The air was thick with the smell of pine. October sun beat down through the trees, casting shadows on the pine needles. Glinting off the pools of blood. They weren’t the problem. He was used to seeing blood, it was in his job description. Dexter Morgan, forensic expert, specializing in blood spatter analysis. He was no stranger to crime scenes. This body wasn’t a particularly bad one. He had seen worse, certainly. The woman half-buried in the pine needles, looked almost peaceful.
But she was number five in six weeks. That was too many, too fast, even by his standards. And that was the real problem – this wasn’t his work. He had nothing to do with this, or the other four bodies he’d worked. There was a serial killer in Echo Springs. Another one.
He snapped another picture with his camera. “She bled out from a single wound to the head,” he pointed out. “But she wasn’t bludgeoned. No, she was… pushed,” he said slowly, making a sweeping motion with his hand. “The killer shoved her to the ground with enough force to crack open her skull.” Which should’ve been impossible given the surrounding area. It was as if she’d fallen out of the sky. The detectives clearly shared his thoughts, and they started to murmur between themselves.
Dexter reached for the extra camera battery, and realized it was missing. “Be right back,” he called to the detectives. He picked his way back towards the road. A small crowd had begun to gather, even all the way out here. Someone was even leaning against his car. “Sorry,” he called, a cheerful smile on his face, hiding the rising irritation in his chest. “I actually need to get in there, if you don’t mind.”
Minnow pushed the blue material down into the water, feeling the itch wool brush sharply against her fingertips, and then let it go, and shook droplets of water from her hands, and dried them on her long turquoise skirt. She looked around at the Community -- her stepmother Vivienne cooking lunch in the pot over the fire, her father in deep conversation with the Prophet, Donna Jo weaving a basket from sticks, Deacon Timothy with a hatchet over his shoulder, heading out of the clearing to hunt. A normal day in the Community of Charlie’s chosen people.
But then, suddenly, a sound rent the air -- the sound of voices clamouring, people shouting. The Prophet looked to the treeline. Nobody spoke, or moved, until he said, “There must have been another.” Minnow stood completely still, and stared at the trees. The Devil lurked out there. That was who was killing those town folks. The Devil in human form, the Prophet said. Charlie’s enemy, just as powerful, trying to make the Gentiles blame them, trying to take them from their home, from each other. She felt a chill crawl across her skin.
“Deacon Timothy, Deacon Sean, Sister Minnow,” the Prophet said, clearly. Minnow jumped, and turned to him. “Go to the edge of the forest to discover where the commotion is coming from, and report what you have seen.” Deacon Timothy put the hatchet down against a tree, and he and Deacon Sean began to walk. Minnow stood where she was. But I don’t want to go, she wanted to say. I want to finish the laundry. But she knew she had to. It was not a question of want. So, she nodded. “Even so amen,” she said, and she followed the two men to the edge of the clearing.
There was a crowd of Gentiles at the road. That was the cause of the noise. Deacons Timothy and Sean walked ahead, and began talking earnestly to one of the police officers. Minnow didn’t want to stand out in the open like this, alone, so she headed for the car. She had not ridden in a car for over a decade. This one was shinier than the one she remembered from her childhood. She put her hands against the metal. It looked like a giant bug, like a beetle with wheels.
A man spoke, and Minnow turned quickly and blinked at him. “Oh,” she said, stiffly. “Sorry.” And she took her hands away from the car, and stepped back. Remembering the Prophet’s instruction, she said, “Are you a police officer?” He had a badge around his neck, and a big camera in his hands.
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