Boneyard Read Online Free

chatter stilled as she approached.
    “Special Agent Kelly Jones, FBI,” she said, flashing her badge. They gazed at her in silence. Inwardly she sighed. McLarty was right, she was probably going to have a turf war on her hands. “Mind pointing out who’s in charge?”
    One of the troopers jerked his head toward the woods. “The L.T. is in there, supervising the search and rescue unit.”
    “Just follow the trail,” offered one of the younger troopers, eyes glued to her chest.
    She nodded briskly and turned toward the woods. As she walked off, the first cop called after her, “Mind asking when we can break for lunch?”
    Yeah, because you’ve worked up such an appetite, Kelly thought to herself, already annoyed. This was her least favorite type of assignment, dealing with old remains when the killer’s trail had long since gone cold. Not to mention she’d be leading a task force comprised of cops from different jurisdictions in neighboring states. In cases like this the cops frequently split into warring camps, with everyone hoarding information and eyeing one another with distrust. Added to that was the fact that the murders had taken place in the Berkshires, a summer resort for old Manhattan money, so the media pressure was intense. Worst-case scenario, the investigation could drag on for months, years even. And, on top of everything else, she had a forensic anthropologist to babysit.
    “Um, Agent Jones?”
    She stopped and turned to find Dr. Stuart nervously tugging at the chin strap on his hat. Despite the fact that over the phone she’d advised him to dress for fieldwork, he was wearing suit pants, a short-sleeve shirt, tie and dress shoes. Apparently fieldwork for him carried different connotations.
    “Yes, Doctor?”
    “Would you mind terribly if I waited here? I neglected to bring bug repellent, and I understand the ticks can be quite vicious this time of year.”
    “Why don’t you see if they have anything in transition from the site to the lab.” She nodded back toward the picnic tables. “I’m sure those officers would be happy to help you.”
    The woods were oddly silent. It was a beautiful day, a slight breeze stirring the leaves as she strolled down the path, knotting her hair in a ponytail as she went. The scent of pine and cedar coated the humid air. A half mile down the trail she came across two men. Hands on their hips, they watched the search and rescue line’s slow progress.
    “Detective Lieutenant Doyle?” Kelly asked.
    The taller man turned to face her. He was in his mid-forties with steel-gray hair boxed in a crew cut, sporting the standard-issue state trooper Ray-Bans and mustache. Instead of a uniform, he was dressed in khaki slacks and a white polo shirt. “You the Feds?” he asked through the piece of gum he was working over.
    She nodded and extended a hand. “Fed singular, I’m afraid. My understanding is that you just need someone to help coordinate the task force. Special Agent Kelly Jones. How’s the search going?”
    Doyle shook hands reluctantly and shrugged. “Just dandy, considering the animal activity, beavers rerouting the river and all. Most of what we’re finding is damned old—could be from an Indian burial ground for all we know. For the record, I think a task force is a waste of time. I figure we got a lost hiker on our hands.”
    Kelly ignored the last part and turned toward the other man. He was dressed in an expensive pair of hiking shorts and an expedition shirt. He’d removed his sunglasses and was peering at her through warm brown eyes. “Nice to meet you, Agent Jones. I’m Sam Morgan. I’m helping Bill and Monica coordinate the search.”
    “Are you a trooper?”
    He laughed and waved a hand dismissively. “Me? Afraid I’m just a civilian. I’m a stockbroker who moonlights as president of the Berkshire Search and Rescue Unit.” Sam gestured toward the line of people retreating steadily away from them. “We’re an all-volunteer group,