Ducking under the tape, she used her flashlight to scan the chapel’s floor until she found the spot where the victim had lain. Instead ofwasting time scouring the entire area around the bloodstain, she lay down next to it. The cold instantly permeated her clothing.
The victim had been about Sarah’s height. Since the tissue damage was on the top of her hands, Sarah stretched her arms up over her head. Satisfied her position was close enough, she rolled onto her right side, keeping her arm stretched above her head. She set the flashlight, beam down, on the area next to her hand.
When she’d scooted up onto her knees, she reclaimed the flashlight and began scanning the area around where she’d stationed it. Slowly, inch by inch. Then she found what she was looking for.
She leaned closer to inspect the spot where there appeared to be tissue left behind. The darker part was dried blood; the lighter, skin. More spots of varying sizes spanned about a twelve-inch path.
Oh, yeah. She was onto something here.
Sarah sat back on her haunches and stared at the residue left by the victim’s hand and forearm. Some fifteen to eighteen inches to the right was a matching sequence of spots.
The victim’s hands and forearms had been glued to the stone. That was why she hadn’t tried to escape or to fight her attacker.
Or to rip the stitches from her lips so she could scream.
Valerie Gerard couldn’t move without ripping off her own skin.
Sarah positioned herself on the cold floor once more, placing her hands parallel to the spots where the victim’s hands had been. Then she rolled up into a straight-legged sitting position and leaned down to set the flashlight between her feet. She crawled back onto her knees and searched until she found the corresponding spots where the victim’s heels were likely glued to the stone as well.
“There we go.” Sarah grimaced. There were traces of tissue and dried blood higher up, where the meaty parts of the calves had been glued down, too.
Sarah shook her head. What a sick son of a bitch. And why the hell hadn’t the crime-scene photo reflected that “glued down” positioning of the body? Had the body been touched or moved prior to photographing?
Sitting back on her heels, she roved the flashlight over the stone floor. Whatever the crime-scene techs had missed was likely history after the snowstorm that blew through last night. Not that she’d expected to find anything other than what she had. But it never hurt to look. Sometimes a fresh set of eyes detected something others missed.
Mostly, she lingered after finding what she’d come for, to absorb the vibes of the place.
Though she definitely didn’t believe in the paranormal, she did believe in atmosphere. There was a perfectly logical explanation, in her opinion, for all things that went bump in the night. She didn’t believe in spirits or the devil, maybe not even in God. She waffled most of the time on that last part. Her aunt had taken her to church every Sunday from the time she was about ten all the way until she left for college at eighteen. So it wasn’t like she hadn’t been exposed to the Good Book or its teachings.
She just wasn’t convinced anything beyond the human sphere of things existed.
It was too easy to blame bad things on the devil or on God. When the fact was, most bad things were carried out by humans. Every single event that people called miracles or plagues, dating back to Noah and before, could be explained by science. Not that she was a scientist by any means. She’d dropped out of college and her bid for a forensic science degree after three semesters to go to work forTruth Magazine. But she’d spent a lot of time studying the sciences. Men of science had a theory for everything, just as men of the Bible had their legends and myths and parables.
It all boiled down to personal choice.
Whether one believed in heaven or hell or demons or angels, there was one truth here and now that could not be denied: A human being had killed Valerie Gerard, and there hadn’t been any angels around to save her.
Just like there hadn’t been any to save Sarah when she was a little girl.
A shudder quaked through her. From the cold, she reasoned. The cold had leached deep into her bones.
She dug around in her bag until she located her cell. The picture quality in current circumstances wouldn’t be that good, but she wanted documentation of her findings.
With the flashlight’s beam aimed on the place where a limb had been positioned, she snapped a couple frames of each location.
Surprisingly, the images turned out better than she’d expected. She tucked the cell back into her bag and got to her feet.
Had the victim been walked up the path? Was the perp wielding a gun?
Wouldn’t the techs have found tracks? Where had the killer left his vehicle? According to Conner, any footprints left by the perp had been ruined. Had the same thing happened with tire imprints? Another question to ask the chief.
Or maybe the perp had come from an alternate direction. There was another road—a private one, Conner had said—that ran parallel with Chapel Trail. Where the rich folks lived.
Sarah ducked under the tape on the other side of the chapel. The slope was steeper here. Lots of snow and ice. The trees were thicker. This didn’t seem like a good route for marching or dragging a hostage.
Unless the perp had been going for as much camouflage as possible. Sarah made her way down the slippery slope, dodging saplings and monster evergreens.
She walked for maybe ten minutes and didn’t stumble over any paths or broken branches that might indicate anyone had traveled that route recently. After an about-face, she moved back toward the chapel in a zigzag pattern. Still no indication of a used path. But it was dark; she could be missing something.
