“Almost four hours since I found out about it.”
“Wait another couple of hours to be sure, then dump it.” The chemical composition of GHB broke down after six hours, making it untraceable unless a body was found and tests were run within that time limit. After that, the authorities might suspect GHB, but there was no way of proving it.
“Any preferences as to where?”
“Not as long as there’s no connection to us.”
Sykes rubbed his jaw. “I think I’ll take her to Marshall County, then; when she’s found, they’ll think she’s just one of the migrant workers and no one will push very hard to identify her.” He glanced up at the tin roof, where the steady rain was drumming. “The weather will help; there won’t be any trace evidence left, even if the Marshall yahoos decide to make an effort.”
“Good idea.” He sighed, looking down at the small bundle. Death didn’t just make a body motionless; it reduced it to a lump, devoid of the tension and inherent grace that the sheer force of life imparted to muscles. He didn’t see how anyone could ever think a dead person was asleep, because the whole aspect of the body was so different. Alive, the girl had been a beauty, with an innocent spark that would have brought the money rolling in. Dead, she was nothing.
“I’ll call Phillips, let him know what happened, and what we’re doing about Mitchell.” Temple didn’t look forward to the call, because he hated to admit when he’d made a mistake, and the decision to hire Mitchell had been his.
Well, it was a mistake that would soon be rectified. Mitchell had dosed his last girl with GHB.