Chapter 1 BREE

Chapter 1

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Day 1

Sheriff Bree Taggert heard the drone of flies as soon as she opened the door to exit her vehicle. In her experience, an excessive number of flies was never a good sign. The heat enveloped her as she stepped onto the pavement. Summer in upstate New York was generally pleasant, but they always had to suffer through a sweltering week or two. They were smack in the middle of that annual heat wave.

She grabbed a water bottle from her county SUV and closed the vehicle door. The blacktop radiated heat, amplifying the temperature and humidity to sauna level.

Ahead, county maintenance worker Edmund Hoyt stood on the shoulder of the road, staring into the knee-high weeds. Sweat soaked his long-sleeve T-shirt and gleamed on his lean, tanned face. Bree walked past the tractor Edmund had been using to mow roadside vegetation and stopped next to him. The flies sounded like a remote-controlled plane.

She handed him the water bottle. "What did you find?"

"Thanks." Lifting the bottle, Edmund pointed into the weeds with it. Five feet down the roadside embankment, two discarded suitcases lay in a patch of tall grass. "Didn't expect the sheriff to respond."

"I was nearby, on my way to a county budget meeting." Which Bree was more than happy to miss. Township meetings were about as pleasant as sticking a fork in her eye.

He laughed, twisted off the bottle cap, and gestured toward the suitcases again. "When I first spotted them, I was going to take them to the county dump. Then I got closer, saw the flies, and smelled ... whatever that stink is." He paused to take a long drink. "I decided not to touch them and called your office."

"Good thinking."

Edmund usually started his day early and had likely been working in the heat all day, but his body odor couldn't compete with the stench wafting from the luggage. The muggy, still afternoon intensified the unmistakable scent of decay. With no wind, the odor rode the humidity like fog hovered over damp ground.

"I didn't get any closer." Edmund removed his hat and wiped his face on the sleeve of his shirt. In his midfifties, he sported a few days of salt-and-pepper scruff and the deep crow's-feet of a man who worked outside. "Feels sketchy to me."

The situation felt sketchy to Bree too. But someone had to see what was in the suitcase. Was she paying the price for bailing on the budget meeting? Karma could be a real bitch.

In this heat, flies would be drawn to any decaying organic matter. The suitcases could contain rotting food. On the other hand ... dead things attracted the most flies.

She used her phone to take pictures. Then, with one eye on the ground for tracks, debris, or other evidence, she picked her way down the slope. A sticker bush ensnared her boot, and she carefully extracted it, picking a bur from her laces.

The wheelie bags were the larger size you had to check for a flight. One lay partially open, the zipper's teeth gaping apart. The other stood upright, propped on a rock. She could imagine them pushed or tossed out of a vehicle, tumbling down the embankment, and one breaking open before they came to rest in their current location.

She turned and scanned the incline up to the road. With the weeds and the slope, the luggage wouldn't be obvious to the average car driving by, but Edmund had a better view from the tractor's elevated seat. Even if a passerby spotted the suitcases, from a distance they would appear to be nothing more than luggage. Discarded debris wasn't unusual. Bree had seen everything from mattresses to old appliances dumped on the roadside. One had to get closer to these to realize something was amiss.

The sun beat on the top of her head, and sweat had already saturated the T-shirt she wore under her body armor and uniform. The odor from the suitcases grew stronger. As she moved closer, the flies' incessant buzzing raised goose bumps on her arms, even in the oppressive heat. Staying a few feet away, Bree crouched to get a better look inside the partially open suitcase. Even after spending years as a homicide detective in Philadelphia, flies gave her the creeps.

She leaned closer. The point of what appeared to be a black lawn-and-leaf bag protruded from the broken zipper.

Maybe it's just garbage.

Mentally, she crossed her fingers but snapped a few more pics, just in case, because she'd learned to be prepared for the worst.

Bree removed her expandable baton from her duty belt, snapped it to full length, and gently used the end to widen the opening. The smell that poured out made her eyes water. Bree recoiled, turning her head and coughing as the thick odor filled her sinuses, mouth, and throat.

She used the baton to lift the edge of the plastic a little farther, taking care not to tear it. She widened the opening another inch, and something fell out, landing at her feet and creating a puff of dry dirt.

Bree rocked backward on her heels. Horror crawled through her. The object was dried and decayed, the shriveled flesh mottled black and brown. Odd patches of white coated the skin. But she still recognized a human forearm and hand, reaching out of the suitcase as if asking for help.

Too late. The victim had likely been murdered. People who died naturally or accidentally didn't generally end up in suitcases.

Bree stood and took two steps backward. Her legs felt weary from more than just her morning run. She collapsed her baton and returned it to her duty belt. She wouldn't disturb the body any further. The medical examiner would want to see the remains in situ.

She brushed off her hands, which hadn't touched anything, and turned back toward the road, climbing the embankment on the same path she'd used on the way down. She joined Edmund on the road, the pavement feeling solid under her boots.

Edmund squinted at her. "From the look on your face, I assume the suitcase isn't filled with trash?"

"No. Not trash. Give me a couple of minutes." Bree returned to her vehicle, started the engine, and turned the air conditioner on high. The tepid air that blasted from the vents was an improvement over the environment outside. She called for backup, the medical examiner, and a forensics team, though she predicted not much evidence would be gleaned from the scene. Based on the fly activity, the suitcases had likely been sitting there for a while.

She thought of the second suitcase. Until proved otherwise, she would assume a second body was inside.

Two suitcases. Two bodies. Two murders.