Name of the Devil Read Online Free

possible in the first forty-eight hours. While the helicopter is certainly under her control, treating Knoll and me like underlings is a step beyond what is appropriate.
    I decide to cut her a little slack. Obviously she’s under pressure. “I apologize for the deviation. I wanted to get another angle and see if there was anything outside the radius.”
    â€œThe radius is a radius for a reason. Unless you don’t believe in physics, or think the victims walked out of there,” replies Mitchum.
    â€œI don’t think they walked . . .” I ignore her sarcasm.
    â€œYou think this looks familiar?” she says, almost as a challenge.
    This is her case, and it could be a big one. She’s afraid I’m goingto take it away from her by tying it into my previous major investigation. The last time I was involved in murder on such a spectacular scale, the perpetrator had been a man who liked to make his crimes look like impossibilities.
    â€œNo. I just think if you can’t find something where you expect to, you might want to look elsewhere.”
    â€œYou’re wasting resources, Blackwood. Have the pilot return to the LZ.”
    â€œHold up,” says Knoll. He points out his window to a pale object in a tree.
    I train my binoculars on where he’s indicating. Something, or someone, is entangled in the branches. I see what looks like bare skin wrapped in foliage.
    â€œCan you zoom in on that?” I ask the technician in the front seat.
    He aims the high-powered camera at the tree and brings it into focus on his laptop screen. There’s a vague outline of what could be a body.
    We all feel that sick sensation in the pit of our stomach. What hope we had for a happy ending is gone.
    â€œLooks like our first victim,” I grimly reply. There’s a flicker of guilt through my conscience as I confirm the bad news. Until now, we could still hold on to that version of reality in which they are sitting on that porch, waving at us. Now it’s gone. “Send that to Mitchum, and don’t forget to include the GPS coordinates.”
    â€œDo you have to rub things in?” asks Knoll.
    â€œI don’t mean to.”
    At least, I don’t think I do.

3
    B EAR M C K NIGHT’S NAKED body is dangling upside down from the upper branches of the elm tree, almost thirty feet in the air. A deep gouge in his shoulder has bled out onto the ground below. His eyes are wide open, gazing at heaven above. Across his chest are smears of blood. They remind me of a child’s finger painting.
    Special Agent Vonda Mitchum stands outside of the hastily erected perimeter and directs the photographer. Her blond hair tucked under her FBI cap, she taps away on her tablet as Knoll and I approach.
    â€œWho spotted him?” asks Mitchum.
    I point my thumb at Knoll. “Eagle-eyes over here.”
    â€œGood work, Knoll.” She nods to him, then turns back to her screen.
    â€œBlackwood was the one who said we should look over here,” replies Knoll.
    I give him a sharp look. All that matters is that we found our first victim because we extended the search perimeter. I don’t need him rubbing my defiance in Mitchum’s face.
    â€œI’m asking our physicist why he got the blast radius wrong,” says Mitchum. “We would have figured it out eventually.”
    â€œThey didn’t get it wrong,” I reply, hesitantly, unsure if I should bite back my words. “There’s no other debris around here. Just this poor bastard.”
    Mitchum puts away her tablet. “You’re saying he was placed here?”
    â€œI’m saying he’s here. The debris isn’t. Somehow he got here outside of the blast zone.” I point to where the chunk was taken from his neck. “He may have survived the blast, but I doubt he climbed up here without his carotid artery.”
    Mitchum shrugs and calls into her radio for the bucket truck we’re