Page 1 of Wild Idol (Tyson Wild Thriller #82)

R ed and blue lights flashed across the alley, bouncing off the damp brick walls. First responders swarmed the scene. A crowd of curious onlookers gathered.

Dietrich leaned in through the open side door of the dumpster and snapped photos. The camera flashes bounced off the green steel container.

I knew this wouldn’t be a pretty scene.

When Dietrich had taken enough pictures, Brenda pulled on a pair of pink nitrile gloves and climbed into the dumpster to examine the remains. I don’t think it was her favorite thing in the world to do.

JD and I approached to get a better look.

The smell of rotten trash swirled the air, mixed with the aroma of new death. The victim hadn’t been there long enough to turn sour, but the traces were unmistakable. Hints of perfume still clung to her skin. Light and floral .

Flies swarmed about the corpse.

It broke my heart.

The blonde in the dumpster was maybe 17 or 18. She had been pretty. A real head-turner. Now, her skin was pale and lifeless. Her blank, blue eyes stared at the sky. She lay atop black bags of trash and loose debris.

No blood stains. No spatter. Nothing to indicate violence.

“No obvious signs of trauma,” Brenda said, her voice echoing off the steel of the bin.

“Any ID?” I asked.

Brenda shook her head.

The girl wore a tight top, a leather miniskirt, and stilettos. The designer logo on the soles of the shoes didn’t come cheap. All done up, she was obviously trying to look older. Now, she’d be forever young.

At first glance, I didn’t see a purse near the body, but I’d let Brenda dig through the dumpster.

The green monstrosity was at the end of the alley, behind Beats . It was a thumping dance club that played electro-pop into the wee hours of the morning. The kind of place where it wasn’t hard to find cocaine, tabs of molly, and other illicit substances to keep you going all night.

“Time of death?”

“Judging by the body temperature, I’d say between 11:00 PM and 1:00 AM, give or take,” Brenda replied.

I snapped a reference photo on my cell phone of the girl’s face. The redness of her lipstick kept her lips from looking blue, but her skin had that sickly green pallor.

I backed away from the dumpster and found the sheriff. He looked on with a grim face.

“Who found the body?” I asked.

Sheriff Daniels pointed to a guy standing nearby. “Employee of the club. Found her when he was taking out the trash.”

JD and I stepped to him. I flashed my badge and made introductions. His name was Todd. He was late 20s with short dark hair, dark eyes, and a strong jaw full of stubble.

“When did you find her?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Maybe an hour ago now. I called you guys right away.”

“Do you recognize her?”

He shook his head.

“She looks like she’s dressed for a night on the town. Was she in the club last night?”

Todd shrugged again. “Lots of people come through the club.”

“Any video surveillance in the club or the alley?” I asked, looking around for cameras.

Todd shook his head.

I dug into my pocket and handed him a card. “If anything should come to mind.”

He took the card, looked it over, then slipped it into his pocket .

By that time, Paris Delaney and her news crew were on the scene. The cameraman lensed up the dumpster as Brenda and her crew transferred the remains. The body was bagged and put atop a gurney, then rolled out of the alley. Brenda and her crew loaded the body into the medical examiner’s van.

It was good to see Paris out of the hospital and back in action. She didn’t waste any time inserting herself into the chaos. “Deputy Wild, do you have an ID on the victim?”

“Not at this time.” I spoke into the lens and made a plea for witnesses to come forward, hoping somebody had seen something.

JD and I canvassed the area, but nobody claimed to have seen anything.

After we wrapped up at the scene, JD and I returned to the station and filled out after-action reports. I had Denise cross-reference the database for any missing persons reports but nothing matched the decedent.

“Somebody’s going to miss a girl like that,” I said.

“Unless she’s a runaway or from out of town,” Denise replied.

I frowned. There were plenty of those.

The island was a popular destination for dreamers of all types.

It was a place where you could escape and reinvent yourself.

A place where you could be anything you wanted to be.

The weather was damn near perfect all year round.

There were plenty of ways to make money on the island.

Of course, everything was expensive. It wasn’t exactly Hollywood, but we had our fair share of celebrities.

Plenty of second homes for the rich and famous.

I sent Isabella the victim’s picture and asked her to run it through facial recognition software. If anybody could ID this girl quickly, it was Isabella. As the head of one of the largest clandestine agencies, she had a vast amount of resources.

“How do you think she got into the dumpster?” JD asked.

I had plenty of theories brewing. I’m sure he did, too. I didn’t want to jump to any conclusions at this point. But something told me she had gotten in over her head. When things went south, somebody didn’t want to be left holding the bag.

My phone buzzed with a call from an unknown number. I was always hesitant to answer those. I didn’t like talking to spammers.

After a few rings, I decided to answer it. My thumb swiped the screen, and I held the device to my ear. “Hello?”

A man asked, “Is this Deputy Wild?”