“Maybe ask Mr. Weems to drop by.” Jenna watched her retreating back.
“Nah.” Emily turned and walked backward. “He likes them all stitched back together. This week the morgue is going to look like Frankenstein’s workshop.”
“Emily.” Wolfe spun around and dropping his glasses, gave his daughter a look to freeze Niagara Falls. “The death of a young woman is not a joke. If you plan to work with me, you’ll need to treat the victims with respect.”
“I do, Dad.” Emily’s back straightened. “I wasn’t being disrespectful. I was stating a fact. We have been reassembling the first victim and it was the easiest way of explaining it to Jenna is all.” She looked up at the frozen remains. “She looks the same type as the last victim. Dark hair, tattoos, earrings, and I’d say she’s under twenty. Both victims seem to match the others murdered by The Sculptor.” She looked at Kane. “Do you agree, Dave?”
“Maybe.” Kane’s attention was fixed on the body. “I think making a decision before an autopsy is a mistake but I do agree the hair color and tattoos are a match.”
“At least we won’t have to wait too long to know if this torso and the spare limbs belong together.” Wolfe peered over his sunglasses at Jenna. “I’ll do a DNA profile when I get back to the lab. You’ll have it before you leave this afternoon.”
“That would be great, thank you.” Jenna glanced around the scene. “Wolfe, I’ll take Rowley and we’ll do a recon of the area.”
“Sure. Webber, take a video of the scene.” Wolfe handed him a camera. “Emily, you take the stills. I want them from every direction, close-up and don’t forget the entire area around the cabin. Start over by the trail leading up the mountain.” He turned to look at Kane. “If you’ll come with me, we’ll try and get the remains down.”
“I’m glad I’m not doing Kane’s job.” Rowley walked beside Jenna. “I can see straight through to that poor woman’s lungs.”
Jenna glanced at him. “We have to stop this killer.” She looked around the vast forest, deadly beautiful, and sighed. “This is no out-of-towner. This maniac is living here right among us.”
Twenty-Five
It never ceased to amaze Preacher how fate played a part in his life. It was as if the things he needed arrived by simply thinking about them. He’d required a chimney to present his artwork and the next moment had overheard Mrs. Petersham mentioning a trip to her cabin in the forest to retrieve a suitcase filled with winter clothes, that she planned to donate to the homeless. The snowplow would clear the road for her trip, and right at that moment, fate had given him not only a place to present his work but the opportunity to make the news once the mayor’s wife had viewed it.
The snowplows ran to a schedule, for people to follow or avoid them, and it took him less than two minutes scrolling his phone for the information. Less time again to call about the extended road clearing and what roads were on the daily route. He smiled into the dazzling white surroundings. Dressed all in white, he blended into the background and from his perch hidden above the cabin, he could admire Delores. He’d used his own special technique to keep her eyes open. One drop of glue to each lid once life escaped her, had given him the wide-eyed effect he required. He wanted her to know where he’d left her, naked for all to see. She’d become his tribute to silence and each time he cut and formed her to his own design, the memory of her taunts faded. He wished he could get closer, just one more time, to see the dusting of snow covering her glistening flesh—each perfect flake a creation of nature.
A rush of excitement gripped him. They’d be here soon to search for a hint, any little clue to find and stop him but it would never happen. He hadn’t driven to the Petershams’ cabin—he wasn’t that stupid. He’d taken the main road to the parking lot alongside Bear Ridge about one hundred feet above it, and using a sled to carry Delores, had made his way down the mountain trail to the cabin. On leaving, he’d been careful not to leave his footprints behind, and if the sled hadn’t slid down the narrow trail after he’d removed her body, no one would have known he’d used a sled at all. Snow made it so easy to cover his tracks—a pine branch dragged behind him obscured even the deepest footprints and nature had done the rest.
Nothing came close to the thrill of someone almost discovering him. He’d been adding the final touches to his creation when he’d heard Mrs. Petersham’s SUV coming toward the cabin. She’d been early. She’d mentioned to a friend that she planned to leave at twelve to give the snowplow time to clear the road but had arrived just before twelve at the cabin. With no time to cover his tracks, he’d scrambled up the rock face, to hide and watch.
