can do that today.
Reminded of the recent death of her own mother, Portia was near tears. She pushed aside her grief and cleared her throat as the procession of vehicles began to climb the dirt road toward the monument and raised a hazy cloud of dust in the early-morning sun.
OLDBRIDGE TOWNSHIP POLICE DEPARTMENT was painted in red on the side of the white vehicles. A tall, slender woman emerged from the second car in the line. She had latte-colored skin and wore a white baseball cap, brown slacks, and a tan T-shirt. She shielded her eyes from the sun with one hand as she gazed around the field. Seeing Portia, the woman slipped on a pair of dark glasses and walked toward her.
“Agent Cahill?” the woman called.
“Yes.” Portia met the woman halfway.
“I’m Elena Duffy. Chief of police here in the township. I got a call from your boss about ninety minutes ago. Something about a child being buried some years ago up here on Turner’s Hill? Previously unknown victim of Sheldon Woods?” The chief frowned. “What the hell’s that all about?”
Portia told her.
“Shit, and it has to be here, in my township?” Elena Duffy shook her head. “Okay, let’s get to it then.”
She turned and waved on several casually dressed members of her force. “Your guy said we needed some recovery, so I brought what personnel I could get on short notice. Joanna there is a real good crime scene tech, Alvin is as well. I do have a call into the ME’s office but haven’t heard back from him yet. I suppose we should start digging—carefully, of course.”
Portia nodded, eager to get on with it.
“I have to tell you straight out, we don’t have much of a crime lab here in the township,” the chief said. “Depending on what we find, we generally send it to the county or the state.”
“What’s their turnaround time?” Portia asked.
“Probably a lot longer than either of us would like.”
Portia pretended to mull that over for a moment. “There’s the FBI lab…that is, if you don’t mind…”
Elena Duffy waved a deeply tanned hand. “I don’t mind at all. The way I see it, you did me a courtesy by notifying me, respecting my jurisdiction. But there’s no case to be investigated, since you already know who the victim is.”
“Assuming that Woods is telling the truth.”
“Right. There is that.” Chief Duffy nodded. “But let’s assume he told you the truth. You know the victim, you know who killed him. The fact that Woods left the boy in my backyard doesn’t make the case mine. I have no problem with you taking it from here.”
“Thank you,” Portia said, grateful there would be no turf war. “Christopher Williams’s mother will thank you, I’m sure.”
“After all that lady’s been through, no way am I going to be the one to stand between her and her son now. So if you have someone you want in on this recovery, get them out here, let ’em work with my team. Let’s get this taken care of as soon as possible.”
“How’s your ME?”
“Top notch.”
“Then we’ll go with him to examine the remains and determine cause of death. The lab might not be necessary but we’ll need a death certificate and that’s going to have to come from the ME.”
“Good enough.” Elena Duffy turned and waved on her CSI’s.
“This is Special Agent Portia Cahill,” she told them. “She’s going to show you where she thinks you’re going to find some remains. Be real careful with them. It’s someone’s little boy.”
Portia led the pair to the spot where Woods had indicated the grave would be found, then stepped back while they began to carefully remove the dirt. She leaned against the stone wall next to Elena Duffy for a while, both women silently watching the painstaking dig. A half hour later, the perimeter of a makeshift grave had been uncovered. Elena had dismissed all of her crew except for one detective, who photographed every stage of the excavation, and the two crime scene techs.
“Man, I
Reminded of the recent death of her own mother, Portia was near tears. She pushed aside her grief and cleared her throat as the procession of vehicles began to climb the dirt road toward the monument and raised a hazy cloud of dust in the early-morning sun.
OLDBRIDGE TOWNSHIP POLICE DEPARTMENT was painted in red on the side of the white vehicles. A tall, slender woman emerged from the second car in the line. She had latte-colored skin and wore a white baseball cap, brown slacks, and a tan T-shirt. She shielded her eyes from the sun with one hand as she gazed around the field. Seeing Portia, the woman slipped on a pair of dark glasses and walked toward her.
“Agent Cahill?” the woman called.
“Yes.” Portia met the woman halfway.
“I’m Elena Duffy. Chief of police here in the township. I got a call from your boss about ninety minutes ago. Something about a child being buried some years ago up here on Turner’s Hill? Previously unknown victim of Sheldon Woods?” The chief frowned. “What the hell’s that all about?”
Portia told her.
“Shit, and it has to be here, in my township?” Elena Duffy shook her head. “Okay, let’s get to it then.”
She turned and waved on several casually dressed members of her force. “Your guy said we needed some recovery, so I brought what personnel I could get on short notice. Joanna there is a real good crime scene tech, Alvin is as well. I do have a call into the ME’s office but haven’t heard back from him yet. I suppose we should start digging—carefully, of course.”
Portia nodded, eager to get on with it.
“I have to tell you straight out, we don’t have much of a crime lab here in the township,” the chief said. “Depending on what we find, we generally send it to the county or the state.”
“What’s their turnaround time?” Portia asked.
“Probably a lot longer than either of us would like.”
Portia pretended to mull that over for a moment. “There’s the FBI lab…that is, if you don’t mind…”
Elena Duffy waved a deeply tanned hand. “I don’t mind at all. The way I see it, you did me a courtesy by notifying me, respecting my jurisdiction. But there’s no case to be investigated, since you already know who the victim is.”
“Assuming that Woods is telling the truth.”
“Right. There is that.” Chief Duffy nodded. “But let’s assume he told you the truth. You know the victim, you know who killed him. The fact that Woods left the boy in my backyard doesn’t make the case mine. I have no problem with you taking it from here.”
“Thank you,” Portia said, grateful there would be no turf war. “Christopher Williams’s mother will thank you, I’m sure.”
“After all that lady’s been through, no way am I going to be the one to stand between her and her son now. So if you have someone you want in on this recovery, get them out here, let ’em work with my team. Let’s get this taken care of as soon as possible.”
“How’s your ME?”
“Top notch.”
“Then we’ll go with him to examine the remains and determine cause of death. The lab might not be necessary but we’ll need a death certificate and that’s going to have to come from the ME.”
“Good enough.” Elena Duffy turned and waved on her CSI’s.
“This is Special Agent Portia Cahill,” she told them. “She’s going to show you where she thinks you’re going to find some remains. Be real careful with them. It’s someone’s little boy.”
Portia led the pair to the spot where Woods had indicated the grave would be found, then stepped back while they began to carefully remove the dirt. She leaned against the stone wall next to Elena Duffy for a while, both women silently watching the painstaking dig. A half hour later, the perimeter of a makeshift grave had been uncovered. Elena had dismissed all of her crew except for one detective, who photographed every stage of the excavation, and the two crime scene techs.
“Man, I
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