The young woman’s wrists and ankles were bound together behind her back with twine. On that thick, muggy July morning, U.S. Federal Bureau of Investigation agent Tom Merritt, and his partner, Steve Frankano, stood in the mist from the dense fog hugging the mounds of refuge. They looked on in disgust at the victim’s bloated, pale gray naked body, holding handkerchiefs over their mouths and noses to cope with the rotten stench, their eyes watering, as police search teams and their dogs scavenged the area for further evidence. “Jesus, that’s horrible.” The agents walked back to their car and leaned against the front fender. “Is she the girl we’ve been looking for?” Merritt asked. “’Fraid so,” Frankano muttered. He had a habit of running his hands over his clean shaven head as if he hoped he’d find the black waves he’d once had. He’d shaven it on his fortieth birthday, refusing to opt for a comb-over like his dad. Merritt looked down, shaking his head at his mud-covered shoes.
What do You think about One Hand On The Podium (2012)?
