Riley’s mental spot for most-gruesome-corpse got an unwelcome update, but the numbness in her hands receded. Not all that great a consolation prize. The victim looked like mince meat; face in ribbons, throat flayed open to the bone, innards torn out to flop outside his abdominal cavity, and in some cases, torn completely away. The flash of Brand’s camera highlighted the splatters of gore staining the carpet, walls, and ceiling.
Chief Ross crouched to get a better look at the body. “Six-one, six-two?”
Riley skirted around what might have been a section of large intestine and mirrored him on the opposite side. “Yeah, two hundred pounds, at least.” The cast-off on the ceiling and walls suggested a hand-held weapon, but the wounds weren’t characteristic of a blade. Too much tearing. A chainsaw, maybe? The rise and fall of someone wielding a chainsaw would’ve created sweeping strokes, not the pattern of crisscrossing gouges she could see. She squinted at the defensive wounds on the victim’s forearms, picking out four distinct furrows in the skin, like claw marks. “Damn near looks like an animal got to him.” But an animal wouldn’t leave an echo, an impression of the killer, stamping the body like a signature for Riley’s senses. She swallowed, trying to displace the flavor of rancid chili peppers. Salty ashes chased it down, rocking her on her heels. Rage… and fear? Rage revealed a personal motive, reinforced by the overkill, but this particular flavor of fear was something she’d only found on those killed in self defense. What would someone capable of this level of mutilation have to fear from the victim?
The chief stood. “I’ll be right back. Brand, give her a rundown, please.”
Officer Brand was terse, but polite, as he explained how they approached procedural practice with so few hands. They wore nearly all the hats, only out-sourcing for lab testing, autopsies, and the like. “You know what you’re doing,” he said later, watching Riley collect fibers from the bed. He resumed his work, deeming her capable enough to collect evidence without a chaperon.
If he’d asked, she would’ve told him about Detective Rosoitz, who’d expected Riley to be hands-on in every part of the process, including forensics. She spent her off hours attending all the “voluntary” classes and training he recommended. Riley’d been a bit too ambitious her rookie year, a bit too eager to finally use her abilities for something purposeful, and it’d lead to bodies, which led to face time with Rosoitz. He’d do a little happy dance whenever he caught a case with her first on scene. She’d assumed Rosoitz knew she would be the one completing reports and handling furthers, as Dergby’s handwriting looked like hieroglyphs, and his typing had been compared to that kid movie’s DMV sloth. He’d assumed Riley wanted up the promotional ladder and was happy to let her do both her own grunt work and some of his. Seasoning her for the future, he’d said. Rosoitz had cried at her farewell party.
Chief Ross returned, Andy on his heels, and tasked himself with the victim’s suitcase. “Red, you find a cell or wallet?”
“Nope, just his room key.”
“Well, we’ve got a John Doe for the time being. Put this in a cruiser, please.” He handed her sealed and tagged bags with the victim’s suitcase contents. “Andy, grab the room temp.”
Riley stowed the evidence bags, taking the time to suck in greedy breaths of fresh air.
Across the lot, Greg waved in a white van. The drivers’ careful three-point turn aligned the back with the motel room’s open door. The engine died and a woman close to her own age hopped out and bee-lined for her.
“Finally, a woman on the force!” she crowed, pumping Riley’s hand. “Dr. Shauna Ellis, county Medical Examiner. We are hereby friends—I expect you over this weekend bearing wine.”
Riley couldn’t help but smile.
Dark eyes sparkling, Shauna continued. “If you have a pet, you take him over to my father at Ellis Emergency Veterinarian. Look for the old, short man in the white coat shouting in Louisiana Creole. He’ll take care of you.”
“I don’t, but I’ll remember.”
Shauna studied Riley, hands on her hips. “Well, you’ve met our boys in blue, what do you think of them?”
“Oh, they’re—”
“Fantastic, I know,” she sighed.
“The Logans and the chief—”
“The sweetest men in town,” Shauna assured.
Riley nodded. “I caught that. Brand, not so much.”
“No,” she agreed.
They watched him secure more evidence bags in the back of the chief’s cruiser. He wasn’t unattractive. His dark hair curled the slightest bit at the ends, his deep-set eyes were alluring, and he carried himself confidently, but he radiated an intense aura of fuck off.
Shauna tsked. “Have you met the sheriff or any of his deputies?”
“Not yet. I’d planned to ambush them after dropping off my concealed carry paperwork today. See the county jail, get on their good side so they’ll pick up my arrests if I don’t have a—sorry, the department cruiser.”
“You don’t even have your uniform yet.”
Riley touched the empty loops where her belt should be. “I’m not licensed as an officer in this state yet. Today was meant to be paperwork, scheduling, and a small-town policing crash course.”
“Best not mention that to the sheriff.”
Riley huffed out a laugh. “He probably knows, but I sure won’t remind him.” As she spoke, a tan Sheriff’s truck rolled up.
“Here he comes.” Shauna scraped her riot of brown, shoulder-length curls into a haphazard bun. “Walton and Ross aren’t too friendly. I’d best go tend to the body now, before all the testosterone gets in the way.”
Chief Ross and Andy spoke quietly a few doors down from the scene. Tense shoulders hinted at an argument, or maybe a rushed planning session to head off the Sheriff.
Brand had resumed his evidence collection, adjusting his tape measure noisily as he took photos. He spared Shauna a glance when she whistled at the sight of the victim.
“Let me know if you need anything,” Riley told her, pulling on new gloves. She earned another quick smile.
Ten minutes finished off collection in the bathroom. Stowing the last fiber in bindle paper, Riley stepped back into the main room.
“Goddamn.” The sheriff, with a hand to his nose, paused just inside the short entryway, Chief Ross at his shoulder. “What the hell happened to him, Doc?”
Shauna sealed the victim’s hands in paper bags and stood. “Rough time of death is around seventy-two hours based on lividity and insect activity. Too early to tell which wound was the cause of death. I’d guess the slashed throat. The rest was…”
“Rage,” Riley finished for her, scribbling collection details on the evidence bag in her hand.
The sheriff glanced at her briefly before snapping back to the body. Then he blinked and swiveled in a double take that would’ve made her chuckle in any other circumstance.
“Officer Riley MacIntyre.” She rolled her glove off so she could shake his hand.
Light dawned behind his eyes. “Right, yes.” His grasp was firm, if damp. “I might say animal attack before murder.”
“Aside from the closed and locked door, I’d agree with you.”
He hemmed and hawed. “You really think a person could do that?”
“With some type of weapon, sure.” The echo provided the most concrete evidence—too bad she couldn’t cite it. “Wouldn’t hurt to have someone familiar with animal attacks take a look, though.”
Shauna perked up. “I’m with Officer MacIntyre on this likely being a homicide, but I know an officer with the Forestry Service who can provide an assessment.” To the chief, she said, “I’ll need help with the body.”
Walton made a noise in agreement and moved back so Chief Ross and Andy could help Shauna seal the victim in a standard remains pouch. They toted him—well, most of him—out. Shauna placed what had been ripped from the body into evidence bins while Brand combed over the exposed carpeting.
Riley exited with a handful of evidence bags to find Greg corralling people away from the scene. A familiar, reassuring sight. Woodrun wasn’t too different from the city, just a little smaller, a little slower in pace. It nearly made up for her lingering headache.
Obligatory Legal Stuff:
This chapter is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and incidences are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, locals, and events are coincidental.
No generative AI used. No AI training or scraping allowed.
All rights reserved.
Chapter Title Image created in Canva. Canva Pro image used in background.