Black and I don’t think it’s so funny.”
“Well, one thing is for damn sure,” said Buckeye, his eyes glinting. “You look like a million bucks in that bathing suit. Don’t tell my wife I said that.”
They all laughed, but it was good-natured ribbing and Claire knew it. Buck had been married for almost thirty years, and he and his wife still enjoyed a true storybook romance. Claire shook her head, attempting to be a good sport, but the jokes about those stupid photos were already wearing a trifle thin. Maybe because she’d seen that poor bludgeoned angel in the next room. Not much sense of humor in Claire at the moment. The forensic guys wouldn’t have much of one, either, not after they got a glimpse of the victim. “Okay, ha, ha. You got your laughs, so no more. Please.” But she smiled when she said it. “By the way, just so you know, that was a private beach we were on that day. There weren’t supposed to be photographers within miles. We had no idea anyone was around.”
“Oh c’mon, we all know that. So, Claire, tell us, how’s the sexiest man alive doin’?” That was Shaggy.
More amusement. “Stop already. Black’s ready to throttle somebody as it is. Don’t be the first to feel his rage.”
After that, Buckeye took the hint and got down to business. “This’s a bad one, I take it.”
“Yeah.” Bud nodded. “The victim’s in the library, back there.” He pointed.
“The perp used some kind of trophy to bludgeon the victim,” Claire was telling Shaggy. “One that looks to weigh five pounds, at least. He left it behind for us to find. He also left a wrapped Christmas present for us.”
“No shit.” Shaggy said. “Wow, never had that happen before.” Then he sobered. “What do you think is in it?”
“Let’s find out.” Claire led them back through the foyer to the library. “The victim’s just a kid. Not twenty yet, is our guess. No idea yet who she is. C’mon, she’s in here.”
Claire stood back and allowed the forensic guys to carry their equipment cases into the library. Bud pointed down the length of the room to the Christmas tree. Everybody stared silently at the dead angel.
“Whoa,” said Shaggy, very serious now. “This guy’s got a bent for the theatrical, huh?” By the time they all climbed up to the balcony and stood around the body, nobody was saying anything.
Buckeye stepped up close and examined the back of the victim’s head. “Good grief, he must’ve hit this woman with force like you wouldn’t believe. God, half her skull is lying down there on the floor. I’d say she died instantly.”
Nobody said a word, just stared at the brain matter and pieces of skull at their feet. Buck wasted no more time. “All right, let’s get the still shots done first, and then we need to film every inch of this scene. Make it quick, but thorough. I want to get those lights off her head. I can smell her skin burning.”
The woman who’d worked the cameras during Claire’s tenure had left the department to concentrate on photographing weddings and graduations. Tired of blood and gore, probably. Ready for some rainbows and hearts and smiling faces. Claire couldn’t say she blamed her. She hated going to weddings with a passion, her own included, truth be told, because of all the hoopla. But weddings were happier affairs than young girls with crushed skulls on top of Christmas trees. The new photographer stepped forward with his camera. Buck introduced him as Ryan Wright. He nodded to Bud and to her and then went right to work. Everybody else stood back and watched, waiting for the body to come down onto the floor so they could do their jobs and go home and wrap Christmas presents. Homicide work was a strange profession, to be sure. One had to be able to turn it off, but that was the problem. Most people couldn’t, Claire included.
Nobody said a word while Ryan took photos from every conceivable angle. A young girl was dead before her time and now would be poked and prodded and cut on and photographed and put into a hole in the ground. It was not fair. A second victimization, to be sure, but necessary if they wanted to find her killer. When Ryan finished the still shots, he videotaped every inch of the murder scene up close, and then he moved around the room, recording every detail. He would document their every move, every word, and every decision as they continued to work the crime scene. Although new at his job, he seemed very thorough. Buck always hired the best personnel available.
“Okay Shag, shut down those lights and let’s get her off that bannister.”
“Her hands are nailed down,” Claire told him. “The sleeves are covering them up.”
“God Almighty. Then we’ll have to pry them out. Somebody get the small hammer out of the kit. Ryan, tape us getting them out, okay?”
Ryan moved up close and turned on the camera. The end of the nail was left out of the skin a bit, so they used the claw of a hammer to pull it out. Shaggy got down on his hands and knees, found an electrical outlet behind the tree, and jerked out the plug. The lights around the victim’s head went off, as did the lights on the tree, but the room still blinked and winked all around them. Claire grimaced, wanting to pull all the plugs. Hit the master switch, for God’s sake. She never wanted to see Christmas lights again, not after this. Unfortunately, now every time Christmas rolled around, this grisly scene would appear inside her head and make her remember this poor dead girl dressed up as an angel. Yes, her lovely Christmas joy was on its last legs and staggering for the finish line. She just hoped she could get some cheerfulness back by the time she got back home.
