After Brad finished with her ankles, he looped the final strap under the neck of the dead woman, and then around the neck of his lover.
As he did, Astrid, who was lying facedown, managed to lift her cheek slightly away from the corpse. Brad grabbed a handful of her hair and forced her head down to keep her face properly positioned as he buckled the strap around her neck with his other hand.
He didn’t want to constrict Astrid’s breathing so he was gentle, careful, as he bound her neck to the neck of Riah Everson’s corpse.
Then he let go of her hair, stood, and pulled out his cell phone to get some video.
For later.
He made sure he got some close-ups. Thousands of law enforcement officers would eventually watch this tape in the classrooms of the FBI Academy, and he wanted to make sure they would be able to get a good look at Astrid’s pretty, terror-stricken face.
At last he pocketed the phone and went for the shovel. “Just so you know.” He tossed a shovelful of dirt onto her legs. “I won’t put any soil over your face. I don’t want you to suffocate. And it’s not too cold tonight, so hypothermia might not be an immediate concern. It’ll probably end up being the scavengers that bother you the most. I imagine there’s plenty of them in a body farm. With the degree of Riah’s decomp, it shouldn’t take them long to arrive. I’m afraid that by this weekend, you’ll be a permanent addition to this farm.”
He packed some dirt around Astrid’s ankles and wrists to make certain she wouldn’t be able to wiggle free.
“By the way,” he said, “I never had a pet Sheltie.” He was snugging the dirt around her feet. “No dog, although there were times when I entertained myself with some of the neighborhood cats.”
He could tell she was trying to cry out, and he was pleased by how little sound she was able to make.
After satisfying himself that she was secure, he tossed a thin layer of dirt across her, scattered the remainder of the soil nearby, and spread leaves over the area to hide the evidence of the shoveling.
At last he stood back and studied his work.
Astrid’s head was still visible, but unless you knew where to look, it wasn’t something you would notice. Her back was jerkily rising and falling as she drew in short, frantic breaths. Based on the rapidity of her respiration, he guessed that she might hyperventilate, but he’d studied human anatomy enough to know that even if she did pass out, she would almost certainly regain consciousness again. At least for the first ten or twelve hours. The human body is amazingly adept at survival.
He began to gather his things.
She had suited him well in the role he’d chosen her to play.
Yes.
He’d killed before he met her, of course he had, but this had been the longest, the most exquisite game yet-all of that time playing the submissive one, the easily controlled, subservient one, all of it had paid off so nicely in gaining her implicit trust.
Danger and play.
Yes.
Exquisite.
Astrid tried to cry out again, but it wasn’t possible. She would never make another recognizable sound, never say another word.
He leaned over her one last time. “At first I was planning to take you to the basement, to the room I spent so much time remodeling, but then I decided it would be more fun like this.” He ran his hand softly through her hair. “And it was more fun this way, wasn’t it?”
She tried to shake his hand free. Failed.
As he’d planned for this night, he’d anticipated seeing panic in her eyes, but the depth of terror and final desperation he now saw in her moonlit face was even more satisfying than what he’d imagined.
A tear slanted down the side of her nose, and he gently wiped it away. “Sleep tight, Astrid.”
Then he picked up the shovels and trowel and walked through the fog-enshrouded moonlight to the car.
No, this wasn’t the climax to the story.
Things were just beginning to get interesting.