Chapter 2

Those words came to haunt Nick. No identification on either of the victims. They had managed to get fingerprints on victim one. She wasn't in any system that Nick had available to him, including AFIS, the Automated Fingerprint Identification System. So, whoever she was, she didn't have a record and had never been fingerprinted.

It had been impossible to fingerprint victim two. The decomposition had been too devastating, animals had destroyed what the killer hadn't. Dental records weren't going to be helpful. The only other thing that they could go by would be CODIS, or the Combined DNA Indexing system. For that to work, somebody would have had to reported the girl missing, and then DNA had to be made available, either through hair, toothbrush, etc. It wasn't an impossibility, but he knew that getting DNA into CODIS was difficult due to a backlog that could take months if not years to unclog.

So he was stuck with two Jane Does, no eye witnesses at either crime scene, no evidence. No nothing.

Frustration flowed through Nick and he took a last deep drag off the cigarette he was smoking. So much for trying to quit this month he thought. It wasn't going to happen. He dropped it onto the cement and ground it out with his foot. He had been sitting on the steps of the court house for the past twenty minutes, wasting time before he had to go talk to the sheriff who had demanded an update on his case, the only case that he was working right now and would be working until it was solved. At least that is what the sheriff had told him the night the second body had been found.

Damn.

He pushed himself to his feet, took a swipe at the dark hair tumbling over his forehead and into his eyes, straightened the expensive silk tie that wanted to strangle him and took a deep breath. He tried to push some of the wrinkles out of the designer slacks that were a hold over from his days in LA and then gave up. Might as well get this over with.

The sheriff had been in meetings all morning at the courthouse. Nick had heard rumors that the man was going to run for Mayor of the city next term and was getting all of his little soldiers in gear. Another reason for him to jump on Nick. Doesn't look good for the sheriff, who is trying to become Mayor to have a serial killer running around or dumping bodies in his county. That could put a serious black mark on his record. Good Lord. Whatever happened to solving crimes so people would be safe, not for the political score keepers to tally another notch on who would make the best candidate?

Cynical, Nicky, really cynical.

Sheriff 'Tank" Tanner Williams was a short, round man who made up for his lack of stature with his mouth and with his attitude. Before deciding to throw his hat into the political ring, he had been a good sheriff, working hard right beside his deputies. Now he directed, he gave commands, he sat behind his desk and kept his nose out of anything that could possibly stain his reputation letting his men take the blame for him.

Cops got dirty, it was part of being a cop.

"Nicky!"

The greeting was hale and hearty, a man who wanted it to be known that he kept in good connection with the people he worked with. Nick turned around and held out his hand, wishing he didn't have to shake the sheriff's hand. He had the type of grip that was supposed to come off as honest and well meaning. It fell short with Nick making him feel like he had his back slapped and stabbed at the same time. The man only shook hands with his deputies in public. In private, he sat behind his wide specially made desk, leaving them to stand before him like a student being called into the principal's office.

"So what do we got, Nicky?" Williams rubbed his hands together like he was going to a big feast.

What do 'we' got? The man was amazing, like he had done much in the way of police work on this case. When had he gone out and knocked on doors, woke people up at all hours and generally made the public think he was shit. Nick looked up and down the hallway and groaned. There was no privacy here, no way he was going to discuss his case, or his lack of case in this instance, here. He could see ears perking up all up and down the hallway. The hazards of working in a small town, everyone knew what you were doing. And they all knew that the sheriff had given him this case with his fullest 'confidence'.

"Can we go somewhere more private, Sheriff?" he asked quietly.

The sheriff glared at him, he liked to do his job in public. Even if it was dressing down his deputies. Made him look tough and no nonsense, the exact kind of presence he wanted to display on his platform for the up coming mayoral campaign. He heaved a sigh, took Nick by the arm and led him into a deserted courtroom.

"Okay, you got your privacy, Saint. What do you have?" His voice, his inflection, his body language all changed when there wasn't anyone to watch and admire him for the job he did.

"Nothing."

There it was, all in one word. That's what this case was rounding down to. They had nothing.

The sheriff's eyes widened. "What do you mean, nothing?" he asked, outraged. "What am I paying you for?"

