there were at least two of them. One to distract me and the other to bash my skull in.” He winced as Doc Hallowell poured alcohol on the gash on the back of his head. “Ow! I guess I’m lucky I’ve got a thick skull.”
From the corner of his eye, Wyatt saw the thinly disguised look of disgust on Nina’s face. She really didn’t like Tolbert.
“Doc,” Wyatt said. “can I look at that cut before you start working on it?” He pulled out his own high-powered flashlight and shone it on the deputy’s skull.
The gash looked fresh, of course. And it was edged by an inflamed strip of scalp, which disappeared into Tolbert’s hair. As far as he could tell, it had been made with a honed-edged instrument, like the edge of a plate or a board, or maybe even a hatchet, if it wasn’t too finely sharpened.
The doctor had trimmed the hair around the gash, and now he was stitching it, quickly and neatly. Wyatt watched with casual interest as he tied the stitches. He counted seven.
“Any idea what they hit you with?” Wyatt asked.
Tolbert shook his head. “No clue. Something with an edge. Maybe the back side of an ax. You see how much it bled.”
Wyatt gestured to Nina. “Professor, can you get a couple of photos of the wound?”
“Hey,” Tolbert said, ducking his head. “It’s humiliating enough without a record of it.”
Nina snapped a couple of shots.
“I need it for a match with a possible weapon,” Wyatt explained.
“Stay still, Shane,” the doctor said. “I’m almost done.”
“They just hit you once?” Wyatt asked.
“Ow, Doc!” Tolbert exclaimed, blinking as Nina’s camera flashed. “Are you done yet?”
Hardin took a step backward. “Lieutenant Colter? Looks like Doc’s getting Shane fixed up. Why don’t we check out the crime scene?”
Wyatt looked at Tolbert, then at Hardin. He had a lot more questions for the deputy, but the sheriff obviously wanted him at the crime scene—or away from Tolbert.
“You mean nobody has checked out the damage yet?” Wyatt replied.
When Wyatt turned to head over to the burial site, he saw that Nina was there. As he watched, she crouched down to sit on her haunches—the exact position she’d been in earlier.
Only this time he knew who she was. How could he have thought she was a middle-aged, sedentary professor of anthropology? Granted, it had been raining and she’d been cloaked by that oversize black hooded sweatshirt. But looking at her now in the same position, he couldn’t believe he’d mistaken the feminine curve of her back and behind for a male’s.
She pushed the hood of her sweatshirt off her head and shone the beam of her high-powered flashlight along the ground.
By the time they walked up beside her, she had sat back on her heels, her face reflecting disgust and anger.
“One of my bones is missing,” she said.
“Which one?” Wyatt burst out. “Which bone is missing?”
Nina shook her head. “Whoever did this made a mess. Tromped all over the site. But I think it’s the largest one. The one that had a piece of pelvis attached to it.” She looked up at him, her dark eyes snapping.
Wyatt shone his flashlight over the ground. “Can you get casts of these prints?” he asked the sheriff.
Hardin crouched down and studied the ground. “It’s pretty wet, and he was slipping in the mud. But yeah.”
“You’re sure?” Wyatt asked.
Hardin nodded. “Deputy Spears can handle it.”
“Make sure he finds the sharpest print,” said Wyatt.
Hardin frowned. “Look, Lieutenant, if you want to call in your own crime scene investigator—”
“No!” Nina exclaimed.
Wyatt’s gaze snapped to her.
“Sheriff, if your deputy can cast the prints over there, I’d appreciate it.” She pointed. “I really don’t want anyone else trampling the site.”
Wyatt shook his head. “Professor—”
Nina stood. “First of all, I’m a certified crime scene investigator, so I can do it if you insist. But I have no doubt that Sheriff Hardin and his men know what they’re doing. Let them cast the prints over there while I extract the other two bones. I’ll process this area for trace evidence while I’m at it.”
It probably couldn’t hurt for her to handle the crime scene. And the boot prints at the edge of the shallow hole were clearer, anyhow. He nodded at Hardin.
Beside him, Nina sighed in obvious relief.
The sheriff rose, dusting his hands against each other, then propping them on his hips.
“Can we get them done now?” Wyatt asked.
This was why he didn’t like small towns. Everything moved at a snail’s pace. This was a crime scene—a major crime scene. It might tell them of the disappearances that had haunted Comanche Creek for the past several years. It might hold evidence of what had happened to Marcie James.
And yet the people who could provide the answers—the doctor, the sheriff, the deputies—seemed to operate with a “we’ll get around to it” mentality.
Hardin sent Wyatt a hard glance. “Can we get a thing or two straight, Lieutenant?”
“Happy to. As long as it cuts down on the delays.” Wyatt nodded.
“This isn’t Austin. We might be kind of slow here compared to your Texas Ranger pace, but we can do the job,” Hardin replied. “I’ve already called Deputy Spears and told him to get back out here. Once he’s here, he’ll get the footprints cast. Do you think that’ll be time enough for you?”
Wyatt clenched his jaw. “That’s fine. Spears. He’s the one who abandoned the crime scene, isn’t he?”
“He didn’t abandon it.” Hardin countered. “Dr. Jacobson, a member of your task force, assured him that she would be responsible for the scene until Tolbert came on at midnight.”
“Nobody on my task force but me has that authority, Sheriff. Is that clear?” Wyatt grumbled.
Reed Hardin’s mouth flattened, but he nodded.
Wyatt felt a twinge of regret for his tone. “Thanks,” he muttered. “When can I talk to Deputy Tolbert?”
“Any time,
