The Betrayed (Krewe of Hunters) by Heather Graham Read Free Book Online Page B

death.”
    Aidan’s heart sank. He suddenly knew exactly what that expression meant. “But it wasn’t that way?” he asked.
    Behind him, Voorhaven sucked in his breath.
    “A hatchet job?” Van Camp asked. His tone was rigid. Aidan liked Van Camp; he seemed to be a by-the-book detective, calm, collected, doing his job with dedication and competence. But he had retained empathy for victims.
    He was probably better suited for this job than Aidan. Because, like it or not, Aidan knew
he
wasn’t really calm, collected and by the book. He wasn’t just empathetic—he was
involved.
    “Yes, but...thankfully, the victims were dead before their heads were removed.”
    “How were they killed?” Aidan asked bluntly.
    “Strangulation. Manual strangulation. That should help you. Of course, with the chop job—sorry about that—it’s difficult to get a complete picture. But I couldn’t find ligature marks and there was heavy bruising around the neck. Now, the trauma could’ve come from the, er, removal of the heads.”
    He paused. “I worked in the city for years and saw just about every form of murder out there, although some sick bastard will always find a new twist. In my opinion, however, they were manually strangled, something that takes a significant amount of strength, especially considering the size of a man like Highsmith. The heads were removed afterward, probably for effect, for theatricality—but that kind of theorizing belongs to you investigators. I’m merely stating the obvious here.”
    “Or what appears to be obvious,” Aidan murmured.
    Mortenson hiked up two bushy white brows. “Yes, well, as I said, I leave theorizing to you gentlemen.” He walked to one of the gurneys in the room. Both bodies had, mercifully, been covered with sheets.
    Now Mortenson rolled back the first.
    Aidan winced inwardly. He didn’t want to see what was revealed. He had to.
    Mortenson started with the female victim.
    “Female, between the ages of twenty-eight and thirty-five. Approximately five foot seven in life, 135 pounds. In excellent shape and health, judging by the state of her heart and organs, muscles and bones. She was a blue-eyed blonde, no contacts, highlights in her hair. We’ve done a computer mock-up of what she looked like before the tissue and muscle damage to the face. We’re turning that over to the police now.”
    Mortenson glanced at his clipboard and his notes, then pulled out several sheets, handing them to Aidan, Van Camp and Voorhaven.
    Aidan studied the woman’s face. She had nice bone structure, large eyes, a small nose and a pert chin. But there was no life in the image; he wasn’t sure he would have recognized her even if he’d known her.
    “What about her clothing?” Van Camp asked.
    “Her personal effects are boxed and ready for you and the lab,” Mortenson said. “But due to the blood on the outfit and various fluids stiffening the fabric, I believe she was killed and then beheaded in the suit you saw on the body, under that big coat. I’ve rushed everything, and the lab has, too.”
    “Thanks,” Aidan said.
    “Now, as to Mr. Highsmith...” Mortenson began.
    Aidan felt his muscles tighten. He steeled himself not to flinch, not to show emotion. He didn’t want to be hauled off the case.
    Mortenson rolled the sheet back.
    And there was Richard, the head placed where it should have been but showing not just the trauma of death, but of autopsy, too. He was almost unrecognizable.
    Mortenson was all business, his gloved hands showing what his medical eye saw as he pointed out the bruising caused by the strangulation that had ended Highsmith’s life.
    Aidan stared at the corpse on the gurney. Richard Highsmith looked like something created by a master of bizarre special effects.
    Mortenson’s voice droned on and on, until finally the sheet was drawn back over Richard.
    “I’ll keep you posted,” Dr. Mortenson said. “But I’m not sure what else I’ll be able to tell