CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Rachel’s eyes were laden with sleep. Her body ached. The bandages had been changed more than once, and now she wore a flannel over them. She stalked through the desert, though, like a lone wolf, her hat tipped low over her eyes.

A single bloody fingerprint streaked the rim of her low-hanging hat. Ethan spoke with the first-responders behind her, near the parking lot leading to the desert path. But she ignored all of it.

Her senses were honed, and her instincts were focused.

The Corpus Christi bridge loomed behind them, large and foreboding. Sirens wailed on the city streets as the police forlornly searched for the killer.

But he was in the wind, and she fixated on the crime scene ahead of her.

The desert path stretched before Rachel, a winding trail carved through the arid landscape. The moon cast long shadows across the barren earth. But Rachel paid no heed to the oppressive heat or the beads of sweat forming on her brow. Her attention was solely focused on the task at hand.

As she approached the crime scene, a glint of metal caught her eye. Rachel squinted, her gaze drawn to a small cage nestled in the sparse vegetation just off the path. She quickened her pace, her boots kicking up small clouds of dust with each purposeful step.

Upon reaching the cage, Rachel crouched down, her keen eyes taking in every detail. The metal bars were rusted and weathered, a testament to the harsh desert environment. But it was the contents of the cage that sent a chill down her spine.

Two dead rattlesnakes lay coiled within, their lifeless bodies still and unmoving. The sight was eerie and unsettling.

The placement of the cage so close to where the body was found couldn't be a coincidence. Rachel's instincts told her that the killer had left this macabre display for a reason.

She reached out with a gloved hand, carefully examining the cage without disturbing the evidence. The snakes' scales were dull and dry, indicating they had been dead for some time.

Rising to her feet, Rachel scanned the surrounding area, her senses on high alert. She heard a shuffling motion beside her and watched as a figure drew near.

She frowned back at the newcomer.

The coroner, a balding man in his fifties, crouched beside the metal cage, his latex-gloved hands working deftly to unlock the mechanism. Rachel watched him closely, her eyes darting between the dead snakes and the surrounding area.

A few feet away, a young forensic technician rummaged through the victim's purse, carefully cataloguing its contents. Rachel approached the tech, her boots crunching on the dry, sandy ground.

"What have we got?" she asked, her voice low and gruff.

The tech looked up, startled by Rachel's sudden presence. "Uh, victim's name is Eleanor Hartley. From Corpus Christi, according to her driver's license."

Rachel turned her attention back to the coroner, who had successfully unlocked the cage and was now gingerly removing the dead snakes with tongs.

The body of Eleanor Hartley lay on the dune just past the snakes in the cage.

Her body was a stark contrast to the barren landscape that surrounded it, her pale skin reflecting the harsh sunlight. The crime scene techs were still busy at work, carefully photographing and documenting each and every detail.

Rachel squatted next to Eleanor’s body, her eyes narrowing as she studied the gunshot wound to the head. Even though the bullet had ended Eleanor's life instantly, it was clear from the marks on her arm that she'd suffered before her death.

Scattered around Eleanor were several items spread out like an ominous picnic. A beat-up lipstick, a series of crumpled bills, a tarnished silver locket.

Rachel motioned to one of the forensic techs and pointed at Eleanor's purse. "Bag everything," she said flatly, "Make sure it's all in evidence."

The technician nodded, getting to work with a pair of tweezers and plastic bags.

Rachel crouched beside the body, her keen eyes scanning Eleanor's lifeless form. The needle marks on the victim's arm stood out in stark contrast against her pale skin, a series of tiny punctures that hinted at something sinister. Pulling out her camera, Rachel carefully documented the evidence, the shutter clicking rhythmically in the oppressive desert heat.

"What do you make of these?" she asked, gesturing to the marks as the coroner approached.

The man squinted, leaning in for a closer look. "Could be drug use," he suggested, his voice thin and reedy. "Wouldn't be the first time we've seen something like this out here."

Rachel shook her head, unconvinced. The marks were too precise, too evenly spaced to be the work of a desperate addict. Another thing: the injection sites were clean, devoid of the telltale bruising or irritation common among intravenous drug users. No, these had been administered by a professional. Or at least someone with training.

Rachel turned and then crouched beside the victim's purse, her gloved hands rummaging through its contents. Sand bunched up under her shoes as she shifted her posture, looming over the abandoned bag like a gargoyle. Lipstick, a compact mirror, a half-empty pack of gum. Then, her fingers brushed against a piece of paper. She pulled it out, unfolding it carefully.

She frowned, staring.

The desert wind picked up, causing her hair to flutter about her like a banner.

She checked and double-checked the paper. A hospital discharge form, dated just two days ago. Eleanor Hartley had been treated for a foot injury.

Rachel's brow furrowed, her gaze darting to the victim's feet. Sure enough, one was wrapped in thick, white bandages. She turned to the coroner, holding up the form. "What do you make of this?"

The coroner took the paper, studying it closely. "Looks like she was treated for a disease that was spreading up her leg: an infection caused by the aggressive bacteria, necrotizing fasciitis. Often called flesh-eating disease."

