Holly blocked it out. Even the smell had lessened. She was sure this was Sutton Montclair. She wasn’t recognizable facially, of course, not with the burnt skin and shortened tendons pulling her face into a bizarre death mask. Holly didn’t know what Sutton’s wedding set looked like, either, though based on the house, it was clear the Montclairs had money, and as such, Sutton’s rings would be enormous. It was the spill of reddish-blond hair, still lovely, though matted with rain and muck and the desiccated flesh that clung to it, crawling with all sorts of bugs, that told her so. The hair was the giveaway. Plus, there were no other missing women who fit this description from the area. Hard to argue with that logic.

And then it hit her. “Her hair didn’t burn.”

Moreno was by her elbow again. “No, it didn’t. Not all the way. Isn’t that strange? You’d think it would go up like a phoenix.”

“Regret, maybe? He burned her here, and changed his mind and put out the fire before it consumed her whole head?”

“Hard to control a fire like that. But that’s a solid possibility. Either way, it’s time to go talk to Mr. Montclair. You have your cuffs? You should make the arrest.”

“Yes, sir, I do. Before we go, may I ask...how was she found?”

“Birds. A veterinarian from Animalia across the way called it in. He’d seen Sutton Montclair’s face all over the news outlets, saw a huge circle of prey birds swooping around. From the number of birds and extended time frame, he knew it was something large, and phoned it in last night. It filtered down and I came out to take a look, just in case.”

“You didn’t call me.” The words were out before she could think, but Moreno gave her that avuncular half smile.

“It was zero dark thirty and you looked like warmed-over shit when you went home last night. You needed the sleep. She wasn’t going anywhere without you. And you know the first rule of homicide investigation. You can’t go it alone. We’re a team, and we split things up. You’re here now. And now the real work is going to begin.”

“Yes, sir.”

She glanced to the sky. There were still some hawks hanging around, riding the thermals. Sometimes, it was as simple as looking to the sky to see where the feast was being held.

She’d been so close, this whole time.

Holly shielded her eyes against the sun and watched the ME’s death investigators ready themselves to load the body onto the gurney for transport. A cry went up as they lifted the body. Sutton Montclair’s beautiful, partially burned hair was still in the mud.

“Ugh,” Moreno said.

“Totally.”