The Morning After by Lisa Jackson Read Free Book Online Page A

house where he’d been born? How had his name been on a note inside a damned coffin with two bodies up here ? From the moment Baldwin had called, Reed had thought of nothing else. He’d brooded about it during the helicopter ride, and the sheriff, when Reed had met him at the courthouse, hadn’t had enough answers to satisfy him. No one did.
    Yet.
    They’d been driving nearly forty minutes, leaving the lights of Dahlonega and civilization far behind, when Reed caught his first sight of some kind of illumination through the trees.
    Here we go , Reed thought, feeling the usual rush of adrenaline he always did when coming upon a crime scene.
    “We started investigating late this afternoon, but daylight was fadin’ fast. The forecast is for rain and we were afraid we might lose a lot of trace evidence if we had a real gully washer, so we hauled in some major equipment ASAP,” the sheriff explained, but Reed knew the drill. Had seen it before on major cases.
    Other vehicles, vans, SUVs and cruisers were parked at odd angles about a hundred feet from a gate. Headlights, lanterns, flashlights and the glowing red tips of cigarettes cut through the gloom. Officers from several state and county agencies had already roped off the scene. The back doors of a van were open wide and crime scene investigators had already begun collecting evidence. Detectives and deputies from the county joined with the state police.
    Baldwin made a couple of quick introductions, then, as one of his deputies held a fluorescent lantern aloft, he pointed to a rusted gate that consisted of one heavy bar which swung over the dried grass and dirty, sparse gravel, the remains of what had once been a road. “See how the weeds’re bent, and the oil drips are visible on the grass?” Reed saw. “And the gate, here”—Baldwin pointed to the rusting bar—“had been chained and locked, but the chain’s been cut clean through. Had to be heavy cutters to take care of those links.” Reed squatted, bending close to observe the damage. “Whoever did it was careful to wire the gate shut behind him…See, here.” He swung his flashlight at a spot in the chain where the links had been severed, then reattached with something akin to coat-hanger wire. The gate had been dusted for prints and an officer was taking tire impressions. Others were scanning the weeds with flashlights and roping off the area to preserve it for morning light when they might be able to find trace evidence.
    Cautiously, so as to not disturb the scene, Baldwin led Reed deeper into the woods, up a steep rise and down the other side to a clearing where klieg lights had been set up and more investigators were carefully sifting through the soil, taking samples, using digital cameras, Polaroids and video camcorders to record everything. The wind was cold as it cut through Reed’s jacket and there was a threat of rain in the air, but above it all, something else lingered in the atmosphere. Something unnamed. Something dark. Evil. He sensed it. As he did with most murder scenes. Baldwin angled through a copse of spindly trees to a clearing. They passed by a dead deer, its sightless eyes catching in the beam of the flashlight, its innards spilled onto the forest floor. Dark blood pooled and thickened in the grass around the carcass and Reed felt the scavengers hiding in the dark woods. Waiting.
    Baldwin came to a shallow grave. Reed’s gut clenched as he spied earth piled around a rosewood and brass coffin, the wood blackened and stained, the metal no longer shiny, the lid pried open under the eerie, unnatural illumination from the klieg lights mounted on poles near the scene. Reed stepped closer, every muscle tense.
    “Jesus!” Reed’s voice was whispery and thin, his curse more like a prayer. He drew a deep breath. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me she was alive when the bastard tossed her inside?” Rage tore through him. “Who in God’s name…”
    Wedged into the stained satin-lined