She looked from one to the other, pausing. What in the world was happening? They had a victim on the ground in front of them, naked, violated, and frozen. It wasn’t a time for egos or anything but rational thought. “We’re in the middle of a crime scene. Let’s get this done.”
The sheriff flushed a deep red. “I don’t need your help. This murder occurred within my city limits, which gives me jurisdiction. It was a mistake to call you.” He gestured toward the doorway. “Get out of my crime scene.”
This was exactly what she’d wanted to avoid. What had she done wrong? Hadn’t she been polite? “I’m sorry, Sheriff, but 28 U.S.C. §540B grants the FBI the right to investigate serial killings, and I believe this one is connected to our victim out at the creek.”
His eyes gleamed. “Only if the state officials request FBI involvement. I am not requesting your help.”
“I am,” Huck said mildly. “As a state off icer, I have the authority to request FBI assistance, and I’m doing so right now.”
Laurel waited, wondering how smart the sheriff actually might be.
His smile gave her one hint. “Fine. However, ‘serial’ is defined as three or more killings within the United States Code, and we only have two. So fuck off.”
Huck took another step toward the sheriff, and Laurel pivoted slightly, putting her hip against his thigh.
He remained in place and his words were clipped. “I’m taking the case, Sheriff. You don’t have the resources to solve a murder in the city, so it’s a state matter. The state has decided to coordinate efforts with the FBI. We’re done now.”
Laurel once again looked at the frozen body. The woman deserved better than to have investigators fighting over her case. They should all be trying to find her killer. “She’s frozen solid to the wood planks beneath her, Dr. Ortega. This is going to be difficult.” Crouching again, she studied bone fragments poking out of the woman’s shredded face. “Fury and rage belong on another plane, not within the human heart,” she murmured.
“Who said that?” Huck asked.
“She did. In one of her poems.” Laurel stood, her lungs feeling heavy. Who would do something like this?
A shout came from down by the lake.
“Sounds like we found the hands,” the sheriff drawled.
Chapter Ten
After another night beset by gruesome dreams, Laurel sat on top of the new conference table and studied the glass boards now mounted to the wall. She’d placed pictures of both victims as well as one of Abigail on a board, making notations below them. The women looked nothing alike. That was interesting.
“Hi.” Huck filled the doorway, carrying two steaming drinks from Staggers. He looked at the boards. “The victims aren’t similar.” Moving inside, he handed over one drink. Aeneas bounded in behind him, no doubt having received love from Kate on his way. Laurel had called Kate and Nester in to work a half day, even though it was Saturday. Walter was stricken with a bad cold, and she’d told him to remain at home and recuperate.
“Thank you.” Laurel took the drink. Perhaps she should start taking him warm drinks, if this friendship was to be two ways. “They don’t look similar. Charlene Rox had short black hair, dark brown eyes, and darker skin. Sharon Lamber was very tall with light brown hair, blue eyes, and very pale skin. Abigail has mahogany hair and heterochromatic eyes.” So appearance wasn’t what drew the killer. “All three are successful professional women, and they each have at least one doctorate.” That was the only similarity so far. “I have Nester performing extensive background checks on all three, and we have warrants to dump the phones of the two deceased victims.” She’d need Abigail’s permission to gain her records.
Huck drew out a white leather chair and sat. “Nice stuff you have here.”
“FBI raid,” she murmured, remaining on the glass top, which was reinforced with copper-colored metal in a circular design.
He cleared his throat. “Are we certain your sister should be on the board?”
“The black dahlias all over her yard tie her to the victims,” Laurel said, looking at the picture that could double as her own driver’s license photograph.
“Is there any way she could’ve heard about the victim and then somehow created a similar situation at her home?” Huck shrugged. “She’s over-the-top brilliant and could probably do something like that, right?”
Laurel bit the inside of her cheek, thinking. “I don’t see how. The flowers at Abigail’s were left before the ones with the body by the river, so Abigail would’ve had to have known there would be a murder, and I don’t see how that could be possible. In addition, we have the video of the person leaving flowers at Abigail’s house, and it isn’t her.” She scratched her neck. “Plus, her alibi checks out—she was at a spa.” She’d gotten that info already from a team she’d contacted in DC.
Huck nodded. “Then it follows she’s one of the victims, which means we should put her into protective custody.”
“She refused,” Laurel said, trying to find any further resemblance between the victims. There was none. She’d have to tie them together in another way to find this murderer. “I don’t believe she feels fear like most people do.” Did Laurel herself? Sure, she was afraid sometimes, but her intellect often took over, allowing her to act when others might freeze. She shifted on the hard glass, uneasy at the thought that she and Abigail shared traits beyond the physical.
Huck twirled his disposable cup on the table. “You were quiet on the ride back to your place last night. Were you mad at me?”
She turned her head to meet his gaze. “I was thinking about the new victim. Why would I be angry with you?”
“Because of the whole thing with the dumbass sheriff.” Huck rolled his neck and something quietly popped. “I wanted to hit him.”
“Oh. Well, he is a dumbass.” She took a sip of the drink. “I’m not angry.” In fact, it was rather nice that Huck had stepped in to defend her, even though she could defend herself fairly well. “I understand that you’re protective of people in general but most especially women, even cops. It stems from your abandonment by your mother at an early age as well as your time learning to protect and defend in the military. Plus, it just might be you and how you’re made. Life is both nature and nurture, and such traits could be inherent in DNA. It’s entirely possible.”
