A putrid smell punched him the face. He swallowed the urge to gag. He’d never get used to the smell of death.

The thought reminded him of Ms. Kent—Lane. When he offered the advice, he noticed that she didn’t react. In fact, the only discernible emotion on Lane’s face came through her green eyes. Their color was so rich it reminded Charlie of the emeralds mined in the Panjshir Valley of Afghanistan.

“I’ve got something that can help with the smell if you’d like.”

Charlie shook his head. He was the new guy, but this wasn’t his first dead body. He tempered his breathing. Studied the grayish pallor of the victim’s face. She was young. A raindrop trickled down her cheek.

Deputy Hodges and Deputy Wilson were erecting a tarp over the body to prevent evidence degradation.

“You have the digital camera?”

“Yes, sir.” Charlie held up the camera.

“Start at the edge of the perimeter and work your way in.”

“Anything specific I should be looking for?”

Sheriff Huggins rubbed the back of his neck. “Until we can confirm how this young lady died, we’re looking for anything and everything.”

Charlie spent the next hour methodically taking pictures. It all looked the same. Mud. Branches. Leaves. Three hundred photos of sloppy, wet earth. Any chance they’d find evidence had washed away with the rain. When he was certain he had enough photos, he returned to the body.

“Max, this is Deputy Lynch.” Sheriff Huggins made the introduction. “He’s going to be working the investigation with me. Fill him in.”

The Savannah County medical examiner kneeling next to the body gave a subtle nod as he handed off a small plastic baggie to an assistant.

“Female; young—maybe late teens to early twenties; abrasions across both hands and the right side of the face.” The ME pointed to the reddish blotch on the girl’s face. “Her left leg is also broken. But that’s not what has me intrigued.”

With the help of his assistant, the ME turned the girl facedown. He lifted her muddy shirt, exposing her back. Varied shades of purple and black bruising hedged one-inch gashes tracking her upper torso.

Charlie took a step back. Images of soldiers torn apart by roadside bombs, limbs shattered or missing, filled his vision. Three tours to the war zone, witnessing destruction and death, and it never got easier.

“You okay?” Sheriff Huggins’s voice was low.

“Yes, sir.” Charlie remembered the other deputy’s first impression of the scene. “It’s not suicide then.”

The ME looked up at them. “Most people who want to kill themselves don’t break their own legs or stab themselves in the back.”

Charlie pushed out a breath. Seeing her lying there, exposed—she was so young. Defenseless. Anger churned his gut.