“No, but we played North Dakota State in football once while I was at Ohio State. They came to Columbus for the game.”
Decker had played college ball for the Buckeyes and then had an abbreviated professional career with the Cleveland Browns before a devastating injury on the field had left him with two conditions: hyperthymesia, or perfect recall, and synesthesia, meaning his sensory pathways had comingled. Now he could forget nothing and saw things such as numbers in certain colors and, far more dramatically, dead bodies in an unsettling shade of electric blue.
“Who won?” asked Jamison.
Decker gave her a heavy-lidded glance. “You trying to be funny?”
“No.”
He shifted about a millimeter in his seat. “It used to be called D-I and D-II when I played. Now it’s FBS and FCS.” When Jamison looked puzzled he added, “Football Bowl Subdivision and Football Championship Subdivision. Ohio State, Alabama, Clemson, Michigan, LSU, they’re all FBS schools, the top tier, the big boys. Schools like North Dakota State, James Madison, Grambling, Florida A&M, they’re FCS schools, or the second tier. Now, North Dakota State has gotten really good as of late. But usually, when they play each other it’s a rout for the FBS schools.”
“So why schedule them?”
“It’s an easy win for the top tier and a big payday and TV exposure for the other squad.”
“But it’s not a particularly good game to watch?”
“It’s always a good game when you win. And if the score is a runaway, the starters get to sit the bench after the third quarter or maybe even the first half. When I was a freshman that’s how I got to play. When I was a starter, I appreciated the extra rest a blow-out got me.”
“Doesn’t make sense to me. One team slaughtering another for money.”
“It really only made sense to the school boosters and the NCAA bean counters.”
Jamison shook her head and gazed out the window as they descended beneath the dark, thick clouds. “Looks stormy down there.”
“It’s basically hot with humidity through the roof for the next couple of days, with a bad thunderstorm, falling temps, and wicked wind pretty much guaranteed every evening. But then it won’t be long before the blizzard season sets in and this place looks like Antarctica.”
“Great,” said Jamison sarcastically.
“But look on the bright side.”
“What’s that?”
“You won’t have to do your daily workout for the next couple days. You’ll lose two pounds of water just walking to the car. But after that you’ll have to fatten up for the winter.”
The plane shed more altitude. Working against heavy headwinds and unruly patches of air, the jet felt like it was a pebble skipping across rough water. Jamison gripped her armrests and tried to breathe deeply as her stomach lurched up and down. When the plane’s tires finally hit the asphalt and bounced to a landing on the runway, she slowly released her grip and pressed a hand against her belly. A jagged spear of lightning appeared off in the distance.
“Okay, that was fun,” she said breathlessly before eyeing Decker, who looked, if anything, sleepy. “That didn’t bother you?” she asked.
“What?”
“The turbulence!”
“It wasn’t a big deal,” he said offhandedly.
“What’s your secret then? Because it looked like everyone else on the plane was praying, flight attendants included.”
“I survived a crash landing when I was in college. Engine went out on takeoff. Pilot circled back around, dumped some fuel, then the other engine died and he had to go in for an immediate landing. Found out later it was a twin bird strike. We hit hard enough to take out the landing gear and crack the fuselage. Everybody got off before the jet fuel ignited and fire ate the plane. I did lose my duffel of clothes,” he added casually.
“My God,” said a pale Jamison. “Then I’m surprised you’re not more nervous than I am.”
“I looked up the odds. They’re about a billion to one for my having a second incident. I feel like I’m golden now.”
They deplaned, signed the documents for their rental SUV, and headed out from Williston Basin International Airport.
“Wow,” said Jamison when they got outside and the wind slammed into them. Even the giant Decker was buffeted. “I don’t think I packed the right clothes,” she noted miserably. “I should have brought more layers.”
“What more do you need than pants and a shirt and a badge and gun?”
“It’s different for women, Decker.”
Jamison drove while Decker punched the directions into his phone navigation. Then he settled back and watched the road zip by. It was six o’clock in the evening and they were headed right into a gathering storm. Nasty black cumulus clouds reared up ahead of them like a towering serpent about to do some serious business over this patch of the upper Midwest.
“Irene Cramer,” said Decker softly as they drove along.
Jamison nodded and her features turned grim. “Found dead in the middle of nowhere by a guy tracking a wolf.”
“Most notably she was apparently autopsied,” added Decker.
“That’s a first, at least for me. How about you?”
“I’ve seen cut-up bodies, but not like the photos I saw. The crime scene was pretty clean except for the guy’s vomit.”
“Serial murderer? Is that why we got the call? Bogart didn’t really say.”
Ross Bogart was the head of their small task force. He was the one who had ordered the pair to North Dakota after the briefest of briefings.
“Maybe.”
“Did Ross sound strange when he talked to you?” asked Jamison. “He did to me.”
Decker nodded. “He couldn’t tell us something that he wanted to tell us.”
“How do you know that?”
“He’s a straight shooter who has to answer to political types.”
“I don’t like mysteries at both ends of a case,” groused Jamison.
“I don’t think this is necessarily a serial murderer.”
“Why not?”
“I could find nothing to match it in the databases. I checked before we flew out.”
“Could be a new player.”
“New players aren’t usually this sophisticated.”
“He might be trying to make a name for himself,” pointed out Jamison.
“They’re all trying to make a name for themselves,” replied Decker.
“But they don’t call the Bureau in for a local murder.”
“I think we need to look at the victim and not the killer for that reason.”
“You believe Irene Cramer was important to the Feds for some reason?”
“And it may also explain Bogart’s reticence.”
“Regardless, we’re clearly looking at a killer with forensic skills.”
“That could apply to quite a few people, including people on our side of the field.”
“An ME gone bad, maybe?” suggested Jamison.
Decker looked uncertain. “You can probably find a YouTube video of someone cutting up a mannequin. But the report said the cuts were professionally done.”