The Bones Will Speak by Carrie Stuart Parks Read Free Book Online

least one dump site . . . You know I’m not a profiler?”
    Dave looked up. “I know.”
    â€œSo why are you asking me?”
    â€œTwo reasons.” He held up his index finger. “Number one, you have good insight. Number two, we don’t have a profiler. We’re lucky to have Dre.”
    â€œIs that the guy with all the tattoos?”
    â€œYeah. Andre Arceneaux. A lateral transfer from Spokane, but originally from West Monroe, Louisiana. Don’t let his tattoos and piercings throw you. He was an undercover agent for Ouachita Parish.”
    Gwen opened her mouth, but Dave was on a roll.
    â€œWe’re lucky he took a couple of forensic classes last year. That’s all people think about anymore. They watch TV, all those crime shows, and they think it’s really like that. Case solved in an hour minus commercials, using the latest scientific gadgets. A CSI team waiting for our call, trained and ready. When my dad was sheriff, no one questioned him about forensic science.”
    â€œBut your dad—”
    â€œNot three days ago, Mrs. Post called. Stray dogs killed a bunch of chickens. She wanted me to do DNA tests on the blood.” Dave violently swatted a deerfly buzzing near his head. “DNA. Chicken blood. This is Copper Creek, Montana!”
    Gwen cocked her head and narrowed one eye. “So did you do it?”
    â€œDo what?”
    â€œThe DNA on the blood?”
    He folded his arms. “You. Are. So . . . Just finish giving me your thoughts about this case.”
    Gwen slowly turned in a circle. Dave followed her movements and tried to view the scene through her eyes. Patrol cars lined the field next to the house. One officer unrolled cadmium-yellow tape, boldly announcing Police Line—Do Not Cross in block print, from tree to tree. Methodically, he created a path to the grave before circling the house. The pine-covered mountains crowded in on three sides. The driveway dropped to the county road to their left. A faint dirt track, or logging skid trail, continued past the house toward the mountains. Rusty barbed wire, looped between gray posts, enclosed a sloping upper field. Most of the fence lay snarled in the tall grasses. The crackle of radios and the rushing stream provided the only sounds.
    â€œIf you don’t think about why we’re here, it’s actually a pretty spot,” Gwen said, still looking around. “I painted it once, put it into an exhibit with a couple of other old homesteads.”
    â€œI remember the show. You sold every piece.”
    â€œDon’t be too impressed. There were only five paintings.” She shrugged. “Anyway, back to here. The house was well chosen. This guy knows the area. This is a difficult location to find, especially the road leading in here. It’s overgrown and has a weird turn as you drive up.”
    â€œYeah. Some of the deputies were late getting here. They couldn’t find the entrance.”
    â€œOkay. So, the killer could have a connection with a government agency like Fish, Wildlife, and Parks—or Forest Service. Possibly even law enforcement. Someone who might patrol the roads and would blend in. That’s probably a key, someone not out of place where locals inspect the drivers of every truck or car. That would also include hunters.”
    Dave looked up quickly.
    â€œAnimal hunter. Elk, deer, bear,” Gwen amended. “A hunter might stumble onto this location.”
    â€œPossible, but I think he knows the locale pretty well. An outside hunter would need maps, and this place isn’t on any hunting maps. It’s private land and it’s posted.”
    Gwen took a swift intake of breath.
    â€œWhat?” he asked.
    â€œSomething . . . a thought.” She waved her hand in front of her face as if swatting a fly. “Gone before I could nail it down.”
    Dave stared at the overgrown road. “ Somebody knew about this place. Maybe we should