Rachel's gaze moved to Eleanor’s bandaged foot. The medical gauze seemed almost inadequate against the harsh terrain of the desert.

"Doctors don't take such infections lightly. She should’ve been in hospital care, not wandering around a desert."

Rachel processed the information, her mind churning with questions. She looked at the coroner, her eyes narrowing. "What about the bullet wound? The calibre?"

"Difficult to say without extracting it," the coroner replied, peeling off his gloves and stuffing them into a pocket of his white coat. "But from the entry wound, I'd say .22, maybe .25."

Rachel nodded, her thoughts already moving ahead. She was an expert in firearms; hunting was a part of her heritage she deeply respected. Her guess aligned with that of the coroner’s. A small caliber bullet – not typically used for self-defense or by law enforcement. And certainly unusual in a murder case.

She stood up and turned away from the body, her eyes scanning the surrounding desert. Nothing stood out against the endless expanse of dry earth and scrubs, but Rachel knew better than to trust appearances.

She frowned, turning away from the body and studying the terrain. Her eyes moved to the dusty bridge in the distance, a weathered construct barely visible against the sagebrush and sand. She stared at the bridge, then looked back out at the sand dunes. The bridge stood out as the sole vantage point. She frowned towards the desolate, silhouetted structure, her eyes narrowed.

She found herself scowling as she addressed the nearest officers milling about the crime scene.

"We need to scour the area around the bridge," she said firmly, pointing in its direction some distance away. "Send a few units. Be careful.”

The two nearest officers nodded in unison, quickly moving to fulfill her orders. Rachel turned back to the crime scene, her focus returning to the ground beneath her boots.

The coarse desert sand had an uncanny ability to preserve signs of recent activity. It was one of the few small mercies this unforgiving landscape offered. She narrowed her eyes, scanning the ground for any sign of disturbance.

Her eyes caught something peculiar: a series of imprints on the sand. The small lines and squiggles were unmistakable to her trained eyes. Bootprints muddled the site, but another set of tracks stood out distinctly.

She crouched down, studying the peculiar zigzag patterns. "Snakes," she muttered to herself, her gaze following the trails crisscrossing through the sand.

"Three of them," she declared aloud, half to herself and half to anyone within earshot. She pointed at the patterns, tracing their routes with her gloved finger. "Two are dead inside that cage, with our victim. But there was a third."

A nearby officer looked over at her statement, doubt clear in his expression. "You sure about that, Ranger?"

Rachel straightened up, meeting his gaze with a sharp nod. "Yes," she said confidently.

She turned back to the victim's body, resting her hands on her hips as she studied Eleanor's lifeless form once more. Her mind was already racing ahead, piecing together what little evidence she had uncovered thus far.

Rachel moved back towards the corpse once more and knelt down next to Eleanor’s bandaged foot. She examined it closely, speaking without looking away from Eleanor’s remains.

"Get in touch with the hospital where Hartley had been treated," she directed towards where Ethan was now approaching her, wearing a frown on his face.

“The cartel member isn’t talking,” Ethan said. “His lawyer is denying everything, though.”

She just nodded absentmindedly. “The cartel didn’t kill this woman.”

“How can you be sure?”

She shrugged. “They were two hours away, and before that, I spotted both of them trying to take Morris off his yacht.”

“And so what about Morris?”

“Alibi,” she said simply. “And it isn’t him either.”

“What about other cartel hitmen?” Ethan insisted.

She straightened fully, going quiet. Briefly, she glanced up at the desert sky. At midnight, the stars came out. The lights twinkled and sparkled against the dark velvet canvas of the sky, each one a tiny pinprick illuminating the otherwise empty expanse. They seemed to multiply by the second, filling the night with their ethereal glow.

The air was fresh and crisp, carrying a hint of desert flowers and dry earth. As the stars came out, the scent of night-blooming flowers became stronger, filling the air with a sweet perfume.

Rachel's mouth felt dry and parched from the desert heat, but as she looked up at the stars, a sense of calm washed over her. She could almost taste the peace and quiet of the night sky.

She inhaled slowly and then held the breath for a moment. She nodded a final time. “The cartel… the pendant was…”

“What? Red herring?”

“Possibly…”

“Or?”

“Or…” she trailed off, turning to frown at her partner. He watched her with those puppy-dog eyes, concern etched in his face. She found herself releasing a slow, pent-up breath.

"Or," she continued, "They are involved, but not directly. Think about it, Ethan. The snakes, the desert, the bullet...It’s… it’s like the victims are set up to suffer but then put out of their misery. The snakes represent pain. The bullet mercy.”

“And?”

“When have you heard of a merciful cartel?”

Ethan nodded slowly, processing her words. "So, you're saying this could be a diversion? To throw us off from looking into the real murderer?"

Rachel didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she turned again to study the bleak expanse of desert surrounding them. The night wind howled eerily and sent a shiver down her spine.

“Why leave a pendant at the last scene? Obvious… clear for us to find?”

