Free Stone Maidens by Lloyd Devereux Richards Page B

recognized the voice as Howard’s: dictatorial, almost like Managing Director Thorne’s. One of the men scanning turned to face his boss. Prusik could not see Howard, but she heard him give the agent instructions on where to search with the device. She stayed by the road, not wanting to interfere.
    Howard’s head appeared, bobbing from side to side as he climbed the steep embankment. A fine sheen of sweat coated hisforehead. He shoved his aviator glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Hello, Bruce. How’s it going?” she called out as he neared.
    Prusik quickly assessed the field agent’s features. He looked strained. The crease between his eyebrows was deep, and his eyes looked tired. The case was getting to him too, no doubt.
    “Have you been here long?” he said, picking up his pace to greet her. They shook hands.
    “I just arrived.” A clap of loud thunder sounded nearby, and the sky grew suddenly darker. “Good thing you got an early start today,” she said. “I guess we shouldn’t stand so near tall trees.”
    He nodded and allowed the corners of his mouth to turn up into a half smile. “Guess not.”
    “Anything to report since we last talked?”
    “I’m not sure really. You’ve probably seen the quantity we’ve scooped and bagged,” he said, removing his sunglasses and wiping his brow. “Did Brewster show you the feather we found?”
    “Feather?”
    “It was stuck in the bark of a fallen bough just above where the body was discovered.”
    Prusik waited for him to say more. When he didn’t, she asked, “What makes you think it’s relevant? Connected to the crime?”
    “I don’t know that it is. You’re the forensic anthropologist,” he said with a twinge of defensiveness. “It may be nothing. There certainly are plenty of birds in the vicinity.”
    “I’m sure, Bruce, you wouldn’t bring it to my attention unless there was some reason to?”
    “Again, I’m no bird expert. But in the last two days I’ve not seen a single bird with blue-green feathers fly overhead or perch anywhere near here.”
    Prusik cleared her throat. “That’s very interesting, Bruce. I’d like to see that feather now if you wouldn’t mind.”
    Inside the RV, Prusik angled the clear plastic evidence sleeve containing the feather under a high-intensity halogen lamp. The shaft appeared to be a wing feather cut and shaped on one end.Not what she would’ve expected to find had it fallen from a bird’s wing midflight. Also, it was slightly bent in the opposite direction of its natural camber for flight. From a struggle? she wondered. And of most interest, it was bright blue-green. What kind of bright-blue-green bird flew over southern Indiana?
    A line of sweat trickled down her temple. She wiped it away with her sleeve.
    Blue-green plumage: she had read once that some farmers kept peafowl near chicken coops and sheep pens to warn of the presence of foxes and other predators. Peacocks had a very loud call that could be heard from miles away. Their prized tail feathers were an iridescent blue-green color. But there were no farmyards anywhere nearby, and this wasn’t long enough to be a peacock feather. The fact of its placement next to the crime scene deep down a wooded ravine was extremely significant.
    “No outward appearance of any blood is visible,” she said, pondering the implications. Prusik would have Eisen swab it for human DNA anyway.
    “Under the ultraviolet scope we picked up nothing either,” Howard replied. “It’s certainly out of place down there. Not what I would have expected.”
    “I agree, Bruce. It is quite significant.” Beneath the small examining bench, and quite out of Howard’s sight, Prusik balled her fist and flexed her pinkie hard.
    Her cell phone rang. “Good afternoon, sir.” It was Thorne wanting a progress report. Howard stepped outside and Stuart Brewster followed.
    “Yes, yes, how is it going, Christine? Is it the same killer we’re dealing with?”
    “Howard’s