Scent of Evil, page 44
part #3 of Joe Gunther Series
He shifted to the feet. “Same thing here, see? No little circles, of course, since this is the bottom of the curtain, but you can see where there are more plastic fragments from where the curtain has been bunched together, and again, here are the rope strands.”
“So he was wrapped in the curtain, which was tied off at both ends with rope, and dragged to the hole.”
“From inside the house,” Leach finished.
“Because of the lack of shoes?”
“Possibly, although it was apparently warm weather—no jacket, remember—so he might have been running around barefoot. But the shower curtain also implies an interior death. If he dies outside, why tear down the curtain from inside? Why not just dig the hole and dump him in? If he dies inside, possibly pouring out a lot of blood, then you’d be more inclined to wrap him in something both handy and waterproof, like a shower curtain.” A slow smile spread across my face, which he seemed to take as an affront, adding, “Of course, all that’s utterly meaningless with a body this old—just a little magic show to entertain the unwashed masses.” He turned to Henry and Tyler. “You finished yet? I’d like to get this over with before next summer. Set up the rocker screens over there and filter the dirt I’ve already removed.”
The next stage of Leach’s “magic show” took on the more traditional appearance of a documentary on digging up dinosaurs. The backhoe was retired, the shovels stacked, and even the hand trowels put away. Now Hillstrom’s cranky little expert was down to dental tools and toothbrushes. The fact that he was toiling over an upside-down corpse with a metal knee instead of bits and pieces of a brontosaurus gradually lost its impact. As the hours went by, most of us lost sight of the overall horror of what had led us here. Like Leach, we became locked onto one minute patch of bone and dirt after another, cataloguing with him the retrieval of each button, belt buckle, scrap of cloth, and wristwatch that gradually was pried from the hard-packed damp earth.
Also, the skeleton itself lost its ghoulish powers as it was slowly dismantled and laid in an open body bag spread out on a stretcher, the soil supporting it having been removed and sifted through the fine-mesh rocker screens that Henry and J.P. steadily shook back and forth. James Dunn, despite his own peculiar enthusiasm, began looking distracted, glancing at his watch more and more frequently, and no doubt ruing his decision not to have sent an assistant in his place.
The care and time finally paid off, however, when Leach quietly gestured to Hillstrom to take a photograph of the area just below the skeleton’s inverted ribcage. Looking over her shoulder as she focused for the shot, I saw the recognizable remains of a small caliber bullet resting in the dirt, where presumably it had settled after the flesh holding it in place had rotted away.
That was all James Dunn needed. With a satisfied grunt, he rose from the rock he’d claimed as his chair for the past several hours, and headed back to his office, the proud owner of another felony. My own emotions were more complicated, since we were the ones who’d have to name the skeleton, as well as the person who’d placed him in his pit. Though not disproved by this latest discovery, any chances that Abraham Fuller had acquired his lethal wound through an accidental shooting had become microscopic.
Beverly Hillstrom stood beside me, watching as Leach carefully removed the ribcage and placed it on the stretcher, leaving only the skull in place. Her voice was very soft. “I feel like apologizing.”
“For what?”
“Ever since I called you about Mr. Fuller, your job seems to be getting increasingly difficult.”
I let out a little sigh. “Looks that way now. Maybe once you get this guy on your examining table in Burlington, things’ll improve.”
She shook her head. “I don’t see how. I might be able to trace the bullet’s trajectory, get a little more precise about his sex, age, and race, but there’s a limit, and that’s about it.”
“What about the knee?”
“Yes—I was thinking about that. A complete data search might yield something, especially if we can locate a serial number. If this fellow’s been in here too long, though, chances are the prosthesis originated in Europe, and that’ll open up a whole new set of problems… and expenses.”
I remained glum and silent.
“There is one thing, though… ” she added tentatively, revealing that terrier-like inability to let go that I so valued in her.
“What?”
“I have a friend—a forensic anthropologist—who might be interested in taking a look. She’s very good, and bones are her specialty.”
“So what’s the catch?”
“Money. If I bring her in, my office has to pay.”
“And you’re as broke as everybody else.”
She didn’t answer at first, but a slow smile crossed her face as she abstractly watched Leach remove the last of the skeleton from its grave, destined for the nearby hearse that would carry it to Burlington. Finally, she turned to me. “Look, let me get back to my office and make a couple of phone calls. There might be a way around this. Will you be available tomorrow?”
“Absolutely,” I answered without hesitation.
She gave my forearm a squeeze and began walking toward the slope leading out of the trench. “We’ll get this fellow to talk one way or the other.”
About the Author
Over the years, Archer Mayor has been photographer, teacher, historian, scholarly editor, feature writer, travel writer, lab technician, political advance man, medical illustrator, newspaper writer, history researcher, publications consultant, constable, and EMT/firefighter. He is also half Argentine, speaks two languages, and has lived in several countries on two continents.
