CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Ella stood at the edge of the dried-up riverbed, staring down at the corpse like it was a Rorschach test. What do you see, Agent Dark? A dead man or your own failure splayed out in the mud?

The body lay face-down, limbs akimbo like a limp puppet. Water still seeped from the sodden clothes, turning the parched earth to sludge. The air was thick with the cloying stench of river muck and encroaching decay. This body, whoever this poor gentleman was, had been discarded at the river's edge. What passed for a river, anyway. It was a sad excuse for itself, more mud than flow. Drought had taken its toll here too, leaving behind nothing but memories and silt.

Ella"s heart gave that familiar sympathetic twinge, the one that came no matter how many stiffs she"d clocked over the years. Every vic deserved a moment of respect, even if it was just a beat of silence before the circus rolled in.

Sheriff Tucker lumbered over, looking about as cheerful as a man with hemorrhoids at a rodeo. ‘Ain"t this a peach of a situation,' he drawled. ‘Y"all feds show up and bodies start dropping like flies at a bug zapper.'

‘What can I say?' Ella crouched down, snapping on latex gloves. ‘It's what we do?'

Luca joined her then asked the sheriff, ‘Any ID on this guy?'

Tucker shook his head. ‘Nada. No wallet, no phone. Whoever dumped him stripped him clean as a whistle.'

‘Who called it in?'

‘Dog walker found him "bout twenty minutes ago. Fido needed to take a leak, found more than he bargained for.'

Ella nodded absently as she studied the victim. Male, mid-forties if she had to guess. Clothes still damp, clinging to rapidly cooling flesh. ‘He hasn"t been here long,' she murmured. ‘Dumped recently. Within the last couple hours, tops.'

‘Yeah. The heat would have dried him out if he'd been here longer than an hour.'

‘An hour?' Luca asked. ‘So our killer"s getting bolder. Or more desperate.'

Ella turned back to the body. Two vics in as many days, both drowned and dumped like yesterday"s trash. She studied the corpse with a critical eye, and to her trained eye, he didn"t look local. His clothes were too nice, too crisp. The kind of threads you"d find in a boutique, not the Piggly Wiggly.

‘Hey,' she called out to Tucker. ‘You or your boys recognize this guy?'

The sheriff conferred with his deputies, then shook his head. ‘Not a soul. And in a town this size, that"s sayin" something.'

‘Another out-of-towner,' Luca said.

The vic"s hands were soft, uncallused. Nails manicured to perfection, cuticles trimmed with surgical precision. His thumb was unblemished, lacking the telltale ridge of someone who spent their days typing or texting.

‘Office worker,' she murmured. ‘But not management, given the threads. Mia would have a field day with these thumbs.'

The thought of her missing partner sent a pang through her chest, but she shoved it aside. Focus, Dark. One disaster at a time.

‘So we"ve got another city slicker,' Luca said. ‘What"s the connection to Toledo? Why drag them out to Nowheresville just to dump them?'

‘Million-dollar question, Hawkins.' Ella stood, brushing off her knees. ‘We need to ID this guy ASAP. See how he fits into the bigger picture.'

Luca raised an eyebrow. ‘How? Our killer"s not exactly leaving breadcrumbs.'

Ella"s lips quirked in a humorless smile. ‘There"s always a way, rookie. You just gotta know where to look.'

She circled the body, eyes scanning every inch. There had to be something, some clue the killer had overlooked. No one was perfect, not even meticulous psychos with a hard-on for drowning out-of-towners.

Ella hummed thoughtfully as she turned back to the body. She ran a gloved finger along the man"s arm, feeling for identifying marks or scars. Nothing. But as she reached his forearm, she paused. She gently rolled his sleeve up and there, peeking out – ink.

Three names, artfully scripted across pale flesh. Julie, Amber, Harley.

‘Family,' she murmured. ‘Wife and daughters, maybe?'

Luca leaned in for a closer look. ‘Good catch. But without ID, how do we track them down?'

‘Welcome to the digital age, Hawkins. Personalities are written on our faces, and personalities reveal the person underneath.' She stood, brushing dirt from her knees. ‘We get back to the precinct, cross-reference these names with missing persons reports and social media profiles. Guarantee you we"ll find a frantic wife wondering why hubby never made it home from his business trip.'

‘So you're not just a pretty face,' Luca said.

‘No one's ever said that before.' Ella turned to Tucker. ‘We need to get this body to the ME, ASAP. Full workup – tox screen, trace evidence, the works. And I want photos of every inch of him.'

Tucker nodded, already barking orders at his deputies. As the flurry of activity swirled around them, Ella found her gaze drawn back to the victim"s lifeless form. Another piece in this twisted puzzle, another life cut short.

Two victims. Two puzzle pieces in a game she was only beginning to understand. But she"d crack it wide open, come hell or high water.

High water, she thought. If she were a betting woman, she'd bet everything she owned that high water was the backbone to this entire mess.