Die for Me (6 page)

He was wearing sunglasses, but she could just see the corner of his eye where the darkness of his skin was broken by tiny white lines, as if he was quick to smile. He wasn’t smiling now. At this moment, his expression was sober and brooding which made her feel a little guilty for feeling so excited and energized.

For the first time in months she’d be doing something that got her back into the field. That was what had her heart pumping and goosebumps pebbling her skin. The thrill of the hunt, of finding secrets hidden below the surface of the earth, not the memory of his hands gripping her shoulders.
He was just keeping you from falling on your ass.
It had been way too long since she’d been touched by a man, for any reason. She frowned and focused. “So Vito, tell me about this gravesite.”

“Who said anything about graves?” he asked, his tone casual.

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. “I’m not stupid. An ME and a cop are looking for something under the ground. So how many graves are we talking about?”

He shrugged. “Maybe none.”

“But you’ve found at least one.”

“What makes you say that?”

She wrinkled her nose. “
L’odeur de la mort.
It’s quite noticeable.”

“You speak French? I took it in high school, but I only learned the swear words.”

Now she did roll her eyes, her temper flaring. “I’m fluent in ten languages, three of them deader than the body you just came from,” she snapped, then instantly wished her words back as he flinched, a muscle twitching in his clenched jaw.

“The body I just came from was somebody’s daughter or wife,” he said quietly.

Her face heated, her annoyance becoming embarrassment and shame.
Shoved your foot in your mouth, army boot and all.
“I’m sorry,” she said, just as quietly. “I didn’t mean to be disrespectful. The bodies I come across have been dead several hundred years. But it’s not an excuse. I got a little . . . jazzed at the prospect of doing something interesting. I let myself get carried away. I apologize. It was insensitive of me.”

He kept his gaze fixed ahead. “It’s all right.”

No, it wasn’t, but she didn’t know what to say to make it right. She pulled off her gloves and began to braid her hair that still hung loose so it would be out of her way when she got to where the detective was taking her. She was almost done when he spoke, startling her.

“So,” he said. “You speak French? I took it in high school, but . . .”

His mouth turned up in a rueful smile and she smiled back. He’d thrown her a do-over. This time she would keep her feet out of her mouth. “But you only learned the swear words. Yes, I speak French and several other languages. It comes in handy translating old texts and conversing with the locals when I’m working.” She went back to braiding her hair. “I’ll teach you a few swear words in other languages if you want.”

His lips twitched. “It’s a deal. Katherine said you were on sabbatical.”

“Of sorts.” She secured the braid into a tight ball at her nape. “My grandmother had a stroke, so I came back to Philly to help my aunt take care of her.”

“Is she recovering?”

“Some days we think so. Other days . . .” She sighed. “Other days it’s not so good.”

“I’m sorry.” He sounded very sincere.

“Thank you.”

“And where did you come back from?”

“Southern France. We were excavating a thirteenth-century castle.”

He looked impressed. “Like, with a dungeon?”

She chuckled. “At one time, most likely. Now we’ll be lucky to find the outer walls and the foundation of the keep.
They’ll
be lucky,” she corrected. “Listen, Vito . . . I’m sorry I was out of line, but it really would help me to know a little more about what you need me to do before I begin.”

He shrugged. “There’s really not much to tell. We found one body.”

Back to square one. “But you think there are more.”

“Maybe.”

Keeping her feet well away from her mouth, she injected a note of lightness into her voice. “If I uncover something, I’ll know your secrets. I hope this isn’t one of those ‘now I’ll have to kill you’ things. That would ruin my day.”

The corners of his mouth quirked. “Killing you would be illegal, Dr. Johannsen.”

They were back to formalities. Too bad. She was still calling him Vito. “Well then, Vito, unless you plan to erase my memory, you’ll have to trust that I won’t blab. You don’t have one of those memory-zapping guns like they used in
Men in Black,
do you?”

His lips twitched again. “I left it in my other suit.”

“Forewarned is forearmed, they say. Which suit is it? I promise I won’t tell.”

Abruptly he grinned, exposing a deep dimple in his right cheek.
Oh, my,
she thought.
Oh my, oh my.
A smile turned Vito Ciccotelli from merely magazine-handsome to movie-star-gorgeous. Aunt Freya’s heart would be going pitter-pat.
Just like yours is right now.
Then he spoke.

“That information is classified,” he said and Sophie stiffened.

