“Well, okay then.” But she flicked him a look, as if she knew the mental frustration he was wrestling with.
“And what the hell were you thinking?” he admitted.
Granger interrupted them by explaining, “I had the gun because you’re trespassing, and I didn’t know you were a fu—an effin’ reporter!” His gaze moved to Pierce and Sol and the two deputies, weapons drawn, accompanying them. “I own this place now, youknow,” he said, struggling to his feet while holding his arm. “Mom left the house and acreage to me, so I have the right to protect my property. And by the way, I need an ambulance. Did she tell you that, huh? That I was attacked by that friggin’ dog.” He motioned to Arlo.
Pierce ignored him. “Is it true?” he asked Nikki. “Is Naomi here?”
Nikki squeezed her eyes shut for a second, as if blocking out an image too horrible to contemplate. Her grim expression told him all he needed to know: There was no mistake. He’d phoned her on the way out here, and when she’d finally called him back, he had gotten a quick rundown of all the details, but it was still hard to believe. “In the shed out in the swamp,” she said, glancing to the dark water and the shack beyond.
“I don’t know nothin’ about that,” Granger insisted. He was holding his arm with one hand, blood staining his fingers. “First I heard of it was when she told me. I mean … Hell, I don’t even know if it’s true.”
“Put him in cuffs.” Pierce motioned to Deputy Rounds, and she stepped forward.
“What?” Granger threw out. “Hey. No! I just told you I own this property!” He started to back up. “I have the right to be here and to protect it!”
“It’s your property with a dead woman on it,” Pierce countered. Then to Deputy Rounds, “Take him to the station. I’ll be there soon.”
“But she’s trespassing!” Granger repeated, “I didn’t do nothin’ wrong.” But he didn’t fight being handcuffed, and his big shoulders fell. “I could use a smoke.”
“Later,” the deputy told him, glancing at the hands now restrained behind his back. “When you can do it.”
“Have a medic look at him,” Pierce ordered.
Granger glared at Nikki. “You’ll hear from my lawyer!”
“Can’t wait,” she replied.
“Move it.” Tina Rounds escorted Granger toward the waiting police cruiser, giving him a soft nudge when he hesitated.
“Let’s go,” Pierce said to Sol, and when Nikki stepped forward, he shook his head. “Wait.”
“But—”
“You’ve already seen enough. Take the dog and go home. I’ll talk to you there, but then you’ll have to go down to the station andmake a formal statement.” He didn’t wait for her to argue. Using his high-beam flashlight as his guide, he started toward the hut with its altar.
Again.
To deal withanotherbody.
Sol walked a step behind him along the narrow approach, their footsteps ringing through a night where insects hummed, fish jumped, and a still unidentified evil lurked. Sol was silent, as usual, but he knew she was taking in everything, her senses attuned to the crime scene and surroundings. He’d seen her in action, watched how she kept to herself, quietly observing, asking for and providing only the important information.
As he reached the hut, he steeled himself. Though he’d often witnessed death and had studied many grisly crime scenes, this one would be more difficult.
Because he knew the victim.
Because she was married to his friend.
His stomach lurched a little as he slipped into the decaying hut to shine the beam of his flashlight upward toward the rafters.
Bile rose up his throat, and he had to forcibly steady himself.
Hung by her heels, positioned over the fire pit, stretched Naomi Kittle’s body. She appeared to be reaching out to him. Beckoning. She was wearing tight, hip-hugging leggings and a shirt that fell downward over her shoulders. Her bare abdomen was exposed, as was a lacy bra barely containing her full breasts. Her skin had grayed, her blond hair tumbling toward the floor and partially covering her face. Blood had run from an ugly gash in her neck and downward over her chin to drop into the fire pit, where several of the blackened stones were stained.
In her right hand, she seemed to clutch a polished stone.
The work of the Savannah Slasher. Again. In this same place.
Pierce felt the urge to cut her down.