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  Johnson took the cell phone and studied the picture. "I agree. Let's go up to the left first, then circle around. We should be able to see the trail from there and can watch for Krantz."

  "Who is he?"

  "Bobby Krantz. He's the sheriff's deputy for the area. I talked to him on the way over. He knows you're here, too."

  Ray followed Johnson around the upper edge of the crime scene, allowing the younger man to blaze the trail and take the initial brunt of the thorny brambles. "Hold up," Ray said. "I want to take a few shots as we go to document that there is nothing here." He took the pictures. "Let's continue."

  They proceeded around the marked area in the same manner and found nothing of interest.

  ***

  Deputy Krantz, a slightly built, clean-shaven man in his mid-thirties, was sitting on a tree stump when Ray and Johnson returned to their starting point. His casual presence caused Ray to wonder why the deputy hadn't called out or joined them.

  "Sorry to keep you waiting." Ray stepped close and extended his hand. "Ray Stone. Officer Johnson told me I'm officially working at Plateauville PD as of today."

  "Stone, you're the new detective I heard about."

  "That I am."

  Krantz scowled. "Don't know for sure why Mullins thought he needed a detective. We've always provided investigative services throughout the county." He took Ray's offered hand and shook it. "But, welcome."

  "Thanks." Ray didn't feel very welcome. He made a mental note to ask Johnson about the deputy's cool reception.

  "You new to this area?"

  "I am. But I was born, raised, and worked patrol near Roanoke on the Virginia side of the Blue Ridge. I'm no stranger to the terrain or the issues of policing in small towns and rural areas."

  "Good to know. By the way, I met your lady in the parking lot. At my suggestion, she took your truck and went home since you'll be here awhile."

  "Thanks."

  Johnson said, "You can ride with me into town to see Chief Mullins, then he'll assign you a department car."

  "Flexible bunch," Ray said.

  Johnson laughed. "We have to be."

  "Okay, Krantz, I'll bring you into the loop." Ray held up the package containing the hand. "This is all we found. We need to move it to a paper evidence bag as soon as we can."

  Krantz nodded. "Nothing else?"

  "No, just the hand. Which, by the way, slid down Sophie's back."

  "Bet that made her day." Krantz laughed. "City girl . . . and all."

  "Not exactly." Ray thought better of explaining Sophia's background—first a police officer, then an ED, emergency department, nurse. He'd leave that to her, if and when she decided to share it.

  A confused look crossed Krantz's face. "If you say so. Have you searched the entire area?"

  "We did. Walked a grid and took pictures of a lot of nothing. I'll go over it again after I've looked around up there," he pointed, "I want to see down into the trees from the overhang."

  Krantz glanced up at the projection of granite.

  Ray said, "Johnson, you can stay here and protect the scene while I go up to the trailhead. After I look around, I'll also interview the neighbors. Maybe that will give us reason to expand the search area."

  "That would be the only close neighbor, though there are a bunch more houses down the road a little ways." Johnson raised his head to indicate the house on the cliff overlooking the bluff. "The Samuels are the only ones that live close to the park. Fact is they used to own this whole area. They deeded the park and trailhead over to the city when they couldn't keep people out and didn't want the liability."

  "Interesting," Ray said.

  Krantz stood, dusted off the back of his tan uniform pants, tucked his brown shirt deeper into them, and stepped back onto the trail. "I'm out of here."

  "Officer Johnson," Ray said, "I'll not be long." He handed the evidence bag containing the hand to Johnson. "Keep this here. It'll be cooler than putting it in the car."

  After Johnson nodded, Ray followed Krantz. They hiked up single file with no conversation. When the trail widened, Ray caught up. "Does the sheriff's office maintain any crime scene facilities in the county at all? I got the idea in Nashville that TBI was the whole show."

  Krantz pressed his lips tight for a moment. "We have two coroners, who happen to be local physicians. One runs EMS. The other runs the emergency room at County. They handle the initial examination of bodies at the crime scene and supervise transport to the medical examiner in Nashville. Beyond that we have no crime scene facilities or personnel. The investigators work it themselves, then all the evidence goes to the TBI lab in Nashville."

