Page 13 of Distress Signal

Someone had obviously been camping here. Off to one side, tucked up against the sheer cliff face that jutted up behind it, was a single-person tent. Larger vegetation in the area had been recently cleared. A firepit had been dug in the dirt in the center and circled with rocks. A fallen log served as seating and a large boulder was being used as a rudimentary table. Atop it were two slabs of meat, raw steaks of some sort already being picked over by flies.

The victim was lying in the brush off to the side, right at the edge of the clearing, her limbs tangled around her like thebranches of the trees above. Long, honey blonde hair trailed out around her, limp and lackluster in death.

Crew, West, and I drew closer until we stood right over her. Eyes, once full of light and life, were now milky in death, turning the irises some undetermined shade. Her mouth was open, as though parted on a scream for help no one would ever hear. The back of her head rested against the base of a birch tree, her chin resting on her chest.

My first glance didn’t give me any indication of cause of death, but as I shifted around to her side, I saw it: dark purple streaks of bruising around her neck—each in the shape of fingers.

“Sooo…strangulation then?” West said conversationally.

“What gave it away?” Lane said wryly, walking up with Sutton Rausch, one of the paramedics who worked out of the firehouse with Crew. Her partner, Thomas, wasn’t far behind.

“Lucky guess.”

“Have some fucking respect,” Sutton said fiercely, glaring at each of us in turn. “She died horrifically.”

None of us were religious by any stretch, but we all took a moment of silence in the wake of Sutton’s admonishment. Lane went so far as to make the sign of the cross before speaking again, as though sealing some prayer that the woman’s soul found peace in the beyond.

“I know you’re not a doctor,” Lane said to Sutton, “but break it down for me.”

“Well, in my inexpert opinion, she’s been out here since sometime yesterday. Clothes are still intact, so I’d guess the crime wasn’t sexually motivated. Based on how deep the bruising goes, whoever did this to her held on for a lot longer and with far more force than was necessary. I wouldn’t be shocked if the autopsy reveals her neck was also broken. I’d guess this was personal for the killer. Either they knew each other, or she represents a trigger.”

“You and your fucking psychology,” Lane muttered.

Sutton rolled her eyes, and I shared a look with my two other brothers.

The comment was too…familiar, like Lane was privy to some information about Sutton the rest of us weren’t. There was something that simmered beneath the surface of every one of their interactions, and I genuinely had no idea if they wanted to fight to the death or fuck it out.

It was a fine line.

“Isn’t that one of the first things you look for,Sheriff?” she sneered. “Does the motive not play a major part in who did this to her?”

“Uh oh,” West stage whispered. “Mom and Dad are fighting again.”

“Fuck off,” Lane gritted out.

“You know she’s right,” Crew said. Lane cut him a glare that could’ve killed, and Crew merely shrugged.

To Lane, I said, “What do you need from us?” steering the conversation back to the matter at hand: getting this victim out of the elements and to the morgue.

If we let them, Sutton and Lane would run away with their argument, and the results could be catastrophic enough to level the forest around us.

“Get some gloves on and help us load her on the backboard,” Sutton answered.

“Then Tuck, Burns, Childers, and I will bring her to the copter,” Crew supplied.

“Will personnel meet us in Boise?” I asked Lane.

Owyhee County didn’t have its own medical examiner since its population consisted of more farm animals and wildlife than people. Any suspicious deaths found their way onto the state-appointed medical examiner’s slab.

“No. Bring her to town.”

I blinked slowly, not positive I heard him correctly.

“We’re taking her toourmorgue?” West asked the question I’d been about to, mirroring my surprise. “The morgue thatnevergets used?”

“Yep,” Lane said as he passed out nitrile gloves to each of us, which would then go into an evidence bag and logged into the file in case anything transferred to us when we moved the body. “Stockman said he’d come to us.”

“Look at you, moving up in the world,” I said, clapping Lane on the shoulder. “Solve one case and now you’re a big dog who’s got the ME on speed dial.”