Campbell frowned, believing otherwise, as every life was precious to him. Without considering the circumstances of the deceased, he hated the thought that anyone—onthis, of all days—should have to die and be deprived of a future and all the positive things it could entail. “I’m on my way,” he muttered, walking toward the parking lot.
He climbed into his cypress-gray Chevy Tahoe SUV and headed for the park while wondering if the victim had succumbed to a drug overdose. Or other means of avoidable death. Those were always the worst circumstances, when someone’s life was cut short through no fault of their own.
Arriving at his destination, Campbell took a routine peek at the Glock 19 Gen5 9x19mm duty pistol that was concealed in a paddle holster inside his wool blazer. He turned his attention to the festival, which was still in full swing—a good sign, since the community depended on the revenue earned by businesses that used Founder’s Day to generate year-round exposure. Not to mention, the last thing anyone needed was to take away from the spirit of the important day in the town’s history through tragedy.
Once the cause of death was determined, a period of adjustment could be made accordingly.
Campbell flashed his identification to Officer Eli Gundersen, a twenty-five-year-old rookie who was tall and muscular with red hair in a crew cut.
“We’ve got a strange one here…” Eli said, a catch to his voice as he rubbed his jawline.
“I can see that.” Campbell was inclined to agree as he took a look at the deceased white female laying awkwardly on her back in the nude at the spot, with other officers keeping the public at bay. He guessed her to be in her mid-twenties. She had jet-black hair in a bob style and was maybe five-five or so. There were cuts on her arms,legs and feet that may have come from being in the park naked. But no outward signs of foul play or otherwise significant distress of the corpse.
He zoomed in on her thin forearm and noticed the initials that appeared to be “KB” tattooed on it. That rang an immediate bell with him. Members of a local cult calling itself the Braison Family were being branded with the initials of its controversial leader, Kenneth Braison. Campbell had visited their compound before, investigating reported drug activity that had proved inconclusive. Was she—or had she been—a member of the cult?
“What are your thoughts?” Eli asked curiously.
Campbell couldn’t help but think back to a similar case his father had encountered as a police detective twenty years ago that involved a fatally poisoned woman, in what turned out to be a homicide that eventually became a cold case. It had dogged his father for the rest of his career and had never been solved to this day, as far as Campbell was aware. “Well, I’m still working on that,” he responded contemplatively. “Any sign of her clothing…or a cell phone…?”
“Not yet.” Eli looked off into the distance. “She either ended up here without them, or someone took them after she died.”
Campbell pondered this. “Do you know who she is?” Though most people seemed to know one another in a small town, to one degree or another, this wasn’t always the case. Especially for those affiliated with the Braison Family, who tended to maintain a low profile in a concerted effort at staying under the radar from law enforcement. Not to mention, the Founder’s Day celebration typically attracted visitors from elsewhere.
“Haven’t seen her before,” Eli answered succinctly. “At least, not that I can recall.”
Campbell took that as a no. Or maybe as a newly married man, the officer felt uncomfortable in saying otherwise, as if it made him look guilty of her death just by association. Campbell chose to give him the benefit of the doubt, considering Eli had given himself some wiggle room by not insisting that he hadn’t seen her before in any way, shape or form.
Focusing his gaze again on the dead woman, Campbell felt a touch of familiarity, as if they had crossed paths before, in one way or another. He strained his eyes for recognition. He was usually pretty good at pinning to memory those he’d crossed paths with, even if with little more than a passing glance. But in this instance, he came up empty. Maybe this was the very first time he’d seen her face—and body. And, if so, it would certainly be memorable moving forward.
Campbell turned back to Eli and asked, “Who discovered the body?”
Before the officer could respond, Campbell heard a female’s voice say in an elevated tone, “I did.”
He gazed out beyond the yellow crime scene tape’s established perimeter and laid eyes on a gorgeous and slender Asian woman in her early thirties, with long dark hair. Walking over to her, he got past his initial reaction to her as someone who was totally his type—to the degree that he had any real type, as such—and said professionally, “Hi. I’m Detective Campbell Sawyer.”
“Stefanie Nguyen.”
Campbell took a moment to gaze into the arresting brown eyes on her heart-shaped face, with a thin nose thatwas slightly upturned, and a small mouth. He then said evenly, “Ms. Nguyen, can you tell me how you came upon the deceased, if you saw anyone else near the body—and anything more you care to say about this…?”
Stefanie swallowed and replied, with a catch to her voice, “I can try my best.”
For the time being, that was about all Campbell could ask for from her. Beyond that, he was more than willing to keep an open mind.
Chapter Two
Stefanie was still trying to come to terms with finding a dead body along the trail. It was quite literally the last thing she’d expected to see when stepping away from the music and other Founder’s Day events for a bit of solitude. But here she was, face-to-face with an extremely handsome detective named Campbell Sawyer—albeit on opposite sides of the crime scene tape—who was investigating the mysterious death. She loved his Dallas mustache, which was a perfect fit for his square-jawed features, Greek nose and penetrating blue eyes, as well as the coal-colored hair in a short quiff. He was wearing a dark blue blazer over a light blue checkered button-down shirt and gray tweed pants, along with black monk-strap shoes.
Once she caught her breath, Stefanie met his gaze and said, in a measured tone of voice, “I’d just left the area where music was playing, to be by myself, and was planning to walk down the trail and along the river…when I saw her—” Stefanie glanced in the direction of the body, trying not to freak out. She looked back at the detective. “I never saw anyone near her—only people that were hanging out along the way, seemingly oblivious to what had happened to the poor woman—”
Campbell nodded. “Did you happen to recognize her?”
“No.” Stefanie flinched. “I’m not from around here—just moved to Reston Hills four months ago—so I haven’t had much of an opportunity to familiarize myself with too many faces as of yet.”TMI, she thought, but still felt compelled to put it out there.
“I see.” He pinched an aquiline nose. “Where are you from?”
“San Antonio.”
“Texas?” he said thoughtfully. “Nice state.”
