Page 16 of Girl, Reformed

Luca was beside her, all lanky limbs andnervous energy. She could practically smell the fear sweat leaking from hisevery pore. Poor kid looked like he was about to hurl his lunch all over hisshiny new wingtips.

‘You ready for this?’ Ella cocked a browat him.

Luca nodded jerkily. ‘Yeah. Let's dothis.’

Brave words. But his face was fish-bellypale, and Ella could see his pulse hammering in the hollow of his throat. Likea rabbit cornered by a hungry wolf.

But hey, they all had to start somewhere.Ella thought back to that fateful day in Louisiana – the corpse of a womanstrung up like a deer, missing her face and a few internal organs. Ellaremembered the stench, the flies, the way her stomach had twisted itself into agordian knot and threatened to evacuate her breakfast all over the evidence.

Those were the days.

She gave Luca what she hoped was anencouraging nod and headed for the tape. A baby-faced uniform stood guard,thumbs hooked in his utility belt like a Wild West sheriff. He eyed them warilyas they drew near.

Ella flashed her creds. ‘SA Dark andHawkins. FBI. We’re here to meet with whoever’s in charge.’

The uniform's brows shot up to hishairline. He fumbled for his radio, muttering something about the feds gracingthem with their presence. Ella resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Local yokelsalways got their tighty-whities in a twist when the out-of-towners camesniffing around.

A few crackly exchanges later ano,theruniform appeared from the depths of the scene. Older. Harder. A face like aclenched fist, all scowl lines and pinched lips. He had the look of a man who'dseen too many stabbings and not enough shut-eye.

He thrust out a hand. ‘Chief Dean Harland.Thanks for getting here so damn sharpish.’ Ella returned his grip. Harlandshook a little too hard.

‘Early bird gets the unsub,’ Ella said.‘You’re in charge?’

‘That I am.’ Harland’s eyes flicked toLuca and sized him up like a cut of meat at the butcher shop. ‘No Ripley thistime?’

‘Afraid not. You know her?’

‘They sent her last time we had a serialpsycho running around. Must have been ten years ago.’

Of course, Harland knew her. Every chiefin every town in this damn country seemed to know her. 'Ripley's on a leave ofabsence. What's the status of the scene?'

Harland scratched at his stubbled jaw.‘Passerby called us just before seven this morning. The guy heard a scream,thought someone was being attacked. He followed the sound through those treesup ahead and found another rubbernecker. That was who screamed.’

‘Two people,’ Ella said. ‘You spoke toboth of them?’

‘Yup. Cleared. The guy was a feeble littlething, and the girl – the screamer – was barely eighteen.’

Luca chimed in. ‘Not exactly serial killermaterial.’

‘They touch anything?’ Ella asked.

Harland shook his head. 'Not a thing. Theguy had the good sense to call it in right away. Been keeping the scene lockeddown tighter than a nun's knickers since, but you know what the public islike.'

Ella knew all too well. In her line ofwork, death was the ultimate tourist attraction. ‘What about our vic? Is shestill there?’

‘Coroner bagged her about an hour ago. Butthey left that medieval contraption in place. Figured you'd want to get upclose and personal with it.’

‘That we do,’ Ella said. ‘Lead the way.’

He led them past the sea of uniforms andgawking onlookers towards a small clearing ringed by towering oaks. Thebandstand sat smack in the center, a round wooden platform with a conical roof.It might have been charming once, the kind of place where the town brass bandtooted their horns on lazy summer afternoons.

But nothing was charming about it now. Notwith that monstrosity squatting in the middle like a tumor.

‘Right in the middle of the bandstand,’Harland said. ‘Never seen nothing like it in all my years.’

Ella strode towards the bandstand, Lucafalling into step beside her. With each footfall, the knot in her gut pulledtighter, like a noose around her neck. The photos from the case file flashedthrough her mind in a hellish slideshow, but those black-and-white shots hadn’tdone justice to the eeriness of the thing. Up close and personal, the thingwas a behemoth - a hulking mass of rough-hewn wood, like something straight outof a medieval torture chamber.

‘Christ on a bike,’ Luca said. He took afew steps back.

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