Buckeye pulled on his gloves while Shaggy and Ryan lowered the body down onto a plastic tarp spread out on the floor. Buck stepped up to the body, knelt down, and turned the body over. The back of the girl’s head was not a pleasant spectacle. Pretty much just an ugly, bloody mass of gray tissue and broken shards of skull. The attack had been tremendous, brutal, and deadly.
“Looks like one blow that killed her, maybe two, if he brought her upstairs to pose her body,” Buck told them. “One so brutal that she couldn’t survive it. Probably died instantly, or soon after she was struck. Let’s get her on her back and see if what else we can find.”
They obliged, and Claire thought the victim looked even tinier when stretched out beside Buck’s large frame. She was so incredibly thin and white. This young girl had only just begun to live. Now her life was over for good. It was a tragedy, just like every homicide was a tragedy. Just a kid and gone forever. No more love or fun or goals or desires for her, all erased in a single second. All ended before she was old enough to vote.
Nobody said a word, which was what usually happened at this point at murder scenes. “Well, it looks like the perp surprised her, took her down with a quick, hard blow that killed her. From behind, I’d say. Then he could’ve bound her up here and hit her again, hard enough to shatter her skull and send this spatter and brain tissue down here on the floor. What a terrible way to end up. The terror she must have felt.”
“Okay, let’s go back down and open that gift he left us. It’s probably a clue.”
“Better be careful. It might be some kind of explosive,” Shaggy told them as he and another technician struggled to get the body down the steps to the ground floor.
Once at the base of the tree, Claire touched the wrapped present with her finger to make sure there wasn’t a wire leading out of it. The paper was covered with white angels. This guy was sick, all right. She slit the tape with her pocket knife and carefully folded back the paper. There was a small, blue velvet ring box inside. She picked it up and opened the top, fairly certain that it was going to be something awful.
“What in the hell is that?” Bud asked, leaning closer.
“Looks like some kind of game token. A miniature trophy.”
Shaggy knelt down. “Let me see. Yep, I know exactly what that is. It’s out of a game. It’s from that Detection game. You know, the one when a murder goes down with a bunch of amateur detectives trapped inside a mountain ski lodge. They’ve got to figure out whodunit and how it was done. Or, it might be from the new version, because they’ve changed up the original one a bit, I think. I don’t remember the motives or the weapons, but it’s a fun game. ”
Claire recalled playing Detection a couple of times in a foster home where she’d lived in her early teens. That family had been one of the okay ones. At least they treated her okay and not like a paycheck from Child Services. They had liked to eat meals together, too, and always had a family game night once a week. That’s about all she remembered about that home, though. She had tried long ago to erase all memories of time spent in the Louisiana foster care system.
“That’s exactly what it is,” Bud agreed. “Brianna and I played Detection one night last fall. She likes guessing games.”
Nobody commented.
Claire took out the token with her thumb and forefinger and examined it. “Well, he’s left us another clue, I guess. One tied to a specific game. Guess the question now is: what’s he trying to tell us?”
Nobody had an answer. Claire didn’t, either.
“That he’s a sick son of a bitch?” Bud finally guessed, and correctly.
Claire stared down at the victim’s face as Ryan took close-up shots of the token and the small velvet box. This victim was getting to her. The young woman’s face was so small and smooth and unlined and young and inexperienced. Waxy white and frozen in an expression that looked almost peaceful now. She turned to Bud. “Guess we need to find out who she is before we can do anything else.”
“Yeah, and then we’ve got to notify her next of kin as soon as we find them. I guess she doesn’t look familiar to any of you guys?” Nobody knew her. “Okay, Buck, let’s see if she’s got any identifying marks on her. Anything that we can use right now for possible ID. If you wouldn’t mind to do just a quick cursory look-see before you bag her. Maybe she’s got a birthmark or tattoo we could use.”
As Buckeye started his examination, Claire stared at the blood-soaked angel robe. It was a nightgown. She wondered about that. Surely the killer didn’t have time to dress her up like that. Most likely she was already wearing the gown when surprised and assaulted. So that meant this happened at night, last night, and maybe even in bed. She was barefoot, the skin of her ankles and feet dark now, as blood settled down into the lowest part of her body. Her eyes were the worse. Pretty eyes. Wide open, staring and empty. Claire tried not to look at her eyes again.
