Blood in the Ozarks

5. Betting on Bodies

Beavers Bend appeared to be a well beaten down path used by local joggers and hikers. The trees were naturally pushed back leaving the trail wide open and was paired with fluorescent markers every few feet.

"I'm pretty sure I could find my own way back to the parking lot, thanks." I told Ortega once we were out of each shot from the crew.

"Oh, is that why I found you a quarter a mile away from the crime scene?"

"I was looking for tracks." I wasn't looking for tracks.

"Sure you were, Ross."

"You know I could tell her who you really are," I threatened.

"Then I would just have to rely on my ol' Southern charm."

I could sense his wicked smile despite walking ahead of him. I glanced over my shoulder to note I was right. "You're not even from the South!"

"Hey, my family is from a place more south and these people. Besides, you aren't going to say anything."

Of course I wasn't. As long as he was helping the case, I would allow the farce to continue. I knew Ortega. Or Tommy, as I used to know him back in the day. He was a great Fed. He just lost faith in the system.

"So what do you think this thing is?" I asked, changing the subject.

Ortega stepped ahead of me and forced back a rogue branch that protruded out into our path. "Well, considering the jumbo chunk taken out of her gut, I'd say fiend. They'll take a bite out of anything."

"But fiends don't go for the gut like that."

"Fiends go for whatever is closest. Maybe when she covered her face that seemed like the next best option."

We kept walking down the trail as my mind tried to sort through our case and match it up with what I knew about fiends. And as hard as I tried, the two didn't match up.

Fiends were more city dwellers, staying near bars and nightclubs sometimes sporting events. Any place with a good crowd and a change for unbridled chaos. For one to attack a jogger in broad daylight in the middle of nowhere would be unprecedented. Something deep in my gut told me this was no fiend. I'd worked dozens of those cases. Fiends were an infestation among the population with plenty of cases to go around. New agents were usually saddled with cleaning up after a rogue fiend's rumspringa, and Hannah's body didn't have that kind of MO.

"It's not a fiend," I concluded aloud.

"Unlikely, but let's not go count our chickens yet," he replied with a low southern drawl.

"This place really is getting to you." I swatted at a bug that was incessantly whizzing by my face.

"Some of us blend in easier than others," Ortega commented. He walked alongside me continuing our discussion as the path grew wider. "If it's not a fiend, my second guess would be vrykolakas."

"Vrykolakas?" I raised an eyebrow. "Out of all things, you think that's what did this?"

"They can be pretty crafty when they want. And some of them wield a lot of power. Not to mention the bureau's not gonna send you out here alone for something bigger."

I shook my head. "Vrykolakas aren't this careful. They're messy eaters." I shoved my hands in my jacket pockets, shaking at the thought of the last time I saw a vrykolakas hunched over someone's body eating the liver. "Don't you think it's something worse?"

"Like a Class F? Nah," he dismissed the idea easily. "Those things usually start brewing like a storm and end with a bang. This feels a lot more..." He paused thoughtfully as if trying to taste the flavor of the word he was looking for. "Standard," he said at last. "It's way more likely to be a fiend or something."