The coffee burned Wyatt’s throat as he took a careful sip. “Random attack?”
“No.” Sam’s voice was firm. “This was planned. Professional.” He pointed to another photo. “See the positioning? Body was moved twice. First dump site was about thirty feet from where we found him.”
Jo nodded. “Lucy picked up the scent trail. Whoever moved him waited at the first spot for a while.”
Lucy pressed against Wyatt’s leg, a warm reminder of reality.
“Lab results came back on some of those fibers we found,” Kevin said, shuffling papers. “Dark gray carpeting, probably automotive. Pretty distinctive weave pattern -- they’re running it against manufacturer databases.”
The coffee cup trembled slightly in Wyatt’s hand. He set it down before anyone could notice.
“No ID on the body,” Sam continued, pinning up the last photo. “Wallet, phone, everything’s gone.”
And there it was. The full scene. The body Wyatt had found in his trunk, now laid out in the woods for the police to find.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
He didn’t need to look to know who it was.
Major appeared in the doorway, tail swishing slowly as he regarded Wyatt with those unnervingly intelligent eyes.
“The bruising pattern is interesting,” Jo said, moving closer to the board. “These marks here? Almost like he was restrained before the attack.”
“But no marks on the wrists,” Sam pointed out. “Whatever held him didn’t leave traces.”
Wyatt’s phone buzzed again.
Lucy whined softly, pressing closer to his leg.
Voices drifted in from reception, one unfamiliar and official-sounding.
Lucy’s ears pricked forward, her body tensing slightly against Wyatt’s leg.
“Chief?” Reese appeared in the doorway, her usual easy smile replaced by something more professional. “There’s an FBI agent here to see you.”
Sam straightened, exchanging a quick look with Jo.
“Send him in.”
Reese nodded and disappeared. A moment later, she returned with a man in a dark suit, his badge held loosely at his side rather than thrust forward. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of weathered face that came from years of hard cases and harder choices. But what struck Wyatt first was the exhaustion in his eyes—the deep, hollow look of someone running on fumes and willpower.
“Agent Nelson Keller,” the man said, his voice quieter than Wyatt expected. His gaze moved across the room before landing on the crime scene photos, and something flickered across his face. Pain. Recognition. “And I’m afraid you’ve found my partner.”
Jo straightened. “Your partner?”
Lucy had moved to Sam’s side, positioning herself between her team and the newcomer. She watched Keller with the careful wariness she showed all strangers—not aggressive, just assessing.
Keller noticed. He stopped a few feet from Sam’s desk and crouched down slowly, extending the back of his hand toward Lucy. “Hey there,” he said softly. “It’s okay. I’m not here to cause trouble.”
Lucy sniffed his hand cautiously. Her tail didn’t wag, but she didn’t growl either. After a moment, she sat back on her haunches, apparently satisfied that he wasn’t an immediate threat.
“She’s particular about people,” Sam said, watching the exchange.
“Smart dog.” Keller straightened, and the weight seemed to settle back onto his shoulders. “Agent James Cooper. He was—“ His voice caught slightly, and he cleared his throat. “He was working deep cover. Investigating a crime syndicate in the area. I was his handler.”
“What kind of syndicate?” Jo asked, her tone softer now.
Keller moved toward the evidence board, but he didn’t crowd it the way some federal agents did. He kept a respectful distance, studying the photos with the careful attention of someone who’d seen too many crime scenes. “The kind that’s been systematically taking over small towns across New England. They start with legitimate businesses, then branch into drugs,weapons, protection rackets. By the time anyone realizes what’s happening, they’re already embedded in the community.”