  "Sounds about like what I did in Virginia. How would this have been handled before I arrived?"

  "One of the investigators from Crestville would take over and handle the case. But since Mullins hired a big shot detective, you'll have to ask for the support you think you need. Of course, the sheriff may take it away from you anyway. You being new and all."

  "Fair enough."

  They reached the parking lot. Ray motioned toward the outcrop overlooking the crime scene. "I'd like to have a look from the top. Do you have a pair of shoe covers and some evidence markers in case there is anything of interest?"

  Krantz opened the rear hatch of his department-issued Ford Interceptor SUV and handed Ray the items.

  "Nice ride." Ray ran his hand over the rear fender of the white and yellow vehicle.

  "We are issued new ones about every five years. I've had this about two months."

  "Like it?"

  "That I do. It works well for me, and the four-wheel drive is a plus on the country roads." Krantz said. "Need a notebook?"

  "Thanks." He accepted the small spiral notebook—which was similar to the ones he preferred—and the accompanying pen.

  "Careful you don't end up on the bottom. Stay clear of the crack."

  ***

  Ray approached the rusty chain barrier near the overlook. A weathered sign warned against crossing due to the risk of falling. He took images of the area with his cell phone, then put on the shoe covers and stepped over the chain.

  As he approached the rim, he studied the ground in hopes of finding something pointing to the person who tossed the hand. As suspected, the only things he spotted on the grey granite outcrop were bird droppings and a single cigarette butt, which he marked with a numbered yellow flag, photographed, bagged, and labeled.

  He moved a few steps closer to the fractured overhang. There he found a single footprint in a dirt-filled depression. Again, he placed a numbered marker, laid a tape measure adjacent to the mark, and took several pictures from varying angles. He stopped to note the tag numbers and details.

  Two more strides and he neared the edge. First, he tested the area with partial weight and heard a faint crackle. He lay down on his belly, saying a silent prayer for his own safety, and crawled forward.

  The view was breathtaking. The many shades of green canopy shimmered and glowed in the bright sunshine. Focusing on the area directly below the edge, he scanned the treetops and down as far as he could see through the woods. Nothing of note was visible. He wondered if there were more pieces of the victim elsewhere.

  He heard the cracking sound again and wondered if he'd soon be among the body parts.

  Johnson, having spotted him, motioned for Ray to back away, which he did.

  Ray breathed a sigh, feeling relieved, when he was once again on solid granite.

  After walking back through the lot and noting Krantz was gone, he headed east on a narrow trail toward the Samuels' house. He passed a private property sign on the left and a metal sculpture of a bear on the right.

  The house looked magnificent, appearing to be suspended over the bluff. As he drew closer, he noted that only the deck extended out into space, and the cypress house seemed to be on solid footing—granite he presumed.

  An older, dark-haired woman waved from the patio. "This is not part of the park." Her voice was friendly, not
hinting at a silent go away command.

  Ray continued a few steps until he stood within comfortable talking distance. "I'm Detective Stone of the Plateauville PD. I need to ask you a couple of questions."

  "I didn't know you'd arrived." She smiled. "There was a big article in the paper, you know."

  "No, ma'am, I wasn't aware."

  "My name is Jennifer Samuels, by the way. My husband, Steve, is out front washing his car. Come on up the stairs. Watch your step."

  The stairs were slabs of cut granite fashioned into rough steps, which had settled at varying angles.

  "Yes, ma'am." He joined her on the wooden deck and accepted the seat she offered. The spectacular view was higher than the park, clearing the tree line. The cliff on the far side of the bluff was visible—a rock climber's paradise—as well as the valley and small mountains to the west. Ray glanced over his shoulder, noting the two-story wall of glass and the living room and balcony beyond.

  "What's going on over at the park?" Mrs. Samuels said. "I saw Jimmy Johnson arrive, then the sheriff's deputy."