“So much for establishing rapport.”

His grin faded. “Dr. Johannsen, it’s not that I don’t trust you. You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. Katherine vouches for you and that was enough for me.”

“Then—”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to give you any information that could bias your findings. Go in with a clean slate and tell us what you see. That’s all we want.”

She considered. “I suppose that makes sense.”

“Thank God,” he muttered and she chuckled.

“Can you at least tell me how big this area is?”

“One, two acres tops.”

She winced. “Oh. That’ll take a while.”

His black brows went up. “How long is a while?”

“Four, five hours. Maybe more. Whitman’s ground-penetrating radar is a small unit. We use it for teaching purposes. The biggest plot we ever scan with students is maybe ten meters square. Sorry,” she added when he scowled. “If you need an area that big scanned I can recommend some geophysical survey companies that are really good. They’ll have bigger units they can drag with a tractor.”

“With big price tags,” he said. “We can’t afford to hire a contractor. Our department budgets have been cut so much . . . We simply don’t have the funds.” He threw her a cautious glance. “Can you give us four or five hours?”

She checked her watch. Her stomach had already started to rumble. “Can your department budget spring for pizza? I didn’t have lunch.”

“That we can do.”

Chapter Three

Philadelphia, Sunday, January 14, 2:30
P.M.

V
ito stopped the truck behind the CSU van. “This is the place.”

“I kind of figured that out for myself,” she murmured. “The yellow police tape and CSU van were my first clues.” Before he could say another word she opened her door and hopped out, flinched, then swallowed hard.

“It’s strong,” he said sympathetically. “
Eau de
. . . what did you call it?”

“
L’odeur de la mort,
” she said quietly. “Is the body still here?”

“No. But removing the body doesn’t always remove all the odor right away. I can get you a mask, but I don’t think it really helps.”

She shook her head and the big hoops at her ears swayed. “I was just surprised. I’ll be fine.” Her jaw set determinedly, she grabbed the two smaller cases. “I’m ready.”

She said it with a hard little nod, more as if to convince herself than anyone else.

Nick climbed from the CSU van and Vito had the satisfaction of seeing his partner’s face go blank. Jen McFain’s reaction was much the same. Of course they weren’t getting the full effect as Johannsen had braided the hair that hung an inch past her butt.

“Jen, Nick, this is Dr. Johannsen.”

Jen hurried forward with a smile, craning her neck to see Johannsen’s face. The difference in the women’s heights was almost comical. “I’m Jennifer McFain, CSU. Thank you so much for coming out to help us on such short notice, Dr. Johannsen.”

“You’re welcome. And please call me Sophie,” she said.

“Then I’m Jen.” Jen eyed the small suitcases. “I’ve always wanted to play with one of these. If you don’t mind, could you take off the earrings?”

Johannsen immediately dropped her earrings into one of the pockets of her jacket. “Sorry. I forgot I had them on.” She glanced over Jen’s shoulder at Nick. “You are?”

“Nick Lawrence,” Nick said. “Vito’s partner. Thanks for coming.”

“My pleasure. If you’d take me to where you’d like me to begin, I’ll get set up.”

They walked across the field, Jen and Johannsen in front, Vito and Nick trailing far enough behind that they wouldn’t be overheard.

“She’s not . . . what I expected,” Nick murmured.

Vito huffed a chuckle. He was keeping himself calm, cool, and collected. And would continue to do so. “That’s an understatement.”

“You’re sure she’s Katherine’s friend? She seems very young.”

“I did finally get in touch with Katherine. Johannsen’s the real deal all right.”

“And you’re sure she can keep this to herself?”

Vito thought of the memory-zapping gun and had to smile. “Yeah.” Then they came to the grave and he sobered. Now they would know if Jane Doe was a single or one of many.

Johannsen was staring at the grave. Her mouth drooped and he remembered how she’d dropped her eyes, ashamed of the calloused way she’d referred to the body. She hadn’t meant it, he knew. That she was so quick to apologize he could respect. She looked over her shoulder and met his eyes. “You found the woman here?”

“Yes.”

“The field is big. Do you have a preference on where you’d like me to start?”

“Dr. Johannsen thinks it will take four or five hours to scan the whole field,” Vito said. “Let’s survey the area to the right and left of the grave and see what we have.”

“That sounds like a plan,” Jen said. “How long will it take you to get ready?”

