Susan. The police have found Kelly Landrum's body. She was in a lake called Joe Cassidy. If you want in on this, you’d better move.” Susan, who monitored the police radio for the Times Herald , relayed pertinent information to the reporters.
“Where? Do you mean Jocassee , the one in Oconee County ? That's a long way from home.” He had to spell the name before she understood him. She had moved here from Iowa recently, and both the language and the geography of South Carolina were foreign to her.
“Yeah, that must be it. Where did they get a name like that?”
“Supposedly from a Cherokee princess who killed herself there. It's a long story—I'll tell you sometime.”
“Well, that's where the body is. Some fishermen found her at daybreak. The law from three counties is someplace called Devils Fork Landing.”
“Thanks, Suse . I owe you one.”
Ignoring the paint-laden roller and tray, he quickly washed his hands and arms in the kitchen sink. The story came first, always; the house might never be finished. What had possessed him to buy a place that needed this much remodeling? Instead of being a hobby, it had taken over a large portion of his life.
But by the time he reached the car, he had focused entirely on Kelly Landrum. On the drive out, he thought about the lake where she had been found, a large, man-made lake high in the foothills. The water covered hills and valleys, the convergence of three rivers. Trees, cemeteries, even churches and small, rural houses had been flooded to make the lake—most still stood in the deep blue depths. He was amazed that she had been found.
When he reached Devils Fork, an ambulance was backing slowly down the boat ramp toward the water. Suse was right—cars and vans bearing law enforcement decals from three counties had the parking lot so crowded it looked like a midsummer Saturday afternoon. He parked between two black and whites, one from Greenville County and one from Pickens. Stepping over the yellow tape barrier, he eased toward the crime scene crew, trying to stay behind Lynne Waite, out of her view.
She and a large, heavy-set man with an Oconee County badge on his sleeve were listening to man in a plaid shirt and khakis, nodding together as he talked. John guessed he was the coroner. He edged up within hearing distance. Waite, with the sixth sense he was convinced she had, turned to face him.
“Beat it, Gerrard. We'll have something for you later,” Waite said, pointing to the barrier. “Out.”
“Just one question, Waite. How did she die? Can you tell?” He smiled at her. “I might have something new for you tomorrow.”
“Not good enough. You've used that one too many times. Do you need an escort to find your way out?”
“I can make it on my own, but thanks for the offer.” He held out his hands in mock surrender and grinned, knowing she wasn't bluffing. “See you, Detective.”
Out of the corner of his eye, John saw one of the divers sitting on a rock at the shore. He thought the van containing the diving equipment was parked closed enough to block Waite's view.
John approached cautiously, keeping out of the detective's line of sight. The young diver, holding his head in his hands, huddled between the big orange oxygen tanks that lay on the ground beside his fins. He looked sick. John squatted down beside him. “Pretty bad down there, huh?”
“Yeah. Bad,” the diver said without raising his head.
“Anything different about this one?”
“Don't know—my first time when the body’s been down there for a while.” He swallowed hard.
“Could you tell how she died? Maybe she fell out of a boat and drowned.”
“Only if she wanted to kill herself. She had concrete blocks tied to her feet.”
“Jesus! She was murdered.” He suddenly remembered Kate's vision. “Was there any visible damage?”
“Are you kidding? She's been down there at least a week. They're bringing her up now, but I bet it will take an autopsy to tell what
“Where? Do you mean Jocassee , the one in Oconee County ? That's a long way from home.” He had to spell the name before she understood him. She had moved here from Iowa recently, and both the language and the geography of South Carolina were foreign to her.
“Yeah, that must be it. Where did they get a name like that?”
“Supposedly from a Cherokee princess who killed herself there. It's a long story—I'll tell you sometime.”
“Well, that's where the body is. Some fishermen found her at daybreak. The law from three counties is someplace called Devils Fork Landing.”
“Thanks, Suse . I owe you one.”
Ignoring the paint-laden roller and tray, he quickly washed his hands and arms in the kitchen sink. The story came first, always; the house might never be finished. What had possessed him to buy a place that needed this much remodeling? Instead of being a hobby, it had taken over a large portion of his life.
But by the time he reached the car, he had focused entirely on Kelly Landrum. On the drive out, he thought about the lake where she had been found, a large, man-made lake high in the foothills. The water covered hills and valleys, the convergence of three rivers. Trees, cemeteries, even churches and small, rural houses had been flooded to make the lake—most still stood in the deep blue depths. He was amazed that she had been found.
When he reached Devils Fork, an ambulance was backing slowly down the boat ramp toward the water. Suse was right—cars and vans bearing law enforcement decals from three counties had the parking lot so crowded it looked like a midsummer Saturday afternoon. He parked between two black and whites, one from Greenville County and one from Pickens. Stepping over the yellow tape barrier, he eased toward the crime scene crew, trying to stay behind Lynne Waite, out of her view.
She and a large, heavy-set man with an Oconee County badge on his sleeve were listening to man in a plaid shirt and khakis, nodding together as he talked. John guessed he was the coroner. He edged up within hearing distance. Waite, with the sixth sense he was convinced she had, turned to face him.
“Beat it, Gerrard. We'll have something for you later,” Waite said, pointing to the barrier. “Out.”
“Just one question, Waite. How did she die? Can you tell?” He smiled at her. “I might have something new for you tomorrow.”
“Not good enough. You've used that one too many times. Do you need an escort to find your way out?”
“I can make it on my own, but thanks for the offer.” He held out his hands in mock surrender and grinned, knowing she wasn't bluffing. “See you, Detective.”
Out of the corner of his eye, John saw one of the divers sitting on a rock at the shore. He thought the van containing the diving equipment was parked closed enough to block Waite's view.
John approached cautiously, keeping out of the detective's line of sight. The young diver, holding his head in his hands, huddled between the big orange oxygen tanks that lay on the ground beside his fins. He looked sick. John squatted down beside him. “Pretty bad down there, huh?”
“Yeah. Bad,” the diver said without raising his head.
“Anything different about this one?”
“Don't know—my first time when the body’s been down there for a while.” He swallowed hard.
“Could you tell how she died? Maybe she fell out of a boat and drowned.”
“Only if she wanted to kill herself. She had concrete blocks tied to her feet.”
“Jesus! She was murdered.” He suddenly remembered Kate's vision. “Was there any visible damage?”
“Are you kidding? She's been down there at least a week. They're bringing her up now, but I bet it will take an autopsy to tell what
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