“I’ve got it.” Glock scoots the ladder closer to the body and steps onto it. “If you guys lift her and put some slack in the chain, I’ll unhook it.”

“Be careful,” Doc Coblentz says quickly. “The flesh may slough off so make sure you’ve got a good grip.”

I jolt when Detrick puts his hand on my shoulder. “She’s going to be heavy. Let me do it.”

I want to be annoyed with him, but I’m more annoyed with myself. For the first time in a long time, I want to step aside and let someone else handle my job.

Doc Coblentz directs Detrick to the extra biohazard gear. He dons shoe covers and ties an apron around his parka. Slipping on latex gloves, the sheriff nods. With the doctor spotting one side of the body and Detrick on the other, Glock steps onto the top rung of the ladder and reaches for the hook end of the chain. “Lift her,” he says.

The two men lift simultaneously. Working quickly, Glock unhooks the chain. All three men gently lower the body to the floor. The woman’s head shifts and black fluid spreads over the wood planks. I want to close my eyes to escape the sight. Instead, I cross to where Glock left the camera, pick it up and begin taking photos. Somehow the lens gives me the distance I need. I snap shots of the rafter and chain.

I lower the camera. No one speaks. All eyes are fastened on the corpse. I’m cold, but I feel sweat on my back. “We need to bag the chain.” The normalcy of my voice surprises everyone, including me.

I cross to the box of garbage bags I’d brought in and snap one open. Glock carries the chain to me and places it inside the bag. “If we can figure out who manufactured the chain,” I say, “we might be able to find out where he bought it.”

“Probably be best to send it off to BCI,” Detrick offers.

“I agree.”

On the other side of the room, the doc unzips the body bag and opens it wide. He then approaches the body, squats beside it, his expression deeply troubled. “She’s got superficial cutting on her abdomen. Like the others.”

My feet take me closer. I lift the camera and snap four shots in quick succession.

“Looks like the Roman numeral XXII,” Glock says.

“It’s him,” Detrick whispers. “He’s back. After all this time.”

I want to scream and rail that it’s not possible. I shot him! He’s fucking dead!

The doc sighs. “Help me roll her over.”

Glock kneels beside the doc, sets both gloved hands gently, almost reverently on the woman’s hip. The doc takes her shoulder and the men roll her onto her stomach. I snap several more shots.

“God in heaven.”

The shock in the doctor’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. I lower the camera. That’s when I notice the small object protruding from between her buttocks.