  "My fiancée and I found a bit of something on the trail." He imagined what she'd think of that response when the news of the find circulated through the small town's grapevine. "We're checking it out."

  "What did you find?"

  "I'd rather not go into detail at the moment, if you don't mind."

  Mrs. Samuels grimaced, then nodded. "I suppose. We import a big city detective and get big city answers. What do you want to know?"

  "Other than the official vehicles, what else did you see today?" Ray pulled the notebook out of his pocket and flipped it open to the fourth page, the one after his meager evidence list. He'd fill in the first couple of pages later.

  "I've been outside since, let me think, eight this morning. We had breakfast here, then I stayed to relax and knit. The light is good." She motioned to a blue and red work in progress. "I saw a dark pickup around eight-thirty, maybe."

  "That was mine."

  "Two people got out, wandered around like they were lost, then picked a trail and took off."

  "Us. Lost, but learning." Ray smiled. "Anyone else?"

  "No, not today."

  "Yesterday?"

  "A couple of kids parked their bicycles in the rack next to the trails and went down. I saw them come back late in the afternoon."

  "Anyone else?"

  "Not that I saw. I did go into Crestville in the middle of the day for a luncheon."

  "How about Friday?"

  "It rained all day." Mrs. Samuels paused. "Now that you ask, I saw lights in the park that night, maybe around twelve. We were standing on the deck looking over there." She pointed west. "There was a big explosion and a fire—just after dark. Probably one of those mobile homes. Fire trucks, police cars, everywhere. We stayed up to watch because we were concerned about fire, even though the woods were wet from the rain. Anyway, Steve thought the lights near the overlook were pickup lights. They stopped, then circled around and left about ten minutes later."

  A thick stand of oak trees blocked that part of the park from view. Mrs. Samuels wouldn't have been able to see the activity.

  Ray asked several follow-up questions, eliciting no additional information. Then he walked around to the front of the house and introduced himself to Steve Samuels.

  "'Morning, Detective," Mr. Samuels said. "Give me a minute."

  While Ray waited for him to shut off the hose, he looked around the front of the property. A long driveway disappeared into the trees in a northwesterly direction. Nothing else was visible in any direction except thick woods.

  "Nice property," Ray said when Mr. Samuels approached.

  "We like it."

  "How long is the driveway, may I ask?"

  "Eight hundred feet, or thereabouts. The whole point of buying this lot was to be on the bluff, which has its positives and negatives."

  "How so?" Ray raised a questioning brow.

  "We have a beautiful view."

  "I noticed," Ray said.

  "But also strong winds, and we get the brunt of the storms as they move over the Plateau. Also, it's a long way to the main road to plug into services like water and electric."

  "Well, it's a nice property. Did you see any of the activity at the park this morning?"

  "No sir, I didn't. I've been here all morning. I enjoy working outside. That keeps me in the front and side yards mostly. Sorry."

  "On Friday night, your wife said you and she saw a truck pull into the park, stay near the edge about ten minutes, then leave."

  "That's right, we did."

  "Can you add anything?"

  "The truck was a Ford pickup. I recognized the tail lights when it left the park."

  "Helpful."

  "Probably not." Samuels laughed. "There are more of those in this area than dogs and cats combined."

  "Mrs. Samuels said you were watching a fire to the west that evening."

  "We were. If you go west on the main road, Dripping Springs Drive is about a quarter of a mile away. It snakes down into the bluff a bit. Lots of old trailers, squatters' cabins, tiny houses. It's a real mess. Some of it was annexed by Plateauville a few years back, about the same time the Cove was, but the town mostly ignores it, except to go out on emergency calls now and then."

  "Why'd they annex this area? Seems more rural to me."

  "The residents wanted the city services, and the city wanted the expanded tax base. Now we're a sub-division." Samuels shrugged.

  "Where, exactly, is the city limits?"

  "Right at the bottom of the bluff. That means that some of the park is within the city, but all of the trails aren't. Same with Dripping Springs Drive. It becomes county road at the point it reaches the base of the hill."

