but his time was stretched thin. Even the morning run was stolen time when there were kids to be fed and off to school and a wife who wasn’t really a morning person.
He reached the half-mile mark and settled in. Ahead, Jupiter was sniffing around a tree. Dahl could see him pacing back and forth, head down. He barked twice. Dahl closed the distance. Fifty yards away Jupiter barked again and sat down, head cocked, looking at something on the ground. Jupiter began pacing again, back and forth, stopping to sniff, backing off, then returning. Barbecue, Dahl thought, or somebody puked. He closed to twenty yards when he saw the foot. In ten yards , it became a leg, Jupiter sniffed at a foot. By the time Dahl drew even with the tree it became a full body, leaning up against the tree. Drunk, he thought. For Chris sake, the police have to do something about this place. Now we’ve got drunks passing out behind the house.
Dahl called the dog, which refused to move. Shaking his head, he walked down the levee, intent on dragging Jupiter away. He stopped fifteen feet short. The drunk was no drunk. It was a woman. She wasn’t leaning against the tree. She was tied to it. A cord ran around her neck, looped around the tree, then returned to her neck, holding her upright. She was naked. Her eyes were open, staring out at the world. Jupiter sniffed her stomach, backed off. Dahl, stunned, took a few steps closer. Jupiter sniffed the dried blood on her belly. It ran down her waist in a rivulet, across the side of her rump, and pooled on the ground. The blood came from a series of letters, three in all. Carved into the smooth flat flesh, a perfect palette, were three letters. CLV. Lucas Dahl, rising partner in the law firm of Dawkins and Weye, leaned over and puked on his brand new and very expensive running shoes.
“Keep everyone back, keep everyone away,” Dupond said into the phone. “I want the whole area roped off, fifty yards on either side . Go all the way out to the road. Everyone who goes in or out, I want their names and I want you to collect their shoes. ….you heard me, I want their shoes, everyone. We’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
Dupond and Cassie were in his office when he got the call. Adan was off re-interviewing witnesses. They took Dupond’s car. He stuck a magnetic light on top, punched the accelerator. Cassie held on to the dashboard as they picked up the Interstate on a flat out run, descended on to Elysian Fields, running red lights. The scene was gathering interest. A crowd of students sat on the levee watching, a hund red yards back. Drivers on the road slowed, craned their necks to see what was going on, continued past. The patrolman on the scene, a young officer with a silver nameplate reading Boles, met them as they got out.
“I’ve got the guy that found them at his house with my partner. We got it roped off as soon as we could. I don’t think anyone else has been close. Those kids”, he pointed to the crowd of students on the levee, “some of them were up on the levee looking down but I don’t think they got too close. Anyway, we have it closed off all the way from the road, over the levee, all the way to the back of the fenceline of the houses behind. Nobody’s been in or out since.”
“Good,” Dupond said. “Keep everyone out. Give me some boundary tape.” He turned to Cassie. “Here’s what I want to do. I want to come in from the side on a narrow path. Everyone moves in on that path, you, me, the coroner guys. Then we’re going to walk in close, stop about ten yards away. You see how the grass stops around the tree?”
Cassie nodded. The tree was a young oak, eight inches in diameter. Around it , the grass was a healthy green. Underneath, in a circle of five yards, the grass thinned out as it got closer, changing to pure dirt at the base, dirt moist with dew. They came in from the west, Dupond running the tape out to mark their path. When the grass began to thin, they
He reached the half-mile mark and settled in. Ahead, Jupiter was sniffing around a tree. Dahl could see him pacing back and forth, head down. He barked twice. Dahl closed the distance. Fifty yards away Jupiter barked again and sat down, head cocked, looking at something on the ground. Jupiter began pacing again, back and forth, stopping to sniff, backing off, then returning. Barbecue, Dahl thought, or somebody puked. He closed to twenty yards when he saw the foot. In ten yards , it became a leg, Jupiter sniffed at a foot. By the time Dahl drew even with the tree it became a full body, leaning up against the tree. Drunk, he thought. For Chris sake, the police have to do something about this place. Now we’ve got drunks passing out behind the house.
Dahl called the dog, which refused to move. Shaking his head, he walked down the levee, intent on dragging Jupiter away. He stopped fifteen feet short. The drunk was no drunk. It was a woman. She wasn’t leaning against the tree. She was tied to it. A cord ran around her neck, looped around the tree, then returned to her neck, holding her upright. She was naked. Her eyes were open, staring out at the world. Jupiter sniffed her stomach, backed off. Dahl, stunned, took a few steps closer. Jupiter sniffed the dried blood on her belly. It ran down her waist in a rivulet, across the side of her rump, and pooled on the ground. The blood came from a series of letters, three in all. Carved into the smooth flat flesh, a perfect palette, were three letters. CLV. Lucas Dahl, rising partner in the law firm of Dawkins and Weye, leaned over and puked on his brand new and very expensive running shoes.
“Keep everyone back, keep everyone away,” Dupond said into the phone. “I want the whole area roped off, fifty yards on either side . Go all the way out to the road. Everyone who goes in or out, I want their names and I want you to collect their shoes. ….you heard me, I want their shoes, everyone. We’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
Dupond and Cassie were in his office when he got the call. Adan was off re-interviewing witnesses. They took Dupond’s car. He stuck a magnetic light on top, punched the accelerator. Cassie held on to the dashboard as they picked up the Interstate on a flat out run, descended on to Elysian Fields, running red lights. The scene was gathering interest. A crowd of students sat on the levee watching, a hund red yards back. Drivers on the road slowed, craned their necks to see what was going on, continued past. The patrolman on the scene, a young officer with a silver nameplate reading Boles, met them as they got out.
“I’ve got the guy that found them at his house with my partner. We got it roped off as soon as we could. I don’t think anyone else has been close. Those kids”, he pointed to the crowd of students on the levee, “some of them were up on the levee looking down but I don’t think they got too close. Anyway, we have it closed off all the way from the road, over the levee, all the way to the back of the fenceline of the houses behind. Nobody’s been in or out since.”
“Good,” Dupond said. “Keep everyone out. Give me some boundary tape.” He turned to Cassie. “Here’s what I want to do. I want to come in from the side on a narrow path. Everyone moves in on that path, you, me, the coroner guys. Then we’re going to walk in close, stop about ten yards away. You see how the grass stops around the tree?”
Cassie nodded. The tree was a young oak, eight inches in diameter. Around it , the grass was a healthy green. Underneath, in a circle of five yards, the grass thinned out as it got closer, changing to pure dirt at the base, dirt moist with dew. They came in from the west, Dupond running the tape out to mark their path. When the grass began to thin, they
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