“Did you see any other people or vehicles in the area?” Stella asked.
“No.”
Stella considered the wet ground. “We’ll need to borrow your shoes.”
Mr. Taggert followed her gaze and began unlacing his muddy cleats. “Sure. I have my work boots in the car.”
“Thanks for your help. We’ll call you if we have any further questions.” Stella led the way toward the ball field. Brody followed.
A tall chain-link fence ran behind home plate and angled off toward first and third bases. Bleachers fanned out on either side. They turned toward the yellow crime scene tape that fluttered around one of the dugouts. Mud sucked at their shoes as they walked across ten feet of sopping grass.
Stella studied the spongy ground between the parking area and the field. “Two sets of footprints. Forensics will have to match the treads, but let’s assume those are Taggert’s.” She pointed to a line of footprints that ended next to the vomit. The second set stopped a few feet earlier. “And those belong to the uniform.”
Brody studied the ground. “If the victim or anyone else walked back here after yesterday’s storms, we’d definitely see footprints.”
“So she’s been here since before the rain,” Stella said. “But probably not until late Saturday night, after the games were finished.”
The thick, humid air intensified the odor as they neared the entrance to the dugout. The almost sweet, metallic scent seeped past Stella’s sinuses and penetrated her taste buds. She clamped her mouth closed and breathed through her nose. Didn’t help much. Next to her, Brody exhaled as they faced the body.
In damp jeans and a long-sleeved blouse, a woman was sprawled on the aluminum bench. Long hair spilled across her face in a brown curtain, and a pale blue silk scarf was knotted loosely around her neck. Flies buzzed around her head. One hand trailed off into a mud puddle, and animals had found the corpse. Stella spotted a hypodermic needle in the mud under the bench and a brown leather purse on the bench.
She turned in a circle. “The back of the dugout shielded her from view of the street or parking lot.”
Frank came around the dugout and stood next to Stella. He put on gloves as he scanned the scene. “What do we know?”
“Little League coach found her about an hour ago.” Stella gave him a summary while the forensic photographer snapped long-range, medium, and close-up shots from varying angles. When the photographs were complete, Frank moved closer. He lifted the victim’s hair. Bruises trailed down the left side of her face. “Insects have been busy, and it looks like someone used her as a punching bag.”
Stella’s legs weakened as she studied the women’s face.
It couldn’t be.
Brody touched her arm. “What’s wrong?”
Even with the bruising and insect activity, the woman looked familiar. Too familiar.
Stella’s stomach did a slow tumble. “I think I know her.”
Frank raised an eyebrow.
Hoping she was wrong, Stella moved toward the woman’s purse. With unsteady, gloved hands, she drew the zipper, pulled out a wallet, and opened it to view the woman’s driver’s license. Shock slid over her in a clammy wave. “Her name is Missy Green. We graduated high school together.”
“She was a friend?” Brody asked.
“Yes, but I haven’t seen her in a long time.” Stella noted her address was not the house where her parents had lived, but then, not many people still lived at home at thirty. Except Stella. “There’s thirty dollars cash in here, so she wasn’t robbed.”
“Is there a cell phone in her purse?” Brody asked.
Stella looked past the usual tissues, tampons, and lipstick and found a cheap cell. “Yes. Battery’s dead.”
“No obvious cause of death on initial inspection.” Frank lifted the woman’s arm. The limb moved with no resistance. “Rigor’s come and gone.” His gaze moved over the dugout. “The heat and moisture would have accelerated decomposition.” He frowned at the body. “She’s been dead at least thirty-six hours.” Frank tapped his assistant on the arm. “I doubt she’s been dead longer than three days, but I want live and dead maggots just in case.”
Stella breathed. The bugs always got to her.
Brody leaned close to her ear. “You can step away if you need to.”
She shook her head. “This is a small town. It isn’t the first time I’ve encountered someone I know.” Sadness clogged her throat as she corrected herself. “Knew.”
“Considering the hypodermic, overdose is a definite possibility,” Frank said.