The gown was tied with several satin ribbons, and Buck loosened the knots and opened the front. Underneath she had on a pair of white cotton panties, but nothing else. No wounds anywhere else on the body and no signs of physical abuse, now or before. No bruises, no abrasions, no scars. When Buck turned her over, he found one large tattoo behind her left shoulder. A small skeleton holding a scythe: a grim reaper, inked in black and white. Claire leaned down for a closer look. The image seemed halfway familiar. “Okay, there’s something we can work with. I doubt many people around here have that kind of tattoo.”
Buck turned to Ryan. “We need to get a close-up shot of that, too, okay?”
“Yes, sir.” Ryan shot several pictures.
Bud looked at Claire. “No shoes and the bottoms of her feet are clean. It either happened right here, or somebody carried her inside the house from somewhere else.”
“Or from somewhere upstairs, maybe a bedroom, because I think this is her nightgown. I think she was attacked here. Let’s get Corrigan and the other guy to check out the bedrooms and see if they can find any signs of a break-in.”
Bud moved off to talk to the patrol officers waiting outside.
“But why here? This is a house on a Christmas tour, for God’s sake. People coming through in groups. That doesn’t make a bit of sense, and it’s risky.” Claire glanced around the room. “There’s a French door over there that leads out to a screened-in back porch. We checked it out already. He didn’t come in that way.”
Buck nodded. “He staged her for shock value. He’s got a flair for murder and likes to use it. He’s a psychopath, if I had to guess.”
“Yeah, I can tell you already that Black would think so. But I’ll get his take on it.”
Bud was back. “They’re checking out the house now.”
“The woods all around this estate are dense. It would’ve taken months for anyone to find her body out there if they hid her in the brush. That tells me he wanted us to find her right here and right now. Wanted to make us play his game on his terms. He didn’t want to get away with this murder. He wanted to see if we can catch him.”
“I hate the game players,” Buck said.
“Are you done here?” Claire asked him.
“Yeah. Go ahead and bag her, Shaggy, and let’s get her down to the morgue.”
Shaggy and Ryan opened the black bag and carefully lifted the victim inside, zipped it up, and then set about getting her onto the gurney. Claire and Bud stood together and waited until they rolled her out of the library into the front foyer. “We need to find her family, and fast. My God, Bud, can you imagine them getting this call? Only days before Christmas. It’s sad, it really is.”
Bud sighed. “One thing for sure: She’s too young to be on her own. Somebody’s got to know her and miss her or recognize that tat. Which brings us to this question: Why the hell would a young girl like that have a tattoo of a grim reaper, of all things? That’s weird in itself.”
“Yeah, it is. But it will help identify her. Her parents are probably out looking for her right now.”
“Let me call in to dispatch. See if any missing persons have turned up around the lake area. I don’t remember hearing that. Do you?”
“Not since I’ve been here. We would’ve checked into it by now.”
Bud moved off to call the office. Claire stood back and watched the rest of Buck’s criminalists spread out around the room to do their jobs. Pure professionals. This had turned out to be a strange case with a murder scene she wouldn’t forget anytime soon. The image was burned into her brain, all right, with all of her friends kneeling around a white angel with half a head, while twinkling lights blinked and the smell of pine boughs and burnt flesh mingled all around. Definitely a manger scene designed in hell.
“I’d sure as hell hate for you to have to alert the media to this one.” Buck looked halfway angry. “I hear there’s a ton of them out at Cedar Bend raisin’ a ruckus about you and Nick.”
“Yeah, the story of our lives lately. And they’re reading the same tabloids as you are. Black and I are avoiding them like the plague, and we definitely don’t intend to give any interviews. Never again, if Black has anything to say about it. In fact, we’re pretty much hiding upstairs in the penthouse until they go away.”
Buck smiled. “Fat chance of that. You and Nick are like nectar to them. You make them lots of money, you know.”
“I just hope we don’t have to go to the press to help with the identification. Or use her morgue photo. That would be awful.”
They all turned as Corrigan and Reid showed up. Corrigan did all the talking. Fine with Claire. “We’ve finished searching the house, tossed every room, took our time doing it. Didn’t find anything of much interest, except in one bedroom. Somebody was definitely staying in there. Bed messed up, cosmetics spread around on the bathroom counter. But no personal items, no address book, no family pictures, nothing in the medicine cabinets except some toothpaste and a toothbrush and some Excedrin. A couple of garments hanging in the closet. Looked like stuff the victim might wear and about her size. We found her purse but no ID in it. The killer might’ve taken it, though. No sign of a struggle in the bedroom. No food in the kitchen, except for a small pizza box and the leftover refreshments the tour provided. Nobody’s been living here except for her, as far as we can tell.”
