The putrid smells bombarded my senses, like rain over raw sewage or shots of oysters gone bad. Tears started to leak from my eyes, and I began to miss working narcotics.
A body found at the scene smelled much like the noxious air, probably why the killer used this dumpsite.
A repetitive buzz sounded. With a slight hesitation, I reached for the victim’s vibrating phone. It was the mother. I cut straight to the facts with little emotion, getting off the phone quickly.
The killer had brushed cow manure on the body after nailing her to the barn door. Why?
I Write Her 