All of which makes makes him restless, curious, unemployable, or all three. Whatever he is, it’s clearly not cured, since he’s currently a novelist, a death investigator for Vermont’s medical examiner, and a police officer.
Archer has been producing the Joe Gunther novels since 1988, some of which have made the “ten best” or “most notable” lists of the Los Angeles and the New York Times. In 2004 Mayor received the New England Booksellers Association book award for fiction.
Find him on the web at www.ArcherMayor.com
Also by Archer Mayor
The Joe Gunther Mysteries
Open Season
Borderlines
Scent of Evil
The Skeleton’s Knee
Fruits of the Poisonous Tree
The Dark Root
The Ragman’s Memory
Bellows Falls
The Disposable Man
Occam’s Razor
The Marble Mask
Tucker Peak
The Sniper’s Wife
Gatekeeper
The Surrogate Thief
St. Albans Fire
The Second Mouse
Chat
The Catch
The Price of Malice
Red Herring
Tag Man
Copyright
This digital edition (v1.03) of Scent of Evil was published by MarchMedia in 2013.
If you downloaded this book from a filesharing network, either individually or as part of a larger torrent, the author has received no compensation. Please consider purchasing a legitimate copy—they are reasonably priced, and available from all major outlets. Your author thanks you.
Copyright © 2010 by Archer Mayor.
ISBN: 978-1-939767-03-5
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons—living or dead—events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Errata
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Also by Archer Mayor
Lt. Joe Gunther of the Brattleboro, Vermont police force has a serious problem: in a community where a decade could pass without a single murder, the body count is suddenly mounting. Innocent citizens are being killed—and others set-up—seemingly orchestrated by a mysterious ski-masked man. Signs suggest that a three year-old murder trial might lie at the heart of things, but it’s a case that many in the department would prefer remained closed. A man of quiet integrity, Lt. Gunther knows that he must pursue the case to its conclusion, wherever it leads.
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Seconded to the State’s Attorney’s office, Lt. Joe Gunther is in Vermont’s Northeast Kingdom investigating a minor embezzling case. It’s a pleasant distraction, and a chance to reconnect with old friends, but when a house fire reveals itself to be arson, compounded by murder, Gunther can’t help but investigate. Suddenly, he finds himself enmeshed in a web of animosity between put-upon townspeople, the state police, angry parents and members of a reclusive sect. Murder follows murder, yet no one seems to be telling Gunther the whole truth—not even his childhood friends—and truth is what he desperately needs if he’s to stop the killings.
Also by Archer Mayor
When the body of a fast-living young stockbroker is found in a shallow grave, suspicion first falls on a cuckolded policeman. Lt. Joe Gunther investigates the increasingly bizarre details of the crime, but finds that he’s too far behind events to prevent a second murder. Indeed, whoever is responsible always seems to be a few steps ahead, as if there’s a leak on the force. Sweltering August heat does nothing to calm the increasingly agitated town selectmen, who demand results.
Also by Archer Mayor
When a reclusive market gardener’s death proves to stem from a 20 year-old bullet wound, Lt. Joe Gunther is presented with a very cold homicide to solve. But who was the victim exactly? A deeply private man eking out an ascetic existence from a hardscrabble mountain field, Abraham Fuller was virtually unknown to his neighbors, in the manner of someone pursuing more than mere solitude. The discovery of a duffle of unmarked bills and a body buried in the garden patch suggests that Fuller had motives beyond misanthropy. Nor is it such a cold case either, as someone seems willing to kill to ensure that old secrets remain buried.
Also by Archer Mayor
Gail Zigman, town selectwoman and Joe Gunther’s companion of many years, is raped, and the detective finds himself caught between the media, local politicians, and a network of well-meaning victims’ rights advocates as he tries to put his own feelings aside and follow the trail of evidence.
Every lead seems to point to a single, obvious suspect, but is the evidence too perfect? Risking his friendship with Gail, the respect of his peers, and his own life, Lt. Gunther keeps digging, hoping to find out if the man they have in jail is rightly there, or if the evidence against him is tainted—"fruits of the poisonous tree."
Also by Archer Mayor
A brutal home invasion shocks Brattleboro’s small Asian community, but no one’s talking. Undeterred, Joe Gunther digs deeper and discovers a cross-border smuggling route carrying drugs, contraband, and illegal aliens into and out of Canada. Operating below the radar for years, competition between underworld rivals is bringing it into the light with deadly consequences. International jurisdiction is a complicated thing, and Gunther will have to collaborate with the FBI, the Border Patrol and the Mounties in the pursuit of justice.
Also by Archer Mayor
A small girl brings Joe Gunther a bird’s nest—made partially of human hair. In the search to put a body, and an identity, to the hair’s owner, Joe comes upon an unexplained death, a grisly murder, and a sudden disappearance. All seem to be entangled in a puzzling web of municipal corruption, blackmail, and industrial espionage. A shell-shocked World War II vet nicknamed “The Ragman” may hold the key to it all, if Joe can get him to talk before the murderer strikes again.
