Bentz almost wished for worse weather to keep the lookie-loos at bay. The water was thick and muddy, the dank scent of the Mississippi filling his nostrils, a cool breath of wind starting to pick up.

“Detective Bentz!” He turned to see a pretty woman reporter brandishing her microphone and making a beeline for him.

“Can you verify that a woman was found in the river?”

“I just got here.”

“But it appears as if a body had been pulled from the Mississippi and there’s speculation that it might be one of the girls who went missing from All Saints College in Baton Rouge.”

“That’s a mighty big leap,” he said, trying not to snap.

“And isn’t it true that a body part was recovered in the swamp closer to Baton Rouge?”

Son of a bitch, he thought, but turned briefly and said, “I’m not at liberty to say, but I’m certain the public information officer will give some kind of press briefing.” He offered the woman an all-business smile, then ducked under the crime scene tape.

“Detective Montoya!” the woman called.

“No comment.” He, too, slid beneath the tape and together they approached the water’s edge, where members of the crime scene and the coroner had already gathered. Bonita Washington nodded at them, her face a stern mask.

“Dionne Harmon?” Bentz asked.

“Tattoo’s the same. African American. About the right age, size, and shape.” Washington walked over to a body bag, unzipped it, shielding the contents from view overhead with her own body.

Bentz stared at the partially decomposed face of what had once been a pretty black woman. Someone’s daughter. Sister. Friend. Though no one, especially not her jerk of a brother, seemed to care. Got herself involved with a snake of a boyfriend, too, from what he’d heard. Naked, her hands bagged by the criminologists in the hope that she’d fought her assailant and there was still a trace of DNA under her fingernails, she lay eyes open, lifeless inside the heavy bag.

Above them the copters hovered, disturbing the thick water.

Bentz held out little expectation of getting enough of the killer’s DNA that wasn’t degraded to do any good.

His stomach roiled. He looked away.

“Son of a bitch,” Montoya muttered.

“Dionne Harmon went missing around a year ago,” Bentz said, mentally calculating the state of decomp.

“Yeah, I know.” Washington was way ahead of him. “This body, it only looks like it’s been in the water a few days, and before that…” She shrugged.

“She was alive,” Bentz said, his mind spinning ahead. “So he keeps her alive, locked away for a year, then decides to kill her?”

“Maybe.” Washington was obviously as puzzled as he.

“Do you know the cause of death?”

“Not yet, but I did notice some puncture wounds on the body.”

“From what”