“Where was the pizza from?”
“The box was plain white. No name of any restaurant.”
“You’ve tossed every room? You’re sure?” Claire asked. She looked at Corrigan and ignored the new guy. She just didn’t care for him. Go figure.
“Yeah. Didn’t take long because, like I said, there are no personal possessions to be found, except in that one room. A ton of bedrooms, but all with empty drawers, empty closets. The house is immaculate. Untouched. Probably cleaned up and sanitized for the visitors coming through. Looks brand new to me. Nearly all the furnished rooms have Christmas trees in them, each with different themes, like the Christmas tours usually do.”
“Okay, we’ll take a quick walk-through before we leave. Which bedroom was she staying in?”
“Master. It’s right off the library’s balcony, facing the back.”
“Okay. First thing? We’ve gotta find out who owns this house.”
“Could be just an empty house up for sale that they decided to use for the tour,” said Bud, now back, his phone still in his hand. “No dice on a missing person. I’ll call the realtor now. I found her card on the kitchen counter.”
Bud turned and walked away again, his cell phone already up to his ear.
Shaggy was back. “I can’t think of any reason the perp would leave us that game token. Or dress her up like an angel. Except that it’s Christmas. What’s he tryin’ to tell you?”
Claire shrugged. “Maybe there isn’t any reason. Maybe he’s just a theatrical psycho freak and thought it would be fun to blow our minds and make us lose sleep trying to figure it all out. Or maybe this is his way of throwing us off the scent.”
“Well, it worked. I sure can’t figure out the trophy. I mean, I get the trophy was a murder weapon but it looks clean, too. Don’t expect to get prints off it. Don’t know why he left that token, but it’s got to mean something.”
“What it means is that he’s playing games with us. He thinks he’s clever. He thinks he can bait us and lead us around by our noses, but I’m not going to let that happen. I’m going to get him. He’s not getting away with murdering that kid.”
Bud walked back up, looking so grim that Claire hesitated to ask questions. “Brace yourself, Claire. You ain’t gonna like this one bit. Guess who the realtor lady says owns this place?”
“Oh God, no. Who?”
“Wait for it…wait for it: Jonesy Jax.”
Nobody said anything for a few seconds. Then Claire said, “Not Jonesy Jax, the whiskey-guzzling, drug-addled, sex-addicted hard rocker from hell.”
“The one and only.”
Claire muttered a couple of gross things under her breath, words that she rarely used out loud. Damn it. Jonesy Jax was a complete and utter moron loser jerk. “You’re sure, Bud? Why the hell would he have a place down here? He’s a big-time L.A. hell-raiser. Every day there are pictures of him in the tabloids, clubbing in some sleazy bar with women hanging all over him. He’s constantly in the news for getting into some kind of trouble. Oh man alive, I bet he’ll let his groupies stay here in this very house. I heard he buys places in the sticks just to give big, drunken raves with free booze and drugs.”
Bud shrugged. “Well, we have celebs down here. You and Nick, for example. Nick Black’s world famous. So are you since you married him. And now there’s that Sexiest Man Alive thing goin’ on.”
Claire ignored every word of that. That was her new plan moving forward. If anybody mentioned People or the National Enquirer, she was gonna go nonresponsive and lapse into a stare down. “Is Jax in town now?”
“Nobody’s been able to get ahold of him. His agent’s not answering her phone. Her assistant said all she knows is that Jonesy wants to spend Christmas here at the lake. So, lucky us. We get to suffer the consequences. This house is brand new, she says, decorated by a top team from some elite Beverly Hills design firm, never lived in to date, but built to Jax’s rather exhaustive specifications. He didn’t ask to be part of the tour, apparently, but said yes when the realtor hit him up to use his place before he moves in. My guess? Jax is probably planning to have some drug-fueled New Year’s Eve rave, with all his entourage stayin’ right out here. More fun for us, huh?”
Grimacing and badly wanting to throw up, Claire still could not comprehend why a guy like Jonesy Jax would want to own a big house on a remote rural lake in the middle of Missouri, especially given his perverted brand of fun and games. Lake of the Ozarks was a beautiful place at any time of the year, true, but it was not riddled by high excitement twenty-four seven. That state of peaceful coexistence wasn’t gonna last long once Jonesy Jax hit town, especially if he brought his own illicit brand of personal depravities into their fold. Good thing, though, now Jonesy Jax had come aboard as her prime candidate for this girl’s death. She wondered if he and his scuzzy friends liked to play Detection and had grim reapers tattooed on their backs. Maybe that was something that she and Bud ought to find out.