Also by Archer Mayor
Joe Gunther is seconded to the neighboring town of Bellows Falls to investigate harassment allegations against a fellow officer. What begins as a seemingly open-and-shut case comes to look more and more like a frame job as Gunther doggedly pursues the truth, and soon he finds himself feeling around the edges of a statewide drug distribution network. As always, Vermont itself is a major character in Mayor’s writing, with Bellows Falls standing in for any number of slowly decaying once-proud mill towns.
Also by Archer Mayor
When a local quarry yields up a garroted body with bad dental work and toes tattooed in Cyrillic, Joe Gunther figures it for a Russian mafia killing, rare as that might be in Vermont. But it’s so very… tidy. So very… professional. Then the CIA calls, inviting Gunther down to Washington for some friendly “assistance” with his case. Suddenly he’s caught up a shadowy game of cross and double-cross—manipulated by cynical cold warriors who seem not to have gotten the memo—and Gunther soon realizes that he’s a pawn that both sides are willing to sacrifice.
Also by Archer Mayor
The body was positioned so that the train neatly obliterated its head and hands. Dressed in a homeless man’s clothes with empty pockets, it might easily be passed-off as an unfortunate John Doe. And yet… Joe Gunther has a knack for knowing when things don’t quite add up, and the math in this case is all kinds of wrong. Add a toxic waste dumping scheme, a stabbing, and a whole lot of state politics… if Occam’s razor were applied to Gunther’s caseload, how many incisions would it make?
Also by Archer Mayor
There are old cases and there are cold cases, and then there are old, cold cases… Special Agent Joe Gunther, of the newly-formed Vermont Bureau of Investigation, didn’t expect the VBI’s first case to be a fifty year-old murder. Then again, the victim probably didn’t expect to get an icepick in the heart, spend half a century in a chest freezer, and be unceremoniously dumped on the slopes of a ski resort with his feet sawed-off. He was, after all, a man who commanded some respect.
Stirring up the past can be a dangerous business, and Gunther soon finds himself in a cross-border partnership with the Sûreté du Québec, investigating a Canadian mob family whose crimes date back to World War II, but who remain just as deadly as ever.
Also by Archer Mayor
The tony ski town of Tucker Peak, Vermont is experiencing a rash of condo burglaries. Normally this wouldn’t be a case for Joe Gunther and the newly-formed VBI, but when high-profile people have their high-value possessions stolen, names get dropped and strings get pulled. Turns out it’s just as well they called in Joe, since once they begin investigating the case suddenly develops a body count. Between drug-dealing, burglary, financial shenanigans, ecoterrorism, sabotage and murder, there’s something deathly serious going on behind the resort’s pristine veneer.
Also by Archer Mayor
The heroin trade is making serious inroads into Vermont, spilling across the border from Massachusetts, destroying families and ruining lives. Governor Reynolds, with one eye on re-election, decides that the VBI should be waging its own War On Drugs. Of course, it falls to Joe Gunther to draw up the battle plans. Not everyone wants to follow Gunther’s lead, though — particularly detective Sammie Martens, who launches her own undercover operation and quickly finds herself enmeshed a very unpleasant underworld. Gatekeeper takes a sober look at the problems of drug crimes and enforcement efforts.
Also by Archer Mayor
A barn fire is the kind of mishap that can spell doom for a struggling family farm. Just one of them in a community would be a small tragedy. A series of three, though—one of which kills a teenager and a herd of dairy cows—starts to look very, very suspicious. Which makes it a job for Special Agent Gunther and the Vermont Bureau of Investigation.
While other members of the VBI run-down the local leads, Joe and Willy embark on a road-trip. The federal database of unsolved crimes turns up a connection between the MO of their arsonist and similar fires in New Jersey, where organized crime is still very much a force to be reckoned with. But why would a mafioso from the Garden State be torching barns in the green mountains of Vermont? And can Joe and Willy bring their quarry to justice before he lashes out again?
Looking for More Mystery?
Try Dana Stabenow’s
Kate Shugak Series
Alaska is about 68 times the size of Vermont. Its winters are colder, its mountains higher, its animals wilder and its remote places far more remote. None of which is to say that it's at all better than Vermont. Just different. More.
If you've yet to meet Kate Shugak, we think fans of Joe Gunther will find much to like in the often-silent Aleut investigator who rarely finds complete comfort in anything but her dog’s company. Dana Stabenow’s Edgar award winning series is now on its twentieth volume.
#1, A Cold Day for Murder. A young National Park Ranger—who just happens to be a congressman’s son—goes missing, as does the investigator sent to find him. Local Bush expertise is called for, and while Kate Shugak thought she'd retired from investigating, it’s her home territory, the money's good, and it’s personal.
