Deadly Touch, Page 2

  “I’ll stay by the fire, keep the dog company and watch out for the kids,” Axel said. He turned and walked away.

  He was afraid the missing woman would remain just that—missing. Fran Castle. He wished with all his heart he could help. That they would find her. That she would be okay.

  He doubted it. Too often, far too often, someone disappeared in the Glades only for an unwary fisherman to find remnants of him or her—what had once been a living, laughing human being.

  Axel was suddenly even more determined to stick to his plan. He would join the military. And he knew that someday, somehow, some way, he would help hunt for the people who did such things.

  In fact, he already had a pretty good idea as to exactly what he wanted to do—and to whom he’d go when he was ready.

  * * *

  He was there. Hunkered by the fire, stroking the dog. “It’s all right, my friend,” she heard him tell the animal. “Bad things do happen, but tonight you’re on guard duty for this group of kids. Strange night. But you are the best dog, always on guard. And look! I have a bit of jerky treat right here in my pocket.”

  He frowned suddenly, glancing over toward Raina, aware she stood just outside her tent, though she hadn’t moved or made a sound.

  “Hi. You okay?” he asked softly. “Raina, right?”

  She nodded.

  “Yes.” She croaked out the word.

  A bit of a fog had fallen. The moon was full, or just about so, and it cast a strange glimmer over their little clearing, the wetlands, waterways and tree-laden hammocks.

  Was it him? Had he been such a wonderful storyteller that his story had come to life?

  There was a rich field of sawgrass stretching behind him, caught in an eerie glow between the fog and the moonlight.

  And she saw it, sailing upon...the sawgrass and wetlands.

  Idiot—she certainly had yet to get a high school degree, much less her college degree! She knew great old-fashioned sailing ships could not be on a sea of grass!

  But the dog whined again. Axel Tiger looked out across the land beyond them as she had.

  He turned back to her.

  “You see it,” he said softly, a note of surprise in his voice.

  She could barely form words. She whispered, “The ship.”

  “The night, the fire, the fog,” he said. “But there’s nothing to fear. If pirates roam, they do so praying. They pray they might somehow find their way to atonement. Some say they learned the hard way and now they guard the Glades, doing what they can to stop evil from occurring. I’m being whimsical. You need to go back to sleep. It’s a great program they’ve got going for your group in the morning. You’ll want to be awake for it.”

  He looked back at what appeared to be an endless sea of grass bathed in fog and the strange glow of moonlight.

  He saw the ship. She knew he saw the damned ship. He’d even asked if she’d seen it, and now...now he wanted it to be a vision cast within her imagination.

  He looked back at her again.

  “Please, don’t be afraid. Timothy and I are here, and we have a few Miccosukee police on duty just over there at that picnic table. You’re safe. Don’t worry, we’re all watching. I’m watching. Go back to bed.”

  There was little choice. She nodded and slipped back into her tent. She laid down, but she stayed awake and stared at the canvas, at the fire dancing again.

  Two things kept rushing through her mind.

  The ship. She’d seen the ship.

  He’d known her name. No big deal; he probably knew all their names. This was an amazing program.

  Eventually, she slept. She woke with the sun and the sound of laughter and conversation. It was time to start the day.

  The program was wonderful. She loved learning the history of the area, what needed to be protected, how the entire ecosystem worked. She loved learning about the different Native American tribes that had come to Florida, and how the Seminole and Miccosukee had settled the Everglades.

  She loved it all...

  But in her heart, she felt she had touched something and then lost it.

  She didn’t see the pirate ship again.

  Nor did she see Axel Tiger again. As in all things, memories faded as the years went by and she became a college graduate.

  And stepped out into the world.

  One

  Now

  She was found—what remained of her—on the south-side embankment by the road and the canal that stretched the length of the Tamiami Trail, just about ten miles west of the casino.

  It wasn’t surprising she had been partially consumed. What was surprising seemed to be that she had been almost neatly bitten in half.

