Free Don’t Talk to Strangers: A Novel by Amanda Kyle Williams

it’s your primary crime scene.” I walked around, took some more pictures.
     Flashes of sunlight broke through the branches and danced off the creek. There was
     an enormous granite slab sticking out of the ground like a ledge—not unusual in Georgia,
     the home of Stone Mountain. The stuff is everywhere. “You collected soil and leaf
     samples from this area?”
    Meltzer nodded. “A few. Lab hasn’t found anything so far that isn’t natural to the
     area. Lost a lot of evidence to the elements, I imagine. My investigators bagged a
     lot of debris around the bodies.”
    “ME’s office get them out of the hole?”
    “We did. On cots with pulleys and ropes. It was a mess. Hitchiti County doesn’t have
     a medical examiner. We’re on the coroner system. It’s ridiculous. He’s a goddamn real
     estate agent.” The sheriff shook his head and chuckled, but there was real irritation
     in his voice.
    “Any deals on waterfront property?”
    “That’s about all he’s good for,” Meltzer answered.
    I went back to the edge and looked down at the piece of granite protruding from a
     sidewall, the one that had stopped Melinda Cochran’s fall. “The first victim was positioned
     more toward the center.” I pointed down in the hole. “She would have had to be thrown.
     But the second victim was rolled off. That’s why she hit the rock. And that’s not
     the only difference in the behaviors here from victim one to victim two. He used the
     sharp side of the axe on the second victim. And he left behind evidence. The victim’s
     blouse.”
    “Maybe he’s getting lazy,” the sheriff suggested.
    “Maybe.” I took a deep breath, just let myself take in the scene—the drop-off where
     a killer had dumped his prey, the woods humming with katydids and birds and every
     kind of insect, the creek shimmering through the trees, the brown leaves covering
     the ground, seasons and seasons’ worth, deep and decaying, the rich scents of earth
     and pine sap. I took more photos. Sometimes the camera sees what I can’t. The Georgia
     woods have a lot to hide. I knew this too well. Not longago I’d wandered upon a madman’s mass graves in the wooded hills of North Georgia.
    “When Melinda disappeared, was she sexually active?” I asked.
    The midday sun was cutting streaks through heavy branches. He rubbed his eyes. I saw
     tiny creases, white like scar tissue, cut into tanned skin at the corners. “Not according
     to her friends.”
    “Both parents worked?”
    He nodded. “Melinda spent afternoons with her mom at the diner when she worked second
     shift every other week. I’ve seen her doing her homework at the counter a hundred
     times, I guess. They didn’t like her going home alone. Molly was home the day Melinda
     disappeared. But she vanished between school and home. They blame themselves for letting
     her walk. But it’s that kind of town. It’s safe. At least it was.” He checked his
     watch. “I have an appointment this afternoon. Major Brolin is at your disposal if
     you need something. We have an empty desk at the office if you want to work there.
     Doris will tell you where to find your hotel. One thing we have plenty of is hotel
     rooms. I have to tell you, though: The nicer ones are up the road where all the golf
     courses and resorts are located. But I thought you’d want to stay in Whisper.”
    “Sounds good,” I lied. Room service and a docking station would have sounded good.
     But I was on the sheriff’s dime. And I knew I needed to stay. You can’t drive in and
     out of a town and end up with any sense of it. You have to feel it as you’re drifting
     off, wake to it, hear its voices, smell its smells. I pushed myself off the granite
     slab. “Mind if we walk along the creek awhile on the way back down?”
    “I’ve never been opposed to walking along a creek, Dr. Street.”
    “It’s okay to call me Keye.”
    “You don’t like the title, do you?” Meltzer said, surprising me. “Why