Divine Evil

a blessing.”
    The bird settled in a weeping cherry and began to sing. “How?”
    “Because it would have to mean he acted on his own. If there had been a group, a cult, as Cam was thinking, they wouldn't have left the body on the property like that. It's not the way they operate. Groups like that cover their tracks.”
    It made sense. She wished she could have left it there. “That doesn't explain who killed Biff.”
    “He was obviously into drugs. Maybe he didn't pay his supplier, screwed up a deal. There's not much forgiveness in that line.” With a sigh, he leaned back on his elbows. “I'm not big on the crime beat. I'll take graft and corruption over murder any day.”
    “When are you going back?”
    “Soon. My editor wants me to follow up on what's happening here, since I'm a hometown boy. But once the body's identified and I can file the story, I'm out of here.” There were people he needed to talk with, face-to-face. As long as there was a chance of a cult—one his father might have been tied to—he would dig. Since digging meant leaving Clare, he was putting all his faith in Cam. “You going to be okay?”
    Sure.
    He studied the metal frame she'd designed. “Reproducing the Statue of Liberty?”
    “No. Possibilities.” She studied it herself, comforted by it. “I want to show that sometimes your reach doesn't have to exceed your grasp.”
    “It looks like you're planning on the long haul.” Dropping her chin on her knees, she studied the marigolds glowing orange in the yard across the street.
    There was a dog barking deeply, monotonously. The only sound on a balmy afternoon.
    “It wasn't such a long trip back from New York after all.”
    “What about the trip from here to there?”
    She moved her shoulders. “You can hold off on finding tenants for a while.”
    He was silent a moment. “Cam's nuts about you.”
    “Oh, yeah?” She looked over her shoulder.
    “I never would've figured the two of you together.
    But… I guess what I want to say is that I think it's great.”
    She leaned back on her elbows and watched the puffy clouds glide across the sky. “So do I.”
    Cam paced the pale green corridor outside the autopsy room. He'd wanted to go in—no, he hadn't wanted to go in, he corrected. But he'd felt he should. Dr. Loomis hadpolitely but firmly requested that he wait outside. And keep out of the way.
    The waiting was the worst. Especially since he knew in his heart, in his gut, that he would be putting in that call to the Jamisons in Harrisburg before the day was over.
    He had an itch for a cigarette and opted to scratch it despite the signs thanking him for not smoking. He didn't see how the residents could be offended.
    Morgues were quiet places, even peaceful in a businesslike way. And a business was just what it was, he thought. The business of living, followed by the business of dying. For some reason, they never bothered him the way cemeteries did.
    Here, people were still people somehow.
    He couldn't say he cared for the smells, the scents of pine cleaner and heavy antiseptics not quite hiding something nasty underneath. But he could think of this as a job. Someone was dead, and he had to find out why.
    Loomis came through the swinging doors, still drying his pink and scrubbed hands. He wore a lab coat with an identification tag, and a surgical mask dangled by strings from his neck. All that was missing, Cam mused, was a stethoscope. But then, it wasn't Loomis's job to listen for heartbeats.
    “Sheriff.” Dr. Loomis tucked the paper towel neatly into a waste can. He gave Cam's cigarette a mild look of disapproval, but it was enough to have Cam extinguish it in the dregs of the coffee in his plastic cup.
    “What can you tell me?”
    “Your Jane Doe was a Caucasian between fifteen and eighteen years of age. My estimate is that she's been dead for about a month, no longer than two.”
    They were six weeks past the first of May, Cam thought. Six weeks past May Day Eve. “How?”
    “Death was induced by a severed jugular.”
    “Induced.” Cam tossed the cup into the waste can. “That's quite a word.”
    Loomis merely inclined his head. “The victim was sexually assaulted prior to death. By all indications, violently and repeatedly. Her wrists and ankles had been bound. We're running tests on blood types. I can't tell you, as yet, if she had been drugged.”
    “Put a rush on it.”
    “We'll do our best. You've sent for dental records?”
    “They're on their way.