Simon Says Die

gave him a friendly wave and turned to help with the removal of the body.
    Once the body was carried outside the taped-off area, Logan crouched down to examine the footprints he’d noticed earlier. He followed the trail to a group of palmetto bushes. Some of the palm fronds were bent and twisted as if someone had recently passed between them. When he parted the leaves, he saw a narrow trail hacked through the woods. Someone had spent hours, maybe days, cutting this path. The killer? Had he also selected his victim ahead of time? Or did Carolyn O’Donnell just have the bad luck of being in the park when the killer made his move?
    Looking back, Logan located his lead detective, David Riley. At thirty, Riley was only five years younger than Logan, but a lot less experienced. When Logan had taken the job as chief and inherited Riley as the lead, he’d assumed Riley was in that role just because the department was so small and there weren’t a lot of candidates to choose from. But Riley had quickly proven his abilities.
    He was smart and friendly, able to play good cop or bad cop, depending on the need. He could charm a confession out of a suspect before they’d even seen the trap he’d set.
    Unfortunately, Riley was speaking to Randy Clayton, a well-seasoned officer with a mouth that never quit. Clayton, who’d already been a veteran back when Logan began his career, wasn’t a bit pleased that the rookie he’d once taunted was now his boss. Logan only tolerated his smart-ass attitude because Clayton was due to retire in a few months.
    Sighing in resignation, Logan motioned for Riley to join him and wasn’t surprised when Clayton tagged along, his usual smirk firmly in place.
    Logan ignored Clayton and addressed Riley. “Has anyone searched this area yet?” He parted the fronds, revealing the path between them.
    Riley’s brows rose in surprise. “We stayed out of this section, waiting for the medical examiner.”
    Logan drew his gun from the shoulder holster beneath his suit jacket. He stepped between the palmettos, careful to avoid their sharp tips, keeping to the edge of the path so he didn’t tread on any of the footprints. “Let’s see if we have company.”
    Riley and Clayton glanced at each other with wide eyes and drew their weapons. The three men followed the path through the thick brush. A few minutes later they emerged at the edge of the mall parking lot, next to a row of dumpsters.
    Logan motioned to the others and they fanned out, checking possible hiding places. When he was sure there was no danger, he holstered his weapon. “I’ll call for another team to tape off the area. Secure the scene until they arrive.”
    Clayton tugged on his pants to pull them up over his protruding belly. “Riley, doesn’t this seem similar to that other murder when you were a street cop? About four years ago?”
    A look of realization crossed Riley’s face. “You’re right. I should have thought of that.”
    â€œWhat murder?” Logan glanced back and forth between them.
    Clayton scratched at the gray stubble on his jaw. “There was another girl that went missing, and then turned up in a cabin all cut-up a few days later. There was a rose in her hands too. I can’t remember her name though, something like Diana, Deana—”
    â€œDana,” Riley said. “Dana Branson. I should have thought of her as soon as I saw the body this morning. I wasn’t a detective back then, but I heard the details, saw the pictures.” He shuddered, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “It seems like an obvious tie-in now, but I was at the convention when O’Donnell went missing, and didn’t think about it when you called me, Logan. Maybe if I’d been here a few days ago, I might have—”
    Logan waved Riley into silence, impatient to hear the details about the other murder. “Clayton, tell me what you remember about the other case.”
    â€œThe vic was Caucasian, mid-twenties, long, brown hair, blue eyes. She, ah . . .” He cleared his throat, his face flushing red. “She was missing for three days before we found her. Just like O’Donnell.”
    Logan’s throat ached with the urge to shout his frustration. He wished his men had told him about the earlier case when O’Donnell first went missing. Would it have changed how he’d directed the