“And how did the body seem when it fell on you? Was there any stiffness?”
“I only had a second to feel it against my legs but no, it wasn’t stiff.”
“Based on those details, it seems likely she’s been dead those four days. She’s passed through rigor mortis, the period of about twenty-four hours when the muscles stiffen, and now they’ve relaxed again. The bacteria start breaking down the tissues almost immediately—that’s what’s causing the lovely putrefaction you noticed.”
So most likely Shannon had been killed on Monday, the day she went missing. At least she hadn’t been held hostage for days, terrified out of her mind.
“I assume you get used to the smell in your line of work, right?”
“Well,Inever have.” Bonnie chuckled. “Cops sometimesburn coffee grounds to mask it but trying that once made me never want to drink coffee again.”
Bonnie was a tall, elegant brunette in her mid-sixties, who looked like she could be a partner in a white-shoe law firm. It was sometimes hard for me to picture her during her preconsultant days, investigating gruesome homicides for the ME’s office.
“Okay, here’s where it gets even more interesting,” I said. “There were two other trash bags in the back of the closet. From what I’ve managed to overhear, the police found bodies in those as well, though the bags looked thinner, not as full. Could the killer have chosen to dismember two previous victims but not the most recent one?”
“I’m not a profiler, so I can’t speak to his MO, but sure, they could have been cut up... or maybe the bodies mummified. When that happens, the corpse gradually shrivels into a leathery, parchment-like mass. Then you’re dealing with something thinner and lighter. You’ve seen pictures, I’m sure.”
“Yeah,” I said with a shudder. “What would make a body mummify rather than simply rot away?”
“Dry heat, for one. If the bodies were placed in the closet when the furnace and fireplace were still operational, you would have probably had the right conditions. It wouldn’t have taken long to mummify, maybe just a couple of months.”
Was that what was really in those bags? Mummies? But there was one detail that didn’t fit.
“But the furnace probably hasn’t been used in ages. The building was closed down a decade or so ago.”
“It’s possible the other two bodies were stashed in thecloset when the furnace was working. Have you considered that?”
My mouth dropped open in surprise. No, I hadn’t.
“How stupid of me.”
“If youaretalking about mummies, the ME will at least be able to spot certain injuries, which wouldn’t be obvious if the bodies were decomposed.... Look, sorry, but I have to split. I can call you back later if you want.”
“No, that’s all I need for now. Much appreciated.”
As I ended the call, I finally exhaled. Alice and I had pondered the fact that no other women in the area were currently missing, but it now seemed we needed to consider ones who had gone missing a decade or so ago, when the center first shut down.
A thought skirted around the edges of my brain, elusive at first, but within a few seconds I’d managed to grab hold. It was an article I’d read the night I’d been handed the assignment.
Ten years ago this past summer, two twenty-year-old women had disappeared from a Lake George campground and were never seen again. Maybe theyhadn’ttaken off, as the police had concluded then, but had been abducted, slain, and stuffed in the basement of the retreat center.
A breath caught in my throat. If the bags held the remains of the two campers, it meant there reallywasa serial killer at large.
But if that was the case, where had he been all these years?
Chapter 8
ISHOVED THE CHAIR AWAY FROM THE WOODEN DESK, LEAPEDup, and paced the room, struggling to pull my thoughts together. From what I knew, there were several reasons a serial killer could go dormant.
He might have been convicted of another crime and been cooling his heels in prison. Or he could have vacated an area after murdering several victims, engaged in a homicidal spree elsewhere, and returned to the original site years later.
And sometimes, despite all those horror movies suggesting that serial killer behavior alwaysescalated, some of them lost the urge to kill, or at least took a break, because of circumstances in their personal lives. The notorious Green River Killer murdered prostitutes during his difficult first two marriages, but his killings dwindled during his third marriage, a happy one.
Grabbing my laptop, I brought up the stories that had been written about the two campers years ago in thePost Star. Their names were Page Cramer and Amy Hunt. Bothtwenty at the time of their disappearance, they were pretty, feisty-looking young women. And though Amy had chestnut-colored hair, Page’s was long and blond, similar to Shannon’s.
They’d reportedly befriended each other in hairstyling school in Manhattan. Amy was originally from Glens Falls and returned there after completing the program, snagging a job as a stylist at Lillian’s Beauty Salon. When another stylist job opened up, she had recommended her friend, and Page had moved to the town.
On the last Sunday of July, ten years ago this past summer, the two had picked up a rented tent and sleeping bags and driven Amy’s car to a campground in Pilot Knob, on the eastern shore of Lake George. A few campers later reported spotting them when they arrived and again near lunchtime. At around seven that evening, they were observed by a witness going into a bar called Muller’s in Fort Ann, a small town about twenty miles east of the campground. The bartender confirmed they were there but claimed they’d only drunk one beer each and hadn’t spoken to anyone else.
