his coffee this morning. He called at six a.m. to let me know, then faxed me the article. From the angle of the picture, he’s thinking Jim Woolf was sitting in a tree watching us the whole time.”
Daniel studied the grainy photo and his anger surged again. “Woolf has got all the details in there that I would have held back—the victim’s broken face, her being found wrapped in a brown blanket. He didn’t even have the decency to wait until they’d finished zipping her body bag. Luckily Malcolm’s blocking most of his shot.” Her body was hidden, but her feet were visible.
Chase was grim. “How the hell did he get through your barricade?”
“I don’t think he got through, not if he was sitting in the tree Corchran thinks. There’s no way we wouldn’t have seen him climbing that tree.”
“So he was there before you got there.”
Daniel nodded. “Which at a minimum means that somebody tipped him off. Worst case, it could mean he tampered with the scene before we got there.”
“Who called this in? I mean initially?”
“Biker in the race. He said he called 911 without ever getting off his bike. I already filed a warrant to check his cell phone records to see if he called anyone else first.”
“Vultures,” Chase muttered. “Call this Woolf guy. Make him tell you who told him.”
“I’ve called him four times this morning, but there’s no answer. I’ll drive to Dutton today to question him, but I’m betting he’ll hide behind the First Amendment and won’t reveal his source.”
“Probably. Hell.” Chase flicked the fax like it was a bug. “This Woolf guy could have been the one to put her there.”
“That’s occurred to me, although I have to doubt it. I went to high school with Jim Woolf and knew his family. He and his brothers were always quiet, nice kids.”
Chase glared at the photo. “I think it’s safe to say he’s changed.”
Daniel sighed. Hadn’t they all? There was something about Dutton, Georgia, that brought out the worst in people. “I guess so.”
Chase held up his hand. “Wait. I still want to know why Dutton? If this crime happened in Arcadia, why tip off this Woolf guy in Dutton?”
“The victim yesterday was found in Arcadia, in a ditch, wrapped in a brown blanket. A similar crime happened in Dutton thirteen years ago.” Daniel showed him the article on the murder of Alicia Tremaine. “Her killer is now serving life in Macon State.”
Chase grimaced. “God, I hate copycat killers.”
“I don’t like the original ones too much either. At any rate, I’m thinking somebody saw the body earlier, remembered the Tremaine connection, and leaked the Arcadia story to Jim Woolf. It could have been the biker or anybody else on that race course. I talked to the race officials when I was trying to figure when the body had been put in the ditch to begin with and one of them said he’d ridden the course Saturday and hadn’t seen anything. I believed him because the guy wore glasses with Coke-bottle lenses.”
“But if he was riding earlier, others might have been, too. Dig deeper.” Chase frowned. “But what’s this about the Tremaine connection? I don’t like you being on a case that involves Dutton. Not right now.”
Daniel had been ready for the argument. Still, it left his palms clammy. “Simon didn’t kill this woman, Chase. There’s no conflict here.”
Chase rolled his eyes. “Hell, Daniel. I know that. I also know the names Dutton and Vartanian together make the brass real nervous.”
“That’s not my problem. I haven’t done anything wrong.” And maybe someday he’d believe his own words. For now, he just needed Chase to believe them.
“Okay. But as soon as you hear a whisper of a bad Vartanian, you’re gone, okay?”
Daniel smiled wryly. “Okay.”
“What are you going to do next?’
“Identify this woman.” He tapped the photo of the victim. “Find out who told Jim Woolf what and when, and . . . follow up on Alicia
Daniel studied the grainy photo and his anger surged again. “Woolf has got all the details in there that I would have held back—the victim’s broken face, her being found wrapped in a brown blanket. He didn’t even have the decency to wait until they’d finished zipping her body bag. Luckily Malcolm’s blocking most of his shot.” Her body was hidden, but her feet were visible.
Chase was grim. “How the hell did he get through your barricade?”
“I don’t think he got through, not if he was sitting in the tree Corchran thinks. There’s no way we wouldn’t have seen him climbing that tree.”
“So he was there before you got there.”
Daniel nodded. “Which at a minimum means that somebody tipped him off. Worst case, it could mean he tampered with the scene before we got there.”
“Who called this in? I mean initially?”
“Biker in the race. He said he called 911 without ever getting off his bike. I already filed a warrant to check his cell phone records to see if he called anyone else first.”
“Vultures,” Chase muttered. “Call this Woolf guy. Make him tell you who told him.”
“I’ve called him four times this morning, but there’s no answer. I’ll drive to Dutton today to question him, but I’m betting he’ll hide behind the First Amendment and won’t reveal his source.”
“Probably. Hell.” Chase flicked the fax like it was a bug. “This Woolf guy could have been the one to put her there.”
“That’s occurred to me, although I have to doubt it. I went to high school with Jim Woolf and knew his family. He and his brothers were always quiet, nice kids.”
Chase glared at the photo. “I think it’s safe to say he’s changed.”
Daniel sighed. Hadn’t they all? There was something about Dutton, Georgia, that brought out the worst in people. “I guess so.”
Chase held up his hand. “Wait. I still want to know why Dutton? If this crime happened in Arcadia, why tip off this Woolf guy in Dutton?”
“The victim yesterday was found in Arcadia, in a ditch, wrapped in a brown blanket. A similar crime happened in Dutton thirteen years ago.” Daniel showed him the article on the murder of Alicia Tremaine. “Her killer is now serving life in Macon State.”
Chase grimaced. “God, I hate copycat killers.”
“I don’t like the original ones too much either. At any rate, I’m thinking somebody saw the body earlier, remembered the Tremaine connection, and leaked the Arcadia story to Jim Woolf. It could have been the biker or anybody else on that race course. I talked to the race officials when I was trying to figure when the body had been put in the ditch to begin with and one of them said he’d ridden the course Saturday and hadn’t seen anything. I believed him because the guy wore glasses with Coke-bottle lenses.”
“But if he was riding earlier, others might have been, too. Dig deeper.” Chase frowned. “But what’s this about the Tremaine connection? I don’t like you being on a case that involves Dutton. Not right now.”
Daniel had been ready for the argument. Still, it left his palms clammy. “Simon didn’t kill this woman, Chase. There’s no conflict here.”
Chase rolled his eyes. “Hell, Daniel. I know that. I also know the names Dutton and Vartanian together make the brass real nervous.”
“That’s not my problem. I haven’t done anything wrong.” And maybe someday he’d believe his own words. For now, he just needed Chase to believe them.
“Okay. But as soon as you hear a whisper of a bad Vartanian, you’re gone, okay?”
Daniel smiled wryly. “Okay.”
“What are you going to do next?’
“Identify this woman.” He tapped the photo of the victim. “Find out who told Jim Woolf what and when, and . . . follow up on Alicia
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