"Well, for starters, we haven't been able to identify either victim. That doesn't mean that we won't, just that we haven't yet. There were no unusual trace elements on either body. The toxicology reports show nothing across the board. The autopsies showed that both victims were killed with the same type of knife, single edge wide blade, like a hunting knife. And the blade was about eight inches long. Victim one," he took out his notebook and scanned his carefully printed notes, "was stabbed at least thirty six times. Victim two was stabbed at least thirty times. Lack of flowing blood to the tissue prove that most of the stab wounds were done postmortem. It was very definitely rage induced."

He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly before continuing. "We can't tell if either victim was sexually assaulted, what damage the killer didn't do was done by natural decomposition of the body which was accelerated by being left to lay in the sunlight."

The sheriff looked like he was going to stroke out, face red and sweating, eyes squinted almost shut, one hand pressed up against his forehead. He didn't say anything for almost a minute.

It was a long sixty seconds. Nick thought he was going to have to call the paramedics, was just getting ready to pull out his cell phone when the sheriff shook his head and looked at him again.

It was an amazing transformation, his face was back to it's normal shade. He took out a handkerchief and wiped his brow and his upper lip and then smiled at Nick.

"Nick," he began, his voice carefully modulated to the 'I'm a good ole boy sheriff' tone he used when he was getting ready to make a point he thought should be obvious to whatever poor schmuck he was talking to. "We need to do something about this. We haven't had a murder in this county in forty years. I won't have this unsolved. And I won't have some perverted deviant running around killing little girls." His gaze pinned Nick to the spot, trying to be intimidating. It would have worked if Nicky hadn't had other, more powerful men try it before. "You came here very highly recommended. I made a spot for you. I can unmake it."

The message was unmistakable. Make the sheriff look good or else. Nicky almost snorted in disbelief. Murder, blackmail, intimidation. Every wonderful fucking thing that made the world go round.

"Yes, sir." He hoped he was able to keep enough sarcasm out of those two little words to hide his true feelings.

At one time, oh, so many years ago, Nick had been a idealist, thinking that maybe he could make a difference. He had gone into law enforcement wanting to serve the people and put away the bad guys. He loved the feel of the badge, the importance of what it stood for. Until he was taught differently.

It hadn't taken long before he realized that the public only wanted to be served if it didn't inconvenience them in any way. He had heard the word harassment more from potential witnesses then from suspects. Why was it when a police officer asked a few intimate questions, good citizens yelled harassment? Good being the operative word. Everyone had something to hide.

He left the courtroom before the sheriff, walking swiftly out of the court house into the beautiful summer day. Time to start back at square one.

Two hours later, he stared out the window of the tiny closet that served as his office. He hated square one more than he hated anything else in this world. The grown up man voice in his mind told him to sit up, quit his whining and get back to work. But he was tired of that voice. He would have liked to sweep the whole mess into the trashcan sitting next to his desk, grab his fishing pole and leave for the nearest fishing hole. He sighed heavily, looking at the heavily wooded area that his office back up on, his mind on fishing and maybe a catnap next to the water.

A knock on his door brought him away from the feel of cool fresh water on his feet and a bottle of Bud in one hand, his fishing pole in the other.

"Yeah?" Damn did that sound irritable. Too bad that his ability to really give a shit had been lost about four hours ago.

The door pushed open.

Boy he looked like he'd been dragged through shit and then propped in a corner to dry. That was the first thought that went through Michelle's head as she stood in the doorway. His hair was mussed and standing on end as if he had been pulling it out with his fists. There were dark shadows under his gorgeous blue eyes, lines etched deeply next to his mouth. His clothes were rumpled, expensive material horribly creased, suit coat thrown over the back of the cheap desk chair he sat in. He looked like he had slept in them, except his eyes were screaming out the truth that he hadn't slept in a while.

But, even in his haggard condition, he was still too attractive. She felt that pull toward him that she did the first time she had seen him two weeks ago to the day, striding up to the front door of that ramshackled farmhouse. That had been her fourth day on the job. And her first murder scene. She still had trouble getting the image of that poor battered and tortured girl out of her head. Nobody should die that way.