  Chapter 3

  Ray

  Ray and Johnson stayed at the park until mid-afternoon. They'd found the singed left hand of a youngish male, a cigarette butt, one athletic shoe tread mark—a partial one—and a generic-looking truck tire track.

  As they were finishing, Sandy Lauffer, an investigator from the Sheriff's Department, stopped by to lend a hand and answer questions. "The sheriff thought you might need some help." She wore jeans, a long-sleeved white shirt, and boots.

  "I appreciate it." Ray nodded. "Does that mean you're taking over?"

  "No. I'm primarily a training officer. The sheriff is happy to have you on board."

  "Good to know." Ray took a few minutes to review the case and the evidence. "How long does it take to get preliminary results from TBI?"

  "It'll be a while. I recommend you go on with your investigation. Can I see the hand?"

  Ray put on gloves, opened the bag, and held out the hand. "I tried to get prints, that would be a fast turnaround, but the tips of the fingers are singed. I did get a few partials. May be enough. What do you think about the damage? It looks deliberate to me."

  "I'm thinking someone took a torch to them to obscure the prints, but they didn't take the time to do a thorough job. You can see where the ends are burnt but some places look okay. The damage is less severe as you move up the hand." Lauffer pointed to the areas.

  "My thoughts as well."

  "Is there anything you need from me?"

  "I don't think so. Thanks for your help."

  Lauffer smiled. "Welcome to Middle Tennessee, Detective Stone." She headed toward her vehicle.

  Ray stood next to Johnson and watched her walk away. She seemed all legs. "She's dressed warm for August," Ray said.

  "Dressed smart." He scratched his upper arm under the short sleeve of his uniform shirt. "I know better. Have a long-sleeved shirt in the car. Cover up or be eaten alive by the bugs in these here woods this time of year."

  As Ray climbed into the passenger side of the police car, he thought he was learning and remembering fast. Two hours on the job and already he knew that he'd never really be off duty, he needed to equip his personal and official vehicles with everything from bug spray and long sleeve shirts to writing
pads and investigative supplies, and he'd better buy some extra boots. All familiar routines from his time in Virginia.

  The eight-mile ride downtown to the Plateauville Police Department was quick. The single-story structure looked like a prefab storage facility, right down to the curved metal roof. The sign in front announced it was the police department as well as the home of the court, the magistrate, and the clerk. There was a second sign restricting parking on court days—Tuesdays and Thursdays.

  Johnson pulled through an open gate in the chain link fence enclosing three sides of the building and the adjacent yards and parked in a spot marked Police Vehicle Only.

  Ray noted three such spaces, plus one marked Chief of Police. A new-looking sign read Detective. A late model white Taurus sat in front of the sign. "Got my own parking space. That's a first. Is that my assigned vehicle."

  "Yup. Believe so."

  "Different color than my last one." Ray grinned. "Where do the court employees park?"

  "On the other side. They have their entrance, we have ours. Inside it's all connected, though. Guess someone wanted to make it look bigger than it is."

  Several more parking spaces abutted the fence and were labeled Police Department Employee Parking.

  Ray chuckled, slid out of the car, and followed Johnson inside. Lots of land and not many people, he thought.

  Chief Marvin Mullins, a muscular, capable-looking man in his late fifties, met them at the door.

  "Chief," Ray said, in greeting. He'd met with the chief twice during the hiring process, which had been expedited by a referral from a mutual colleague, the chief in Coral Bay. "What a way to start."

  "You could say that." Mullins pointed to a glass-fronted conference room next to a closed door marked Chief. "We can meet in there. Step into my office first."

  Ray followed him and stood in front of the scarred oak desk.

  Mullins didn't sit. "Glad to have you here, Stone."

  "Thanks. Glad to be here."

  Mullins retrieved a shiny badge from the desk drawer and laid it on the table. Then he added a Glock—still in the packaging—and a box of ammo. "Will this work for you?"