Full Tilt

37

Lost River State Forest, Minnesota

Several hours after the bird-watchers had made their grisly discovery, a Minnesota State Patrol helicopter thumped over the scene.

Lester Pratt watched from his Ford as he finished off the coffee his wife had made for him, then resealed the cup on his Thermos with a snap. He resumed studying the images on his laptop. The chopper was transmitting live video as it photographed the site, determining the size and boundaries of the crime scene.

Because the primary crime scene was in the state forest and Klassen County had few resources, it was decided that the state’s Bureau of Criminal Apprehension would lead the investigation with support from local agencies and the FBI.

“Ever see one like this, Les?” Ben Koehler, Pratt’s partner, was concentrating on his phone and photos of the victim and the scene they’d taken when they’d first arrived.

Pratt was a seasoned cop partial to the Vikings and Springsteen. He was near retirement. As a BCA agent Pratt had led or worked on nearly one hundred homicides. He peered over his bifocals at his laptop to make a small sketch in his case notebook.

“No,” he said without looking away. “Not like this.”

At that point Klassen County deputy Cal Meckler was approaching Pratt’s vehicle, prompting Koehler to smile.

“Jeez, that kid must’ve roped off a twenty-mile perimeter,” Koehler said as Meckler stepped up to Pratt’s side.

“We’ve cordoned the scene.” Meckler wiped his brow. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Thank you,” Pratt said. “We’ll need help with the canvas. But we’ll take that up at the meeting after we’ve learned more from our forensic people to help guide us in what we’re looking for.”

“And when and where will that meeting take place?”

“Likely tomorrow morning in Rennerton.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll be there, willing to help, even if I’m off duty.”

“We appreciate that, son.”

“I’ll search the roadside leading to the scene for anything tossed.”

“The canine team already went through it but go ahead if you want.”

After the deputy left, Koehler shook his head, amused.

“He’s a keener, Les.”

“Nothing wrong with that.”

Pratt had been keen himself, especially after he was shot in the leg after he’d stopped a speeding car near Duluth when he was a greenhorn state trooper. While he was recovering, he decided to become a detective.

Then you blink, twenty-five years go by, and you’re confronted with this.

Pratt’s stomach twisted again at the gruesome pictures of the victim’s hands and head.

No, he’d never seen anything like this.

The thing that hit home: Pratt’s two daughters were about the same age as this young woman.

We’ve got to find the animal that did this, he thought, glancing toward the wooded area where the crime scene people were working. Pratt was counting on them to find something to guide him.

They were very good.

A little deeper into the woods from where Pratt and Koehler’s vehicle was parked, Staci Anderson, coordinator for the BCA’s Crime Scene Team, glanced at the sky, hoping the weather would hold.

Outdoor scenes were tough-rain could wash away trace evidence.

Anderson took stock of her team, clothed in white coveralls, shoe covers, latex gloves. They were forensic scientists, expert in their disciplines such as chemistry, biology, latent prints, firearms and trace analysis. They worked well with the group that came up from Midwest Medical Examiner’s Office in Ramsey.

All members knew their jobs. They worked quietly, efficiently.

Anderson and her team were devotees of the exchange theory of forensics, which held that with every scene the killer leaves a trace of something and leaves with something from it.

It’d been a long day already, Anderson thought, reviewing the work done and the work ahead. They’d taken great care removing all the soil from around the body. It would be sifted for trace and other analysis. They were meticulous about collecting samples of vegetation and soil for study and later comparison. The trees and nearby brush and shrubs were examined for hair, thread, fibers, other materials or broken branches, anything indicative of a struggle.

They scrutinized the area for traces of phlegm, saliva, seminal fluid and other biological material, knowing that it was susceptible to rapid destruction by the elements. Additionally, they searched for shell casings, knives, anything that may have been used as a weapon.

It would be dark soon. That’s when they’d prepare a solution of water, sodium perborate, sodium carbonate and luminol to spray on the area in a process known as chemical luminescence, to detect blood. If the solution contacted blood it would react glowing blue under ultraviolet light.

They painstakingly identified foot and tire impressions, first eliminating those of the witnesses, local law enforcement and any known service vehicles. Fortunately, the scene was pristine in that regard. They photographed and made casts of the impressions they found for further analysis and comparison.

Things were going well, Anderson thought, as she collected her tablet and left the scene. She followed the flagged path of entry and exit to update Pratt, who got out of his vehicle when he saw her.

“Where’re we at, Staci?”

“The ME says they’ll be ready to transport the body before dark for an autopsy in Ramsey.”

Pratt nodded.

“We’ll do our spraying for blood then.”

“What about time frame on death? How long was she there?”

“Hard to pinpoint, we’ll defer to the ME. But the way things look, with insects, status of decomposition, et cetera, I estimate less than a week, maybe even three or four days, hard to say.”

“All right.”

“Once we can analyze the tire impressions we may have a suspect vehicle for you.”

“That would be good.”

“One other thing.” Anderson cued some clear photographs on her tablet. “Take a look.”

They were very tight, clear pictures of marble-sized, circular impressions in soft soil in a grouping of three in a triangular shape.

“What’s that?”

“We’re fairly certain these are impressions of a tripod. Now, given this is bird-watching country, they could’ve been made by birders.”

“Right.”

“They could’ve also been made by the killer.”

“Are you saying he may have recorded this?”

Anderson nodded.