Alex himself had suffered through a few teeth-grittingly queasy moments during the last couple of hours.
In fact, the only member of the Cox County Sheriff's Department who had shown no signs of being sickened by the gory sight was the sheriff.
There was an irony there somewhere, Alex thought as he joined the sheriff, who was hunkered down several feet from what was left of Adam Ramsay, elbows on knees and fingers steepled. In its entire history, the small town of Gladstone had seldom been troubled by murder. A long line of sheriffs had grown old in their jobs, dealing with petty crime and little else of consequence, needing no more police training than how to to load a gun, which would in all likelihood never be fired except at targets or the occasional unlucky rabbit. It was a local saying that all the Cox County sheriff had to be good at was filling out the Santa suit for the annual Christmas parade down Main Street.
Until last year, anyway. The town finally elected a sheriff with an actual law degree and a minor in criminology — and what happened? Damned if they didn't start having real crimes.
But they were blessed in that this particular sheriff had very quickly displayed an almost uncanny ability to get to the bottom of things with a minimum of time wasted.
At least until recently.
"This makes two," Alex said, judging that the silence had gone on long enough.
"Yeah."
"Same killer, d'you think?"
Startling blue eyes slanted him a look. "Hard to tell from the bones."
Alex started to reply that there was a bit of rotting flesh here and there, but kept his mouth shut. There was little remaining on the skeleton of Adam Ramsay, that was true enough, and what was there didn't immediately offer up any evidence as to who had killed him and how. Impossible to tell if the boy's body had borne the same bruises and cuts as they had found on Kerry Ingram. Still, it was a fair guess that two bodies turning up in less than a month had to be connected in some way.
With a sigh, Alex said, "We won't be able to quiet the gossip by suggesting this death was an accident. We might not know how he died yet, but it's a cinch a victim of an accident wouldn't have buried his own body. And you can bet that little fact won't stay out of circulation for long."
"I know."
"So we have a problem. A big problem."
"Shit," the sheriff said quietly after a moment.
Alex wondered if that was guilt he heard. "Announcing that Kerry Ingram had been murdered wouldn't have saved this one," he reminded. "I may not be an expert, but my guess is that Adam died more than a couple of weeks ago."
"Yeah, probably."
"And his own mother didn't report him missing until just before Halloween, even though he'd already been gone for weeks by then."
"Because they'd had a big fight and he'd run off to live with his father in Florida just like he'd done at least twice before — or so she thought."
"My point," Alex said, "is that there's nothing we could have done to save Adam Ramsay."
"Maybe," the sheriff said, still quiet. "But maybe we could have saved Kerry Ingram."
Breaking the ensuing silence, Alex said, "Good thing he was wearing his class ring. And that he had that gold tooth. Otherwise we'd never have been able to identify him. But what kid his age has a gold tooth? I meant to ask before now, but—"
"Not a tooth, just a cap. He had a ring of his father's melted down, and a dentist in the city did the work."
"Why, for God's sake?"
"His mother didn't know or wouldn't say. And we can't ask him now." Still hunkered down, the sheriff added, "I doubt it's important, at least to the question of who killed him and why."
"Yeah, I guess. You have any ideas about that, by the way?"
"No."
Alex sighed. "Me either. The mayor isn't going to like this, Randy."
"Nobody's going to like it, Alex. Especially not Adam Ramsay's mother."
"You know what I mean."
"Yeah. I know." Sheriff Miranda Knight sighed and rose from the crouched position, absently stretching cramped muscles. "Shit," she said again, softly.
Deputy Sandy Lynch, still very pale, ventured a step toward them but kept her gaze studiously away from the remains. "I'm sorry, Sheriff," she said nervously, new enough at the job that she feared losing it.
Miranda looked at her. "Don't worry about it, Sandy. There's nothing you can do here anyway. Go on back to the office and help Grace deal with all the phone calls."
"Okay, Sheriff." She paused. "What should we tell people?"
"Tell them we have no information at this time."
"Yes, ma'am."
As the young deputy retreated to her car in visible relief, Alex said, "That won't hold 'em for long."
"Long enough, with a little luck. I'd like a few more answers before I have to face John with a recommendation."
"Since that flap over in Concord spooked him, you know he'll overreact and declare we have a serial killer on our hands."
"Two murders don't make a serial killer."
"You know that and I know that. His Honor will prefer to err on the side of caution. He likes his job and he wants to keep it. Concord's mayor was practically run out of town for not insisting that task force be called in sooner. John MacBride is not going to make the same mistake."
Miranda nodded, frowning. "I know, I know."
"So get the jump on him. Tell him your recommendation is to call in the task force now."
Her frown deepened. "You read the bulletin, same as I did. The task force was set up to handle unusual crimes with inexplicable elements, crimes ordinary police work can't solve. For all we know, what we have here are two teenage victims of grudges or impulsive violence. Both of them were probably killed by someone they knew, and for depressingly mundane reasons. We don't know there's anything unusual."
"Randy, nobody'd blame you for calling in the feds whether these murders are unusual or not. We're a small-town sheriff's department with little manpower and almost no high-tech toys. Before we found the Ingram girl, the last murder any Cox County sheriff had to investigate was twenty years ago — when a cuckolded husband shot his wife's lover while the man was trying to escape out the bedroom window. Hardly a tricky investigation. The cases you've handled so far were demanding, and God knows you dealt with them well, but what they required was skill, intelligence, and instinct, all of which you certainly have. What you don't have are state-of-the-art crime scene investigation tools, a computer system that isn't five years out of date, enough deputies to effectively cover the county you're responsible for, and a medical examiner whose specialty — not his hobby — is forensics."
"I heard that," Doc Shepherd called out.
Unrepentant, Alex called back, "I meant you to hear it." He returned his attention to Miranda and went on in a lower voice. "Call in the feds, Randy. Nobody'll think less of you. And, goddammit, we need the help."
"They don't help, they take over."
"Then I say let 'em have it."
She shook her head. "I can't say that, Alex. I can't just hand this problem over to somebody else because I'm afraid it might be too difficult for me."
"MacBride can pull rank — and you know he will. Randy, there were just enough doubts about electing a woman sheriff to make him very, very nervous of any criticism from the voters. First sign this department can't handle the investigation, and he'll be yelling for help as loud as he can."
"No," she said. "He won't do that, not publicly."
"Then he'll pressure you to do it."
"Maybe."
"Randy—"
"We don't know there's anything unusual here," Miranda repeated stubbornly. "And just because we've gotten nowhere investigating Kerry Ingram's murder doesn't mean we won't have better luck with this case. One thing I'm sure of is that I'm damned well planning to give it my best shot. I'm not calling in outsiders unless we have no other choice." She lifted one hand and rubbed the nape of her neck, where tension had undoubtedly gathered, and scowled at the remains of Adam Ramsay.