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“Not this one.” She noted all the conditions she could think to write down, then moved on. Praying she would find Ramon’s sister, as much as she prayed she wouldn’t and left a chance the girl might still be alive.
The second wasn’t so decomposed as the first one she’d dug up. Kenna didn’t think too much about the insects. She simply scooped the dirt back over it and left things intact as much as possible.
“Come on.” She guessed where Marion might have started and tried the centermost depression.
The first?
Kenna knew she was right when there was no burlap sheet. No covering. And the state of the skull brought bile up into her throat. “It’s her.” She had a gut feeling, but couldn’t prove it until she dug far enough to see the little girl’s neck. “Serious head trauma. Her skull is cracked.”
“Before or after she died?”
“I’m sure there are ways to tell, but I don’t know what they are.” Kenna wiped a tear from her cheek, probably smearing dirt on her face. This little girl had suffered. That could not be denied.
“Does she have the necklace?”
Kenna managed to lift it from around the girl’s neck—or what remained. She hardly had to disturb anything. Not from a spine severing injury, just decades of decay. “It’s time to go home, Meri.” She held the necklace in her hand and gave herself a moment.
“Disturbing evidence?” The sheriff stood across the clearing. “Really?”
Kenna rolled her shoulders, slipping the necklace into the back pocket of her jeans as she stood. “It’s called evidence collection. The FBI can vouch for my training.”
“And I’m supposed to just buy that it’s all above board.”
She didn’t really care what he chose to believe. Sheriff Gingrich would dismiss her or accept her presence here. She tended to wind up with one or two outcomes with local police. They were solid, and they ended up dead. Or they were corrupt, and they ended up coming after her—and ended up dead.
Far as she could see, steering clear would be a better idea.
“Scene has been secure since your deputy left.” She grabbed the big notepad and handed it over. “Everything I’ve done so far has been logged and photographed. But I’ve barely scratched the surface, so I doubt I’ll have to come back and testify.”
“Well, there’s something to be thankful for at least.”
He didn’t like things he couldn’t control. And he didn’t like strangers disturbing how he thought things should be. She was pretty sure this guy also didn’t want her presence inferring he should’ve closed this case years ago—which was, of course, absolutely true.
“I’ll get out of your hair, now that you’re here, and you can have your scene.”
As long as he understood that if anything was amiss in what was made public, she would bring the truth back to bite him.
Sheriff Gingrich sighed. “I’ll have to get that K-9 back out when his handler is healed. We need to find all the bodies without anyone falling into more traps.”
“The dog’s confusion was how they were injured in thefirst place.” She explained about the animals in the pits. Some are fresher than others. Marion had killed more than humans. “She might’ve hired someone in town to keep the traps stocked with fresh kills periodically.”
The sheriff just looked confused. “I’m not digging up this whole field. That will take days.”
“I’d think you have people for that,” Kenna shot back. “Or you could call the state police.”
He laughed. “And let them take the credit?”
Kenna grabbed a stack of evidence markers. She walked all over the field, laying one down beside where she could be reasonably sure there was a child buried under the surface. She walked back and handed the rest of the stack of markers to him. They tumbled into his cupped hands. “You did a good job, finding them all. Good for you, Sheriff.”
Kenna patted him on the shoulder, then strode away to the path and to her car. Leaving him to comprehend the fact she’d handed him this entire discovery. Even if anyone in town might’ve already heard she’d been behind it. He would be on record as the one to get the credit. She didn’t need recognition.
She had what she’d come for.
Chapter Eight
Kenna held on to the hardback songbook as the congregation sang, “Oh, the love that sought me. Oh, the love that bought me.” Finally, on verse four of the hymn, “In Tenderness He Sought Me,” she’d figured out how the melody went enough to sing along. “I’m sitting in His presence, the sunshine of His face. While with adoring wonder, His blessings I retrace. It seems as if eternal days are far too short to sound His praise.”
Her attention went back to the first verse.