“But here… she’s left next to a cage.”

“You think the cage has significance?”

“Two dead snakes in the cage.”

“And?”

“Maybe… the cage represents something.”

“Like what?” Ethan pressed.

She hesitated, winced, and said, "I… don't know exactly."

She considered it now, closing her eyes and picturing the first crime scene where they’d found Rebecca Morris. “The pendant was left for us to find… She was in danger from the cartel. She was, wasn’t she?”

“That’s what her father said.”

“So if the cartel was after Rebecca…”

“But the cartel didn’t killer.”

“Then who did?”

“And why are they two hours south, killing Eleanor here,” Rachel replied.

Rachel fell silent for a moment, her gaze affixed on the woman's pale body illuminated under the harsh white light of the crime scene. The gruesome tableau offered no easy explanations. She shifted her gaze back to the ground, scanning the multitude of prints and trails once again.

"Do we have Eleanor's phone?" she asked abruptly, breaking the pensive silence.

"We got it," Ethan replied. "The tech team is working on it now."

"Good," Rachel nodded, her mind churning with fresh theories. "We need to know who Eleanor was in contact with before she was killed."

Rachel turned back to Eleanor's lifeless body, crouched down and began examining her clothes. She noted every detail: the torn hem of her ripped jeans, the sandy imprints embedded into the fabric of her blouse, and even a small hole near the waistband - possibly from a bullet.

She scanned the area around Eleanor's body once more for any signs of struggle or self-defense. The roughened skin on Eleanor's knuckles suggested evidence of a fight, but there were no other immediate signs to indicate otherwise.

She kept staring at the trails on the ground. Rattlesnakes…

Why rattlesnakes?

They were native to Texas. Specifically, the West Texas desert and the Rio Grande Valley - both places characterized by a hot, dry climate. It was not uncommon to encounter rattlesnakes in the wilderness areas of Texas, especially during summers when they were most active.

But there was a reason rattlesnakes had rattles on their tails.

They vibrated their tails when threatened, a warning mechanism before striking. Was Eleanor Hartley given a warning too? The question hung in the air, heavy and somber as she studied Eleanor's corpse one more time.

A swirl of sand danced by her foot, twirling up in the night breeze before dissipating into the darkness. It was starkly quiet apart from the whispering wind, carrying echoes of desolation from the distant desert dunes.

Rachel finally tore her gaze away from Eleanor's remains, her stern eyes landing on Ethan again. "A warning… not a threat…” she said quietly.

“What’s that?”

She looked up. “The rattlesnake’s tail gives a warning. It tells predators to back off.”

“And?”

“The cage… the pendant. They’re warnings,” she murmured.

“How do you mean?”

"They're not meant to scare," she elaborated, her voice low and contemplative. "They're meant to deter. To protect."

Rachel fell silent, her gaze wandering back to the cage and the lifeless snakes inside. She felt a chill creep up her spine, an uncanny sense of dread settling in her stomach. The silence of the desert was deafening.

"Protect whom?" Ethan's voice pierced the quiet, yanking Rachel back from her thoughts.

“ Them. ”

“Them?”

“The victims…” she said. Pieces were now clicking into place. “The mercy,” she said, speaking faster now. “He shows them mercy because he’s protecting them. The warnings are for them.”

“ For Rebecca and for Eleanor?”

“Yes,” Rachel said, insistently. She waved her hat about, nodding as she did. Her mind raced, and her fingers brushed through the turquoise beads in her hair. “He’s showing them mercy…”

“So, Rebecca… was being hunted by the cartel. So his warning was about them?”

She nodded once.

“And this cage?”

“Flesh eating bacteria… Eleanor was destined for a hospital bed. To live her life trapped, wasting away.”

Ethan gaped at her. “So… in a weird way, he’s kind of saving them.”

Rachel frowned. “We need to go check that hospital. See if we can find anything on security footage.”

“What about our cartel suspect?”

“Keep questioning him. But I doubt he’s involved. He certainly couldn’t have been here for Eleanor’s death.”

“So someone else… beat the cartel to Rebecca… killed her first… as a mercy ?”

Rachel paused, then nodded once.

“I think so. Yeah.”

"Damn," Ethan muttered, running a hand through his cropped hair. He looked at Rachel, blinkered by her revelation. "It's...it's twisted mercy."

Rachel stood, shrugging off the chill that had settled on her. She glanced at the night sky, the stars twinkling like distant fireflies in the pitch-black canvas. A thousand questions buzzed in her mind, each one demanding an answer she did not yet have. But she felt alive, invigorated by the challenge of the unknown.

"Get everything packed up here," she ordered, shifting her stern gaze back to Ethan. "I want this area scrubbed clean. No fragment of evidence left behind."

Ethan nodded, turning to relay the orders.

Rachel was already stalking back towards the waiting vehicle. A few phone calls, and she could confirm Eleanor's hospital visit. Was she chasing another red herring, or was she on the right track?

Time would tell.

She grimaced, doubling her pace and moving swiftly.