Breaking Creed

33

The gray sky made the Bagley property look more ominous. Even O’Dell’s rental car flicked on its headlights automatically as she drove under the long stretch of canopy created by the massive live oak trees.

Sheriff Holt was already there, waiting with one of his deputies. Both were sipping from stainless steel travel mugs. It looked like they had a map spread out on the hood of the SUV. A paper bag anchored down one corner. Both men wore their uniforms — white shirts pressed, badges glistening, gun belts cinched tight. She wondered how they intended to search the property in such high-polished shoes.

Holt had told her earlier on the phone that he’d managed to get a search warrant. She didn’t ask for details. O’Dell didn’t get too concerned about formalities, but she’d pegged him as a by-the-rules kind of guy. This was his county and she could hear the relief in his voice. She knew he’d want to cover his tracks. Now she wondered if he simply intended to sit back and direct the search while he and his deputy sipped coffee and ate doughnuts.

Holt was on his cell phone, and his deputy hurried over to meet her car.

“Agent O’Dell, I’m Deputy Jimmy Franklin,” he told her as soon as she opened her car door.

“Deputy Franklin.”

He seemed too anxious. He came at her with his hand outstretched, but not as a gesture to shake hands. Instead, it was almost as if he thought he should help her get out of the car.

Awkward.

“I’m fine, thanks,” she told him as she ignored his aid.

When he realized his mistake his face went crimson. O’Dell pretended not to notice, shut the door on her own, and went to the trunk. She popped it open and started to get her gear. Poor kid didn’t look old enough to drink alcohol legally. Even his uniform seemed a size too large. The shoulder seams sagged and the gun belt was cinched at its tightest notch. His patrol hat came down too far on his head, making his ears stick out. Still, he was all spit and polish, looking official and shiny, just like his boss, while O’Dell had come dressed for mud and mosquitoes.

“I can help you with that, ma’am.” Evidently he hadn’t been embarrassed enough because here he was by her side, reinforcing O’Dell’s image of a Boy Scout.

“I’ve got it,” she told him without a glance, and trying not to wince at the “ma’am.”

That’s when she noticed that Holt had finished his phone call and was crossing the yard to meet a Jeep Grand Cherokee coming up the driveway. Deputy Jimmy followed.

O’Dell continued to stuff her daypack with a few necessities, including Deet, a black-light torch, some evidence bags, and finally a couple of protein bars — although she wouldn’t mind snagging one of those doughnuts. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting to find.

Stan Wenhoff had insisted that the insect bites on Trevor Bagley’s corpse were caused by his body — his live body — lying on a mound of fire ants. She had no idea what the crime scene would look like. Would there still be stakes in the ground where his wrists and ankles were tied down? Would the grass be trampled? Would there be blood mixed in the mound of ants?

It was one of the reasons she had brought a portable black light. It resembled a flashlight, only with UV ultraviolet light. If they found an area in question, the black light might be able to indicate if there were any bodily fluids left behind. Almost an impossibility, considering the downpour of just the previous day. But she had been stunned in previous cases when a forensic team discovered pieces of flesh mixed in the soil of outdoor crime scenes. Some remnants were difficult to destroy. She was counting on that, especially if the dog and its handler were going to lead them to where Bagley may have died.

O’Dell slid the daypack over her shoulders to wear as a small backpack. When she slammed the car trunk shut, she saw that two men had arrived with the Jeep. The search dog was waiting patiently, just inside the open liftgate. The dog’s handler had his back to her while he gathered up his gear. And then the dog noticed her and began wagging and wiggling impatiently. No, the dog hadn’t just noticed her, it recognized her.

It was Grace! And O’Dell’s stomach took a sudden slide, because not only did she recognize the dog, she also recognized her owner. He was tall — over six feet — with broad shoulders and a slender waist, and he filled his jeans quite nicely. He turned at that moment to see what had gotten his dog excited. It took only a few seconds, and Ryder Creed smiled.

For O’Dell, the flush came as a surprise. An annoying surprise that accompanied a flutter in her stomach.