My hand shakes as I shove the cell into its nest. I look at Auggie. I feel sick inside, like I’ve done something terrible.

“What happened?” The pale cast to his complexion tells me he already knows.

“We’ve got another body.” Yanking open the stairwell door, I rush down the steps.

CHAPTER 14

Death is a terrible thing, but murder is worse. No matter how many times I see it, the ugliness and senselessness of it frighten me on some primal level. My speedometer hits eighty miles per hour on the highway, but I slow to a reasonable speed once I reach Thigpen Road because it’s slick with snow. The Huffman place is down a short lane and surrounded by skeletal trees, like bony fingers holding the place together.

I turn the Explorer in to the driveway and follow the tire tracks to the rear of the house. Ronnie Stedt and a teenaged girl I don’t recognize huddle inside a pickup truck.

Jamming the Explorer into Park, I swing open the door. The kids disembark and rush toward me.

“What happened?” I ask.

Stedt’s face is the color of paste. His eyes are glassy. He stops a couple of feet away and I smell vomit. “There’s a dead person inside.”

I look at the female. Her cheeks are bright red and streaked with mascara. She looks a lot tougher than Ronnie Stedt. “What’s your name?” I ask.

“J-Jess Hardiman.”

“Is there anyone else in the house?” I slide my .38 from its holster.

“Just the . . . body.”

“Where?”

“B-bedroom.”

“Stay here. If you see something or get scared, get in the truck and hit the horn, okay?”

Both heads bob.

I jog to the back door and shove it open. The house smells of death and marijuana. An old Led Zeppelin song blares from a radio on the counter. My nerves crawl like worms beneath my skin. Fear runs thick in my veins as I enter the living room. I don’t think there’s anyone in the house. But I’m afraid of what waits ahead.

I move into the hall. It’s narrow and dark. The smell is stronger here. Blood and feces laced with the underlying stench of putrefaction. I sidestep a puddle of vomit. To my left, the bedroom door stands open. I don’t want to look, but I can’t stop. I see a horribly bloated corpse. Brown skin stretched impossibly tight. Hair matted and hanging down. Breasts drooping like wrinkled fruit. Ankles bound and chained to a beam in the ceiling. Black feet. A wet, black tongue protruding between swollen lips.

A sound escapes me as I stumble backward into the hall. My breaths come shallow and fast. My stomach roils, and my mouth fills with bile. Footsteps sound behind me. I swing around, my gun rising.

Glock halts, his hands come up. “Jesus Christ, it’s me.”

“Goddamnit.” I lower my weapon. “I almost plugged you.”

His gaze flicks down the hall. “Scene clear?”

I shake my head because I can’t find my voice. I’m dangerously close to throwing up.