“Yeah,” the sheriff responded. “Number three.”
The coroner blew out a breath. “Where do these psychos come from?”
“If I knew that, I’d be rich and famous.”
Sean waited until the coroner and his assistant headed toward the crime scene before turning back to Matt.
“Call my supervisor in the morning.” He pulled a business card from his wallet and borrowed the sheriff’s pen. After writing a name and phone number on the back, he handed both items over. “Special Agent in Charge Clay Osbourne is a good guy. I worked with him in Jacksonville before he got promoted. Tell him you’re requesting me and explain why. He may assign another agent to work with me since I’m new to the office, but I have no idea who that’ll be.”
He glanced toward the floodlit crime scene where investigators still moved through the trees. “If there’s nothing else you need tonight, I’m heading home. What time do you want me at the station? I want to go over everything you have on the first two murders.”
Matt checked his watch. “Make it noon. I’ll be here at least another hour, and I’m exhausted. I’ll have Pete hold off on the autopsy until we get there.”
“Sounds good. See you tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Sean. I appreciate whatever help you can give us.”
“No problem.” He bumped fists with the sheriff and headed back down the trail toward his Mustang.
Somehow, he doubted sleep would come easily after this.
Especially not with the image of that dead woman burned into his mind.
Chapter Three
At ten minutes to noon on Monday, Sean walked into the Dare County Sheriff’s Department in Manteo wearing jeans, a black T-shirt, and a gray sports coat that concealed the weapon holstered at his hip. He hadn’t expected to work for at least a few more weeks, so most of his clothes—including his suits—remained locked in the storage unit he’d rented while waiting for his apartment renovations to be finished. If he officially joined the investigation, he’d need to retrieve a few things.
At the front desk, he held up his credentials to the deputy behind the bulletproof glass. The man informed him that Sheriff Griffin was already waiting and slid a visitor badge through the slot beneath the window before reaching over and pressing a button mounted on the wall beside him.
A buzz sounded through the lobby, and the deputy motioned toward a wood-and-glass security door a few feet away that had unlocked electronically.
As the door closed behind him, Sean made his way down the hallway, passing the detective bureau midway on the left. The room buzzed with activity. Detectives sat behind cluttered desks reviewing reports or talking on the phone while three others occupied a conference table in the center of the bullpen, eating deli sandwiches and discussing a case between bites.
Different building. Different faces. Same chaos.
He continued to the next office on the right. Sheriff Matthew C. Griffin was stenciled across the tinted glass outer door. Beyond it, the secretary’s desk sat empty. Sean crossed the small reception area and knocked on the sheriff’s office door.
“Come in.”
Sean opened the door, stepped inside, and found Matt behind a large oak desk buried beneath files, paperwork, and a desktop computer. The sheriff appeared ragged. Dark circles shadowed his eyes beneath the weight of exhaustion, and despite the fresh navy uniform stretched across his broad shoulders, sleep deprivation showed plainly on his face.
The office itself was spacious and comfortable. Two upholstered guest chairs sat across from the desk, while a conference table, surrounded by eight straight-backed chairs, occupied the far side of the room. Windows along one wall overlooked a grassy area beside the department. Three tall bookcases lined the opposite wall, crammed with law enforcement manuals, plaques, trophies, and framed photos of the sheriff with several deputies, local officials, and family members. A flat-screen television mounted over a credenza near the door completed the setup.
“Welcome to my nightmare,” Matt said with a tired grin.
Sean remained standing in front of the desk. “Didn’t get much sleep, huh?”
A smothered yawn and a weary shake of his head was the man’s response.
“Yeah, me neither.”
Matt pushed to his feet and stretched his back. “I talked to your boss about an hour ago. He said if you’re willing to take the case, he’s all for it. Apparently, they’re short-staffed right now, so he’s happy to have the help. He also said to call if we need additional manpower, but for now, you’re it.”
He grabbed a navy windbreaker from a coat rack in the corner and continued, “I’m putting together a task force and already contacted SBI. They’re sending two special agents for a two o’clock meeting. Lynch will take over the lead when he gets back tomorrow morning.”
Sean had already heard most of that from his SAC, who’d called shortly after speaking with Griffin. It didn’t surprise him that SBI was stepping in. Serial killer cases usually got the state bureau involved fast.
“Okay. Where do you want to start? Reports or the autopsy?”