  The top half remained; the bottom half did not.

  “This is how we found her. Exactly how we found her,” Detective Nigel Ferrer, Miami-Dade Homicide, told Axel. At his side, Andrew Osceola of the Miccosukee Tribal Police shook his head.

  “We haven’t touched anything,” he said, echoing Nigel. “No one has touched anything. Even Doc Warner said that since you were on the way, he’d hold off for a minute.”

  Axel nodded and hunkered down by the body. He was somewhat surprised his old friends were so courteously resolved he become involved as quickly and completely as possible.

  He wasn’t a medical examiner. He had, however, seen his share of murders and the sad state in which a body—recently a viable human being—might be found.

  The Everglades beckoned to nature lovers and bird-watchers, but also offered a tempting place to dump a body. The miles of wetlands were hardly ever traversed fully, and numerous creatures survived off carrion, plus trees, grasses and brush that all but enveloped any form—living and dead.

  “We would have found her, anyway—without the tip from the so-called psychic,” Nigel said.

  “Vultures,” Andrew added quietly. “Of course, they’ll come for anything. A dead possum, roadkill...”

  His voice faded. They were not looking at any kind of roadkill.

  Axel nodded and gave his attention to the body. Flies were swarming around them.

  As Andrew had noted, the sky was alive with vultures.

  But at least this woman had been found. And that gave them a far better chance of finding her killer than the women who went missing, never to be found.

  The victim had been in her midthirties, he thought, but even that was difficult to judge. Even the prettiest little birds that flitted about down here were fond of soft tissue. That meant they’d gone for the eyes, the lips and the line at the waist where the body had somehow been severed.

  “Never seen an alligator do anything like that,” Andrew noted.

  “But they will eat what’s already dead when they’re hungry enough. Don’t need to drown a body when it’s—”

  “Gator can only snap down,” Nigel said. “Usually lies in wait, mouth open.”

  “When it hunts on shore, it finds prey, opens its mouth and snaps. I’d say improbable, but possible. Snapped down on her, dragged off the bottom half. It’s not like he’s going to think about it and say, Uh-oh, I only got half, better grab that other part, too,” Andrew said. “And what with all the constrictor snakes we’ve got around here now, food is scarce.”

  Axel saw Dr. Warner standing with his medical bag in hand, stoic as he waited, but surely growing impatient.

  He looked at the body again. There were points he could note without the bottom half of her body. She was naked except for remnants of her clothing—Axel thought her clothing had been destroyed by birds or other scavenging creatures, rather than having been torn by a human hand. A ring of blood sat around her throat like a necklace. There were abrasions on her wrists; she had been bound at one time. Most probably by rope. The abrasion marks were rough. Someone had held her against her will, but with the bottom half of the body gone, t
hey wouldn’t know about sexual assault unless Dr. Warner found telltale fluids elsewhere on the body. Most evidence would have been heavily compromised.

  The Everglades, as Axel knew too well, could swallow many a sin like a massive, stygian, dark hole.

  He stood and looked at the tribal policeman and the homicide detective, both men he had known since he’d been a child. They had each decided on different paths to law enforcement, all headed in the direction where they thought they might serve best.

  Nigel and Andrew had often worked together. As a Miccosukee officer, Andrew had passed all the state certification requirements and then been commissioned by the United States Department of the Interior, Indian Bureau Affairs and by the National Park Service as well as the US Fish and Wildlife Service. Complicated, but while a homicide detective would be called in by Miami-Dade on this, the eastern side of the Trail, Andrew would remain part of the force of the investigation.

  Axel knew that during the years he had been at the academy with Adam Harrison’s Krewe of Hunters unit, his two old friends had been working many a case together.

  Two bodies in oil drums—case solved, traced back to a drug ring.

  A domestic situation. Murder at a campground.

  The capture of felons involved in a murder-for-hire case, caught as they tried to hide in the great southern section of the river of grass.