Preacher chuckled with glee at the memory. He’d been close enough to see her stare out the window, eyes wide and mouth gaping open in shock. Her gasp of fear had made his pulse race. In her hurry to leave, she’d fishtailed in the snow and scraped the side of her vehicle against the pines, scarring their majestic trunks. He’d waited for the sound of her engine to disappear into the distance and then gone back down and tidied up some. He’d brushed away his footprints and then made his way back up the mountain to his hideout to wait. The snow fell thick and fast obscuring his path as if he’d never been there. Only the mark cut into the ice from the sled would betray him but it gave little away. How many people in Black Rock Falls had sleds? Hundreds, maybe thousands. He swept his binoculars from left to right and listened for the sound of vehicles. They would come—they always came to admire his creations.
The snow muffled sound but the roar of powerful vehicles soon rumbled up the mountain. Heart thumping fast with anticipation, Preacher stretched out on the snow, binoculars aimed at Sheriff Alton and her team. If he had a mind, he could shoot them but that would be no fun at all. He watched the movement below with interest. The sheriff’s posse had arrived with engines roaring, making no effort to be quiet. The unmarked black truck that chauffeured her, led a marked pickup with a uniformed deputy behind the wheel and following him, a large white truck bearing the insignia of the medical examiner. As the people emerged, their reactions to his art were varied. The sheriff had a look of hopelessness, the younger deputy glanced and looked away, but the others moved closer and examined it without expression. The sheriff acted like a general issuing orders to her troops but then spent her time searching around the outside of the cabin. She’d find nothing. He hadn’t gone further than the end of the rockface.
As the Medical Examiner and the big deputy eased their way toward Delores, their voices carried to his position. They worked together as if they’d been doing so all their lives. Speaking in hushed tones, they spent a deal of time testing the roof before the ME slid over to Delores on a rescue stretcher, took some photographs, and then removed her. He wrapped her in silver foil like leftover takeout before they carried her back to his truck.
Images of inside the mortuary danced in his mind. He wished he could be there, listening to the discussion as they admired his work and discussed the finer points of his technique. They must surely admire his creativity. He could visualize the autopsy and the ME sorting through the parts of her like a jigsaw puzzle. How fine she’d look with his neat stitches crossing her chest. Would he reattach her limbs? It was a shame they’d bury her or turn her to ashes. In his world of ice, she’d be with him forever—but he didn’t mind, there would always be another Delores.
Twenty-Six
At last they had secured the crime scene and the torso of the young woman was in safe hands. Jenna kicked the snow from her boots and trudged inside the sheriff’s department. The office had a homely smell of new books, freshly brewed coffee and the vanilla air freshener in the foyer. She walked to the counter. Maggie looked at her with apprehension and she smiled at her. “Everything is taken care of, Maggie. Did Duke behave himself, no howling at the door after we left without him?”
“No, he was too busy eating to notice you’d gone.” Maggie wrinkled her nose. “Although, he was a mite interested in the delivery. I must say, it doesn’t smell so good.” She pointed to a large manilla envelope on the counter. “It’s for you.”
Jenna picked up the envelope. It was heavy and bulky with just her name printed on the front. “Did it come by courier?”
“That I can’t say.” Maggie shu
ffled some paperwork. “It was here when I came back from the bathroom. With you all gone, I had no one to watch the counter but I did lock the cashbox in the drawer.”
“That’s fine.” Jenna chuckled. “You can’t be in two places at the same time.” She walked into her office, removed her gloves, and then tore open the envelope.
A plastic bag slid out onto her desk. Inside, the mutilated body of a rat lay in a pool of blood. Jenna stepped away and swallowed hard. She moved swiftly to the door. “Kane, get in here.”
It seemed to take ages for Kane to amble into her office. Jenna indicated to the rat. “Mail call.”
“That can’t be from the killer.” Kane stood hands on hips. “He wouldn’t risk leaving any traceable evidence and he’s never mailed anything before. If he did it would be part of a body not a rat.”
Jenna had already decided who had sent the rat. She nodded. “Oh, it’s not from the killer. It’s been sent to scare me off. The only person I’ve upset lately is Kim Strickland. She’s escalated. This has to be from her.” She rounded her desk, dropped into her chair, and went straight to her computer to hunt down Kim’s address from the Motor Vehicles Division database. “If it’s her, this is a threat and we’ll have her for stalking. Go check for prints.”