She picked up on his adversarial vibe. It was clear he enjoyed keeping others off balance and in the dark. Nothing felt right about this guy, now that she studied him. Usually she could see spiritual auras glowing around a person. Not with Winter. Stone-cold blank. Nothing close to the normal violet or indigo. Was he the undead? No, vamps and zombies gave off a sickly, reddish-black hue. Something was blocking his aura. But what? And why had he called them into this case? Later, she promised herself she’d find out.
She let it drop for the moment and turned to Bergman, who was nursing his coffee. “So, Dr. B, what are we looking at?”
Bergman finished his coffee and stuck the cup in a brown satchel near his leg. He shoved up the black spectacles perched on the end of his nose, then bent and picked up a shredded sports bra. “If you enjoy M. Night Shyamalan, this is all the entertainment you’ll ever want.” He held the blood-covered top by the straps. Five jagged tears scored the center of the back.
At the sight of the destroyed material, Fala felt a sick sensation in the pit of her stomach. She could imagine what the body looked like.
Winter asked, “Have any theories on how the murder was committed?”
“An animal, surely,” Bergman said.
“With big claws or teeth,” Fala added.
“A zoo animal?” Winter asked.
Joe polished off his coffee and said, “We got a guy checking to see if they have an escapee.”
Fala pointed at the three-foot patch of blood that had soaked the ground. “All the vic’s blood?”
Bergman shoved his slipping glasses back up on his nose with the inside of his forearm. “I’ve taken a sample to test against the stains on this bra. I’ll test it against a hair sample Mr. Winter retrieved from Miss Sanecki’s apartment, too.”
Winter eyed Bergman over the top of his coffee cup. “I’d be glad to run it through my own lab.”
“It’s on top of my list.” Bergman shot Winter an indignant glance for trying to step into his forensic domain.
“I’m sure Senator Kent will look favorably upon any priority you can give this case.” Winter worked a smile but it never quite touched his face. “Just give me a call when you get the results.”
Fala didn’t like the superior expression Winter wore. She glanced over at the bagged shredded panties and shorts, or what was left of them. Beside them, she noted a pair of tennis shoes, torn and shredded as if something chewed on them then spit them out. Other than the bloodstain, that was all the evidence they had.
“How much blood is that?” Fala asked.
“Best guess, about three pints,” Bergman said. “If it’s our vic’s, then it’s safe to assume she’s dead.” He dropped the tattered bra in an evidence bag.
She glanced toward the frantic dogs. They balked, shivered, and suffered fear fits as the uniforms and crime-scene techs combed the grids they had marked off. “Nothing found in the woods yet?” she asked.
“Not yet,” Bergman said.
“There’s got to be parts of the body around here…somewhere.” Joe glanced at the dogs and shrugged. “And what’s up with the damn dogs? They’ve gone loco. We’re going to have to bring in some more teams.”
Yeah, canines that couldn’t smell death and fear and something that frightened them to the point of madness. Fala looked down at the blood and another chill crawled down her neck. Then she felt Winter’s gaze on her. When she looked at him, he quickly glanced at Joe. He knew something he wasn’t saying.
Winter said, “The body could have been taken from the scene.”
Bergman gulped and said, “Or consumed.”
“One hungry creature,” she said.
Joe asked, “What kind of animal would eat a whole body?”
Bergman sneered, his usual expression while he thought. “Don’t know of any animal that eats flesh and bone in one sitting. Even lions and bears leave carcasses.”
Fala felt the predator’s aura pricking her senses, and it caused another tremor to go through her. “What about tracks?”
Bergman shook his head. “None found. That’s one of the weird things, too. There should be tracks, especially with this much blood.”
Fala knew only some supernatural beings left tracks in the physical world. She had a feeling the only track this killer had left was the energy crawling down her skin as she said, “We’ll need surveillance tapes of the park entries and exits. I want men questioning every regular night jogger.”
Joe added, “And we need background on the vic—”
“I have all the information on Ms. Sanecki’s friends and contacts in the area,” interrupted Winter. “Her family lives in Cincinnati and I have an agent on the way. I also have her BlackBerry, her itinerary for the past two days and a log of phone calls from her apartment. And I’ve requested her cell phone records.”
Fala looked askance at him. “Couldn’t get her shoe size yet?”
“Judging from what I saw, I’d say size eight.” He pointed to the jogging shoes.
Fala cursed herself for the easy set-up. Without turning toward the shoes, she said, “Asics Gel 500s, actually. She must have been a pronator.”
Joe’s cell phone rang to the tune of Brahms’s Lullaby. “Sì.” His expression darkened, his nose twitching. He slapped the phone closed and said, “All animals are accounted for at the zoo.” Before he could put his phone away it rang again. He answered, his expression quickly growing in concern. “What? Mannie, that you? Speak up!”
Fala could tell by the panic in his eyes that something was horribly wrong. Mannie, Joe’s cousin, had just joined the force. Unlucky guy had drawn the graveyard shift.
In the bright halogen lights set up around the scene, Joe’s face turned pale. He slapped the phone shut, his eyes haunted. “What’s wrong?”
“Something’s going down at the station. I could barely hear Mannie.”
“What did he say?”
“He asked for a priest.”
Fala turned to Winter. She hesitated but had no choice. “Can you handle the scene alone for a while?”
“Of course.” He looked offended she’d asked such a question.
“Let’s go.” She ran behind Joe toward his car, feeling Winter’s gaze piercing her back.
“I hope everything’s okay,” Winter called to them.
A silken undertone of sincerity stirred beneath Winter’s words and caused her to turn and look at him. But his eyes said something entirely different. On the surface they glistened like pearls in a crystal glass, but deeper the transparency turned opaque, indistinct, obscuring what? A hidden agenda? Yes, she’d learn what it was.
Before she jumped in the car with Joe, the moon caught her attention. It wore the same furtive leer as Winter. Ancient Patomani legend spoke of a demon cousin to the moon, Sissong. Sometimes Sissong would come out to dance, entrance his victims, then steal their spirit and eat them. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear Sissong was hiding behind that moon. What was Winter hiding behind?
Joe had already started the engine and she hopped in the car, wondering what else could happen tonight.
Stephen listened to the dogs’ baying, whining and barking at being forced to stay near the crime scene. “Control those dogs or get them the hell out of here.” He didn’t take his eyes off of Fala Rainwater as she rode away.
“Yes,