Sense of Evil

Chapter One Hastings, South Carolina Monday, June 9 Rafe Sullivan rose from his crouched position, absently stretching muscles that had begun to cramp, and muttered, "Well, shit," under his breath. It was already hot and humid even just before noon, the sun burning almost directly overhead in a clear blue sky, and he absently wished he'd had his people put up a tarp to provide some shade. The effort wouldn't be worthwhile now; another half hour, and the coroner's wagon would be here. The body sprawled at his feet was a bloody mess. She lay on her back, arms wide, legs apart, spread-eagled in a pathetically exposed, vulnerable position that made him want to cover her up--even though she was more or less dressed. Her once-white blouse was dull red, soaked with blood and still mostly wet despite the heat, so that the coppery smell was strong. The thin, springlike floral skirt was eerily undamaged but blood-soaked, spread out around her hips, the hem almost daintily raised to just above her knees. She had been pretty once. Now, even though her face was virtually untouched, she wasn't pretty anymore. Her delicate features were contorted, eyes wide and staring, mouth open in a scream she probably never had the chance or the breath to utter. From the corners of her parted lips, trails of blood ran down her cheeks, some of it mixing with the golden strands of her long blond hair and a lot of it soaking into the ground around her. She had been pretty once. "Looks like he was really pissed this time, Chief. Bit like the first victim, I'd say." Detective Mallory Beck made the observation dryly, seemingly unmoved by the gory scene before them. Rafe looked at her, reading the truth in her tightened lips and grim eyes. But all he said was, "Am I wrong, or did this one fight him?" Mallory consulted her notebook. "Doc just did the preliminary, of course, but he says she tried. Defensive injuries on the victim's hands, and one stab wound in her back--which the doc says was probably the first injury." Shifting his gaze to the body, Rafe said, "In the back? So she was trying to turn--or run--away from him when he stabbed her the first time. And either he turned her around so he could finish her face-to-face or she turned herself trying to fight him." "Looks like it. And only a few hours ago; we got the call on this one earlier than the others. The doc estimates the time of death as around five-thirty this morning." "Awfully early to be up and out," Rafe commented. "Caleb opens his office between nine-thirty and ten as a rule. She was still his paralegal, right?" "Right. Normally went to the office around nine. So she was out very early. What I don't get is how he was able to lure her this far away from the road. You can see there are no drag marks, and two sets of footprints--we have good casts, by the way--so she walked out here with him. I'm no Daniel Boone, but I'd say from her tracks that she was walking calm and easy, not struggling or hesitating at all." Rafe had to admit that the ground here looked remarkably calm and undisturbed, for the most part, especially considering the violence of what had been done to the victim. And after last night's rain all the tracks were easily visible. So this murder scene, like the last one, clearly illustrated what had happened here. From all appearances, twenty-six-year-old Tricia Kane had gotten out of her own car around dawn at an unofficial rest spot off a normally busy two-lane highway and then walked with a companion--male, according to all likelihood as well as an FBI profile--about fifty yards into the woods to this clearing. And then the companion had killed her. Brutally. "Maybe he had a gun," Rafe suggested, thinking aloud. "Or maybe the knife was enough toHooper, Kay is the author of 'Sense of Evil' with ISBN 9780553803006 and ISBN 055380300X.