crime lab tech to get an almost eye-level view. Beyond the buzzing flies, this close she could hear the squishing sound as the maggots pushed and shoved at each other to squeeze inside the various orifices. There was a sort of sucking sound, too.
God, she hated maggots.
During her early days as an FBI newbie when she had no fear and much to prove, at the request __ or rather the dare __ of a medical examiner, she had put her hand into a corpse's maggot-filled mouth to retrieve the victim's driver's license. It had been the killer's trademark and not an unusual one, allowing his victims their identities even though he stuffed them down their throats. Ever since then it was still difficult for her, whenever she saw maggots up close and personal, to not feel that sticky trail of slime they had left all over her hands and up her arms as they quickly grasped at self-preservation and began sucking at her own flesh.
But now, sitting back on muddy heels, she knew what Racine meant about getting lucky this time. Despite all the movement, Maggie could see clumps of yellow-white eggs stuffed in the victim's ears and at the corners of her lips and eyes. Not all of the maggots had hatched yet and those that had were in their first stage, which meant the head couldn't have been here more than a day or two.
In the July heat, Maggie knew the process moved quickly. As disgusted by them as she was, she had learned to also have a healthy respect. She knew adult blowflies could sense blood from up to three miles away. They would have arrived in a matter of hours of death. As disgusting as flies on a corpse look, the flies eat very little. They're more interested in laying their eggs in the dark, moist areas of the corpse, reducing what was once a warm, living, breathing human being to a warm, moist host.
The eggs hatch within a day or two and immediately the baby maggots start to devour everything down to the bone. While working a case in Connecticut, Professor Adam Bonzado had told her that three flies could lay enough eggs and produce enough maggots to devour a body as quickly as a full-grown lion. Amazing, Maggie thought, how efficient and organized the creatures of nature were.
Yes, Racine was right. This time they had lucked out. There would be enough tissue left for DNA samples. But more importantly, there might be telltale signs embedded or bruised or hidden in the flesh, the last remains of this poor woman to tell them what had happened to her in her final hours.
Unfortunately, though, for the crime scene tech, his greatest challenge would be to contain the head and maggots. It'd be so much easier to brush them off, rinse, spray, fumigate the head and be rid of the pesky things, but cleaning away the maggots could mean washing away evidence.
Maggie looked around for footprints, tracks of any kind.
"How do you think she got here?" she asked, remembering to personalize the victim instead of falling into Stan's habit of using "it," something that could simply be "scooped up." But she knew it wasn't irreverence as much as it was a coping mechanism.
The crime scene tech followed Stan's lead. "It wasn't tossed __ not from the overpass, not from the ledge of the embankment. I can't see any impact marks or skids in the mud. It looks like he simply placed it here."
"So, the killer brought her down here himself?" She glanced back at the steep embankment, but saw only her own skid marks.
"From what I can tell." The tech stood, stretched his legs and looked grateful for the distraction. "There are some footprints. I'll make a plaster cast."
"Oh, yeah, the footprints," Racine said. "You've got to see this." She stepped carefully, pointing out the remnants of the impressions in the mud.
Maggie stood up and looked to where Racine pointed, except it was almost fifteen feet from the victim's head.
"How can you be sure they're the killer's?"
"We haven't found any others," the tech replied, shrugging. "It rained pretty hard two nights ago. He had to have been out here after that."
"The prints come out of nowhere," Racine said. "And get this __ they seem to lead right into the river."
"Maybe a boat?" Maggie suggested.
"Out here? And not be noticed? I don't think so."
"You said you had a tip?" Maggie examined the oversize prints. The tread marks were