  Axel knew as much as he did about the cases because the three of them had kept up and also made use of each other—listening, being sounding boards, offering theories or suggestions from afar. Sometimes the distance could lend a different perspective—like a bird’s-eye view when others were on the ground. And he’d come down himself, just a year or so ago, on the oil drum case.

  And now, they were together. The pattern emerging suggested there was a cold and calculating killer on the loose. A serial killer, but not the usual kind. Sane and organized. Aware of the density of the Everglades, the ability of the land, the foliage and the animals to destroy evidence, allowing the killing to go on and on with the bodies leaving nothing for investigators to use in their search for justice.

  Dr. Keith Warner came striding over.

  “Let me take a look at her,” he said simply, hunkering down as Axel stepped back. “You’ve noted the obvious. She was bound. Throat slit. I’m not seeing any obvious defensive wounds, but under these circumstances, I won’t know until the body is cleaned. There will be things I won’t be able to tell you. But before any of you ask, yes, at first glance I’m going to suggest it might be the same killer—or a killer working in tandem with whoever killed your last victim. Axel, you weren’t here for that one, but I’m assuming that you were already in the area and that’s why you were able to get here so fast. You’re usually still with the feds up in the capital area, right?”

  “I’m still a fed,” Axel said. “And yes, I was already here.”

  He’d been sent down when Andrew and Nigel had gotten together and quietly communicated with Axel’s superior, Jackson Crow. He knew they wished the vocation he had chosen was nearer but they were also aware the Krewe of Hunters was a different and special unit, and probably right where Axel needed to be.

  While Andrew was a Miccosukee and had grown up on tribal land, Nigel’s background was an odd mix that would defy any ancestry chart to determine. He had grown up just east of the Miccosukee lands—his family had owned a farm in unincorporated Miami-Dade County.

  Axel had been the one to come and go between both worlds. Two of his grandparents were both Native American. Axel knew he’d been a lucky kid because they were still alive when he was young, ready to tell him tales—some truth, some exaggerated—about his forefathers. The sides of his family had blended easily, so he’d been encouraged to enjoy his relations with both societies.

  Thus, as kids, with their parents all friends, Nigel, Andrew and Axel had become fast friends, as well.

  They all knew Dr. Warner, too. While Axel had never been with the police for either the county or the tribe, he’d come down on an invitation before as a federal investigator on a drug case that had crossed state lines.

  The police photographer was still snapping pictures.

  “Okay, so let me try to get this straight. Nigel, you were first informed about the victim because a woman called the police department and claimed she’d seen a woman out here in the Everglades? She said off Tamiami Trail and described exactly where?”

  “Yes, that’s it. They’re holding her now,” Nigel said. “You see where we are, unless someone got an urge to stop right here and crawl through the wild grass to the canal, there was no way to have seen this victim. And she told us just how far east from the Hawk and O’Reilly Tour Company, and west from the Miccosukee Resort and Gaming Casino, she could be found. The caller had to know something about the murder or been involved with the murder to know with such precision.”

  “Okay, so she called in and—”

  “And my captain called me,” Nigel said. “I called Andrew and he had one of his men who was out patrolling come, too.”

  “And you said the Miami-Dade force picked her up?” Axel said.

  “Yes, no problem. She didn’t lie. They didn’t have to search for her. She gave them her address. I’m not sure if she’s brash and overconfident or totally idiotic or insane. They’re getting a bunch of gibberish out of her.”

  “Where was she address-wise?” Axel asked.

  “South Miami, not far from the hospital off US 1,” Nigel said. “That means nothing. From her area, you could just hop on the highway, hop onto the Trail, be here and back in an hour or less. Of course, around here, it could also take way more time depending on traffic. But Doc will tell us if we’re right. We’re pretty sure the victim was killed sometime late last night. Her remains are cold as ice.” He winced. “Fluids are congealed. There was a tour bus out here yesterday and the driver made a stop here or near here for pictures and old Jimmy Bob was out fishing right around here, too. No body, then. He likes late-night fishing. There’s never been a gator or a snake to scare him off. He started fishing the area about the same time he could crawl.”

