Pieces of Ivy Read Online Free PDF Page B

to take the call.
    Vicki tried to look detached as she scanned the body.
    Charlie turned to her. “Whoever it was, is a misogynist to the extreme.”
    Vicki managed a slight nod, unable to imagine the inconceivable torment these wounds would have caused the woman. Among all the visible desecrations, Vicki focused on her left leg, torn apart below the knee. All that remained was a wide, gnarled gash of gelled blood opening her shin into congealing calf muscle, leaving her damaged foot dangling—tibia gone.
    “It’ll take time in the lab to be certain, but I would say, from the various injuries, that these were inflicted over the course of as much as twenty-four hours.” He glanced into Vicki’s horror-struck face. “With breaks in between.”
    Her flesh turned white-cold, and all breath left her lungs as this registered. She could barely express the word. “ Alive ?” The icy steel hooks of the past night’s memories lanced her flesh and pulled, making the experience too real for her.
    He frowned at the litany of dried shades of blood. “I believe so, yes.”
    Twenty-four hours? She held his gaze for only seconds before it hit her. For the first time in her career, Vicki Starr lost the contents of her stomach.
    As her body made every violent attempt to expel this knowledge through futile physical means, Charlie’s warm hand rested on her back. She remained curled over, catching fleeting breaths between retching over the rank vomit between her polished leather boots.
    “It’s okay. Let it out.” That hand didn’t belong to Charlie. Hank’s gentle voice was barely recognizable.
    She nodded, drawing in a few more breaths, and then stood up, embarrassed.
    He read her face. “Don’t be.” He pointed a thumb over his shoulder at the corner where the old wooden rain barrel stood.
    She looked at him. “You too?”
    He nodded.
    He had a good ten years’ worth of bureau experience on her. She suddenly didn’t feel so bad.
    “Happen often?” she asked, trying to sound light as she steadied her breath.
    “What, throwing up?” He shook his head. “First time.”
    She took the wet wipe he offered and dabbed her mouth. Instead of hiding her face, she chose to look at him. Vicki had only known the man for a few hours, and she would have never expected to see this level of gravity in his face. Everything she thought she knew about the washed-out Hank Dashel was coming into question.
    “Let’s get some air,” he said, guiding her toward the door.
    She agreed. “Give us a minute, Charlie.”
    “Take two.”
    † † †
    Hank swiped at the sweaty, wayward hairs irritating his right eye and forced himself to walk upright.
    Taking a life wasn’t enough anymore. The violence of the death needed to make a statement—too often, tremendously misogynic in nature. While this was the worst he had ever seen, in general it was not unique. These malevolent monsters managed not only to extinguish a life but also to desecrate its existence.
    What brought out such wrong, such hate, in a society? Especially in a civilization with a great abundance of our baser needs: water, food, shelter. The unsettling simplicity of the word monotony flashed in his mind. He shuddered.
    Hank looked over—from a safe distance—at the once again covered body lying mutilated on the steel table. His voice trembled when he said, “What kind of sick fuck are we dealing with?”

Seven
    The fresh air was cruel respite, soothing their dusty lungs but doing nothing for their beleaguered psyches.
    Vicki was looking back with more confusion than horror.
    “What?” he asked.
    She took a moment. “I don’t know. That space didn’t feel like a place of death—if that makes any sense.”
    “Makes perfect sense,” Hank agreed. “I felt it too.”
    She lingered on the deep shadow of the barn’s dusty, open throat.
    Cooper stepped from its maw into the sunshine. “We’re going to get the body back to the lab—if that’s okay with you