“Well it sure as hell makes it darker in this immediate area where she went down on her bike when she got attacked,” he says as we probe nonstop with our lights. “So maybe some psycho smashed out the lamp. Maybe he shimmied up the lamppost, who the hell knows, and then waited for her or some other victim. That’s exactly what it’s looking like, meaning this was premeditated.”

“Or maybe the light was already out and she had an accident.” Not that I think this at all, but I’m reminding him to be cautious about locking one idea or another into his mind. “We don’t know for a fact that she was assaulted,” and I’ve said this multiple times but nobody seems to be listening.

Another step, and another, then one more until we’re about four feet from the bicycle on its side. The body is some ten feet from it, and already I can see the drag marks.

“Dammit!” I mutter, and regardless of what Barclay claimed, I had a feeling this was what I’d find. “She’s been moved.”

CHAPTER 17

THEY’RE EASY TO DISCERN when you’re accustomed to looking for disturbances in soil or foliage. It’s second nature for me to scan for anything that might suggest an area was trampled on and disturbed either accidentally or deliberately.

The drag marks indicate the body was moved but not much, and that’s another oddity to add to a list of them. Her upper body is in the grass. Her hips and legs are on the path, and I can see the displacement of the gritty surface that begins inches from the backs of her low-cut socks. What immediately comes to mind is at least one person began pulling her and either was interrupted or stopped for some other reason. And I wonder what happened to her shoes.

Her shoes like her shirt seem to be missing, assuming she was wearing them prior to her death. Maybe they’re out here somewhere, I decide. There may be quite a lot of things we find once we have proper lighting, and I envision the cyclist in the blue helmet again.

I remember her sneakers. I’ve been hoping the dead woman isn’t wearing Converse. I can’t be sure since something has happened to her shoes. She’s not wearing a blue paisley bandanna or gold necklace like the cyclist was. But something could have happened to those too, and it’s an act of will not to take a close look right now, to stride right up and satisfy an unbearable curiosity mixed with dread.