“Not long.” Sophie dropped to her knees in the snow and began opening the cases they’d brought, demonstrating the assembly for Jen who looked like a kid on Christmas. “The unit sends data to the laptop wirelessly and the laptop will store it.” She set the laptop on one of the cases, powered it up, then stood, the scanning portion in her hand.

Nick leaned forward, studying it. “It looks like a carpet sweeper,” he said.

“A fifteen-thousand-dollar carpet sweeper,” Johannsen said and Vito whistled.

“Fifteen grand for that? You said it was a little one.”

“It is. The big ones start at fifty. Are you all familiar with ground penetrating radar?”

“Jen is,” Vito said. “We were going to call for the cadaver dogs.”

“That works, but GPR gives you an image of what’s under the ground. It’s not a clear image like an x-ray. GPR tells you where and how deep an object is. The colors on the display represent the amplitude of the object. Brighter colors, bigger amplitude.”

Jen nodded. “Brighter the color, bigger the amplitude, bigger the object.”

“Or the stronger the reflection. Metals will have high amplitude. Air pockets reflect even better. The amount of reflection depends on what you’re looking for.”

“What about bone?” Nick asked.

“Not as bright, but visible. Older the bone, the harder it is to see. As bodies decompose, they become like the soil and the reflections don’t stand out as much.”

“How old before you can’t see the bones anymore?” Jen asked.

“One of my colleagues identified the remains of a twenty-five-hundred-year-old Native American in a burial mound in Kentucky.” She glanced up. “I don’t think you need to worry about age.” She stood up and wiped her palms on her jacket. Her jeans were soaking wet, but she didn’t even seem to notice. She’d said she was “jazzed” and Vito could definitely see the energy in her clear green eyes. “Let’s go.”

She got to work, scanning along the height dimension of the first grave, slowly and precisely. Vito could see why scanning the whole field would take so long. But if they found something, they were in for a lot more man-hours than that.

Jen went still. “Sophie,” she said, her voice urgent.

Johannsen stopped for a screen check. “It’s the edge of something. The soil changes here, abruptly. It goes maybe three feet deep. Let me get a few more rows.”

She did, then frowned. “There is something here, but it looks like it’s got metal in it. We tend to see that in cemeteries with older, lead-lined caskets. The shape isn’t right for a casket, but there is definitely metal here.” She looked up, her eyes questioning. “Does that make sense?”

Vito thought about Jane Doe’s hands. “Yeah,” he said grimly. “It does.”

Johannsen nodded, accepting there would be no more answer than that. “Okay.” She marked the corners with her garden stakes. “It’s six and a half feet by three feet.”

“The same size as the first one,” Jen said.

“I didn’t want to be right, Vito.” Nick shook his head. “Fuck.”

Jen stood up. “I’ll get my tools and the camera, then I’ll get the team back and we’ll set up floodlights. Give me a hand with the tools, Nick. Vito, you call Katherine.”

“Will do. And I’ll call Liz.” Lieutenant Liz Sawyer had not been pleased to hear of the first body. Multiple unmarked graves would not be the news she wanted to hear.

Nick followed Jen, leaving Vito alone with Johannsen. “I’m sorry,” she said simply, sadness filling her eyes.

He nodded. “Yeah. Me, too. Let’s check the other side.”

As Johannsen continued on, Vito dialed Liz on his cell. “Liz, it’s Vito. We have the archeologist here. There’s another one.”

“Not good,” Liz said tightly. “One or more?”

“One at least. She’s just getting started and it’s going to take a while. Jen’s calling for her team and we’re going to get as much done as we can tonight.”

“Keep me apprised,” she ordered. “I’ll call the captain and give him the heads-up.”

“Will do.” Vito slid his phone back into his pocket.

Jen and Nick returned with the digging tools and the camera as Johannsen found the edge of the next grave. “Same length, same depth.” Twenty minutes ticked by before she looked up. “And another body. But this one doesn’t have any metal.”

“We didn’t find metal there with the detector,” Nick said.

Vito looked out over the field. “I know. That means there could be even more.”

Jen was laying plastic sheeting around the first new grave. “Take a spade, boys.”

They did, and for a while the four of them worked in silence, Johannsen marking the second plot and moving to the left to begin again, Nick, Vito, and Jen digging. Nick reached the body first. Jen leaned forward and with her small brush, removed the loose dirt from the victim’s face.

