“Probably a mile or two.” Kane stowed the evidence bags into one of the saddlebags on the horse. “Sound carries up here and echoes on the mountain. We are out of range of most rifles.”
“How far to the remains?” Wolfe walked to his side. “Grab what you can, Webber. We’ll carry the rest.”
Kane picked up a couple of the bags. “Just through there.” He pushed his way through the bushes. “Come on, Duke, keep up.”
The dog let out a yap of reply and followed him, peeing on trees along the way. As they got closer to the remains, Kane picked up a rancid smell on the breeze he had not noticed earlier. He slowed his step and did a visual scan of the area but found nothing moving within the mottled shadows.
“Has the temperature just dropped or is it me?” Webber trailed along behind them, lugging the equipment.
Kane glanced back at him and smiled. He could remember having the same feeling of dread entering a crime scene and had squashed it many a time. The morbid feeling would pass with experience. “It’s just you. Most likely apprehension at seeing a man pinned to a tree with an arrow.”
“Keep your mind focused on discovering what we can do to help him now.” Wolfe’s cold expression moved to Webber. “We are his only hope to get revenge on the sick bastard who killed him. Once we can prove this man’s name, he is no longer ‘the victim’ or ‘the remains.’ Do not forget someone took his life and what we do from now on determines how, when, and hopefully why he died.”
“Sure.” Webber did not look convinced. “Do you think he’s watching us, like a ghost?”
Kane slapped him on the back. “If he is, maybe he’ll give us a few clues.” He turned to Wolfe. “Through those trees is a path; the remains are down there about ten feet along.”
“Okay, we should drop the equipment once we hit the path, suit up, then move in with just a crime scene kit for now. Check the area for anything we can use.”
They arrived on the pathway and moved slowly in a line searching for any small clue. When they reached the remains, Kane heard Webber’s sharp intake of breath. Kane turned to look at his ashen face. “We believe this is Dawson Sanders, age twenty-four.”
“That’s not an arrow.” Webber moved closer. “It’s a bolt from a crossbow: carbon with a brass insert. They are expensive and that size could take down a bear.” He peered at the bolt with interest. “It has an illuminated nock. So why leave it behind?”
“Yeah, I think we might need more of an explanation, Webber.” Wolfe flicked him a gla
nce.
“Carbon bolts with brass inserts or a mixture of carbon and aluminum are expensive; the illuminated nocks make it easier to recover the bolts. The nock is the orange part on the end and it usually glows, so this has been here for some time. Most hunters recover their bolts.” Webber glanced at Kane. “It seems strange to leave it behind in a crime. It would likely carry the owner’s prints.”
Kane met his gaze. “That is vital information. I had no idea you were an expert on crossbows.”
“Yeah, it’s my hunting weapon of choice.” Webber smiled. “Silent but deadly.”
“Unfortunately, we would be lucky to find any viable prints after a year or so.” Wolfe sighed then pulled a camera from his backpack and handed it to Kane. “Film everything, the pathway, the area around the body, and the body.” He turned to Webber. “You take the photographs and remember there can’t be too many images of a crime scene. If you both start with Mr. Sanders, then I’ll examine his remains.”
Kane was familiar with the camera and zoomed in on the body at every angle before walking slowly up and down the path. When he returned to Wolfe, his friend dropped to his knees, lifted the ragged shirt, and peered at the skeletal remains. He kept the camera steady.
“Interesting.” Wolfe bent closer. “The damage to the thoracic spine is inconsistent with the damage to the ribs. I believe the killer shot this man in the back, and from the entry angle, the victim was standing at the time. The nicks on the ribs would indicate the shots entered him in the lower thoracic spine and travelled at an angle of approximately twenty degrees, exiting just below the clavicle on the left side. There are no bullets within the body cavity, so we’re looking at three through-and-through wounds.” He turned and looked down the trail. “There is not enough damage for the intention to kill outright with one shot. The point is, how far away would the killer need to be to put three rounds in a man walking along this trail?”
Kane took in the terrain and mentally tried to recreate the murder. A shooter would need a clear line of sight between the trees. To hit a moving target in the woods would take a reasonable degree of skill. As vegetation changed with the seasons, it would be close to impossible to gauge the position of the shooter with any accuracy without a laser scope. “That would depend on the weapon. From the angle you mentioned and the approximate height of the victim, he would have been walking in a northerly direction. To obtain the trajectory you are describing, the shooter would have been downhill, or likely kneeling or lying down. Many hunters build blinds, and set up inside. If the wounds are through and through, the bullets must be somewhere close by.”
“Yeah, and by the size of his jacket he had a broad chest, so the bullets wouldn’t have traveled very far once they left the body.” Wolfe’s forehead creased into a frown. “I’ll check the soil under the body but if the rounds had been hollow points, they would have ripped his ribs apart.”
“Webber, check the immediate area.”
“Yes, sir.” Webber gave him a curt nod, pocketed his cellphone, and moved slowly up the track.
Kane glanced around the scene again, not convinced they were in the correct position. “Problem is, we are assuming he was shot here. From his injuries, could he have crawled to the tree?”
“Doubtful. One of the shots would have pierced his heart, the other two his lungs. I’d say he died within seconds of the third shot.”
“So, he could have been dragged here from anywhere along the trail?” Kane rubbed his chin. “We’ll expand the search, looking for blinds and bullet casings from at least twenty yards in the southerly direction, although I doubt we’ll find anything after so long. We should have thought to bring a metal detector.”
“There would be hundreds, maybe thousands, of casings in the forest.” Wolfe shook his head. “Hunting goes on just about all year long. For now, check the immediate area. Time is getting short and I need to get the remains back to the lab. Keep filming everything I do.” He stood. “I want close-up shots of the neck and head. I’m going to remove the head; if this bolt is approximately twenty inches long, it’s not embedded too deeply in the trunk of the tree.”
As Kane zoomed in, a cold wind brushed his cheek. What Wolfe was doing came close to the macabre. He forced his mind to concentrate but memories of the targets he had killed in the line of duty played in a loop like one of those annoying ads on TV that drove him crazy. He wondered how many of them had rotted away alone in a deserted place like Dawson Sanders. At least the ones I killed didn’t suffer.
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