  “Okay, then,” Axel said, and he looked at Nigel. Miami-Dade had the lead on the homicide. “I’m still an assist out here. What I want to do first is talk to this woman. Can you make that happen for me? I want to talk to her alone. Can you arrange that?”

  “If you can stop whoever is killing women and dumping them like this in the Everglades, I’ll see you get ice cream with cherries on top, too,” Nigel told him.

  “Great. I’ll head in. And by the way, I’m not a fan.”

  “Of?” Andrew asked, frowning. “Murder? None of us is a fan—”

  “Of course not! I mean ice cream. I’ve never liked the stuff—or maraschino cherries for that matter.” He hesitated, the past weighing on him. “Hey, Magruder’s retired, right?”

  “Yep. We sure miss Vinnie Magruder,” Andrew said. “He finally gave it up. They say he fought retirement. Things weigh on you, you know?”

  “That young woman from years ago—Fran Castle? They never found her, right?” Axel asked.

  Andrew shook his head. “They never found her. And I think Vinnie always blamed himself. He’s a good guy. He’s living in a community down on Krome Avenue. He checks in now and then.”

  Axel nodded. “Thanks. What’s the woman’s name, by the way? The one who called this victim in.”

  Andrew referred to his phone.

  “Raina. Raina Hamish,” he said. “There’s something familiar about that name.”

  Axel stiffened, staring at him in surprise. Years washed away. He couldn’t have heard right. He remembered the bright, pretty girl, tall, slim and wide-eyed with enthusiasm for everything that was offered to her. She’d had amber eyes framed by wild auburn hair and a quick smile.

  She was the one who’d seen the ship, the great pirate ship with its b
illowing sails, journeying through the river of grass and the clouds and the fog.

  “You know her?” Nigel asked with surprise.

  “Yeah, we met years ago. She was with the school camp at least one year that I recall,” he said. “You two might remember I gave some speeches that year. It seemed she was interested in more than escaping the classroom. Anyway, I’m on my way. We’ll keep in touch.”

  He started walking, then turned back.

  “Nigel, no cameras when I’m with her. And no recordings.”

  Nigel paused to look at Andrew; Andrew nodded with a stoic and sage expression that would have done a mighty chief proud.

  “We need her,” Axel said softly.

  “Right. I’m on it,” Nigel said.

  Axel headed to his car at the side of the road. Dr. Warner was instructing his assistants on the removal of the body.

  The wind was beginning to blow. Long grasses and high trees bowed, as if they cried for the young woman, honoring her as best they could.

  He headed back to the city, wondering just how Raina Hamish might come to know about a woman, dead and with her throat severed, on a canal embankment in the middle of the Everglades.

  He was worried for her, though he knew nothing of the woman she might have become.

  He was anxious—curious if he could make use of her in any way.

  Because not everyone saw the pirate ship.

  In fact, very few ever did.

  * * *

  “You put on a dress and then...you saw the victim?” Detective MacDonald demanded.

  Yes. Raina Hamish had slipped into the changing room and tried on the blue dress she hoped to buy for the Children’s Place fundraiser, and when she had looked in the mirror to check the fit, she hadn’t seen her reflection. She had seen the dead woman. Lying on the embankment, face and body covered in blood, the soft, damp earth around her soaking up more of the crimson flow that had escaped her along with the last breaths of her life.

  MacDonald was a tough cop. He didn’t scream or yell or throw things around the interrogation room. He sat quietly. His eyes never averted from the sharp gaze he held on her. His hands were folded before him. He had iron-gray, close-cropped hair and his eyes were a riveting hazel. Raina had found herself staring hard back at those eyes—and fighting for control—so that she isolated every bit of color in them, the green that surrounded yellow sparks that turned to a brown as they reached the pupil.