It was a man, young and blond. Decomposition was not yet advanced. He’d been handsome. “He hasn’t been dead long,” Nick said. “A week maybe.”

“If that,” Vito said. “Uncover his hands, Jen.” She did, and Vito twisted closer to get a better look at what he didn’t understand. “What the hell?”

“He’s not praying.” Nick frowned. “What
is
he doing?”

“Whatever he’s doing,” Jen said, “his hands are wired just like Jane Doe’s.”

The victim’s hands were formed into fists, both settled against his naked torso, the right above the left. The right fist was positioned level with the heart and his elbows pointed down. Both fists formed O’s. “He was holding something,” Vito said.

“A sword.” The whispered words came from above them, where Sophie Johannsen stood, her face ghostly pale under the red bandana. Her eyes were wide, horrified, and fixed on the victim. Vito had the sudden urge to pull her face against his chest, shielding her from the decomposing body.

Instead he stood and put his hands on her shoulders. “What did you say?”

She didn’t move, her eyes still fixed on the dead man.

He gave her a gentle little shake and pinched her chin, forcibly turning her face to his. “Dr. Johannsen, what did you say?”

She swallowed, then lifted her eyes, no longer bright. “He looks like an effigy.”

“An effigy,” Vito repeated. “As in ‘hung in effigy’?”

She closed her eyes, visibly steeling herself and Vito remembered that her bodies had been dead for hundreds of years. “No,” she said, her voice shaken. “As in a tomb or crypt. Many times tombs would have images of the dead carved in stone or marble. These statues would lie on their backs on top of the crypt. It’s called an effigy.”

She’d calmed herself, sounding like a teacher giving a lecture now. Vito supposed it was her way of coping. “The women usually had their hands folded like this.” She folded her hands beneath her chin, the pose identical to Jane Doe’s.

Vito glanced sharply at Nick, who nodded.

“Go on, Sophie,” Nick said quietly. “You’re doing fine.”

“But . . . but sometimes their arms were folded across their breasts.” Again she demonstrated, laying her hands flat. “Sometimes the man’s hands are folded in prayer, but sometimes he’s in full armor, holding a sword. Usually he holds the sword at his side, but sometimes the effigy was carved like this.” She balled her trembling hands into fists and laid them on her chest in exactly the way the victim’s were posed. “He’d hold the hilt of the sword in his hands and the blade would lie flat against his torso, straight down his center. It’s not as common a pose. It means he died in battle. Do you know who he is?”

He shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Someone’s son or husband,” she murmured.

“Why don’t you go sit in my truck? Here are the keys.”

She looked up at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “No, I’m all right. I just came to tell you I didn’t find anything to the left of the other plot. I’m going back toward the trees.” She wiped her eyes with her multicolored gloved fingers. “I’ll be fine.”

Nick stood up. “Sophie, now that you’ve told us this, I remember seeing pictures in an old history book. This is a medieval custom, isn’t it? Placing an effigy on the grave?”

She nodded but she was still very pale. “Yes. Earliest known carvings date as far back as 1100 and were common practice through the Renaissance.”

“Guys.” Jen was kneeling on the edge of the grave. “We’ve got bigger problems than this guy’s sword.” She came to her feet, dusting soil from her coveralls.

Vito and Nick looked down into the grave, but Johannsen stayed back. Vito couldn’t say he blamed her. What he saw made him want to turn his face away, but he didn’t. Jen had uncovered the victim down to his groin and there was a huge hole in his abdomen. “Sonofabitch,” he muttered.

“What?” Johannsen asked from five feet away.

Jen sighed. “This man had his intestines removed.”

“Disemboweled,” Johannsen said. “A torture used throughout history, but definitely used in medieval times.”

“Torture,” Nick murmured. “Holy shit, Vito. What kind of sicko would do this?”

Vito’s gaze swept the field. “And how many more did he put here?”

New York City, Sunday, January 14, 5:00
P.M.

The pop of a champagne cork brought the noise level to a low roar. From the back of the room, Derek Harrington watched Jager Van Zandt hold the fizzing bottle away from his expensive suit amid the cheers of a host of young, eager faces.

“We used to be happy with a six-pack as long as it was cold.”

Derek glanced up at Tony England, his smile rueful. “Ah, the good old days.”

But Tony wasn’t smiling. “I miss those days, Derek. I miss your old basement and working all night and . . . T-shirts and jeans. When it was just you and me and Jager.”