Something was definitely wrong with this world.
Nick was confident that his mental health was not the problem.
He had minored in psychology at Portland State University and understood enough about trauma disorders to recognize the warning signs.
During his critical-incident leave, he had attended every mandatory session with the psychologist assigned by the department.
He also visited a separate private clinic and completed the Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory under another professional’s supervision.
The results showed nothing unusual.
Nick went even further and paid for a full physical examination.
The hospital ran blood tests and performed a CT scan of his brain, but the doctors found no tumor, injury, or neurological abnormality that might explain what he had seen.
After eliminating as many internal causes as possible, Nick reached the only conclusion left.
He was not broken.
The world was.
Hank Griffin remained unconvinced.
“I’ve heard intelligent people are usually the last to realize they’re losing their minds,” Hank said.
“Maybe you developed PTSD after the shooting and those faces are hallucinations.
Keep seeing the psychologist.” The two detectives were sitting inside Hank’s aging Mercury Grand Marquis on their shared day off.
The car had once been his personal vehicle, but after his transfer to homicide, it had gradually become their unofficial unmarked police car.
Nick looked across the center console.
“If this is a hallucination, why do you always look normal?” Hank raised an eyebrow.
“Always?” “You know what I mean.
You, Wu, Captain Renard, Laila, and everyone else at the precinct look exactly the same every time I see you.” “That doesn’t prove anything.” “Then why have I only seen strangers transform?” Hank shrugged.
“The human brain is one of the most complicated things in existence.
We understand more about distant stars than we do about certain mental disorders.
Maybe unfamiliar faces trigger the hallucinations.” “They are not hallucinations.” “You asked for my opinion.” “I asked whether you saw what happened.” “And I told you I didn’t.” Nick was about to continue when both cell phones began ringing at the same time.
The different tones created an almost comical combination inside the car.
Apple had released the first iPhone the previous year.
Nick did not particularly like the operating system, but smartphones were too useful to ignore, especially for someone who already knew how important they would become.
Hank still carried a thick Nokia that looked capable of surviving a fall from a five-story building.
Both men answered.
Their relaxing weekend ended immediately.
Captain Renard had assigned them a case.
They were going to work.
At three that afternoon, Hank’s Mercury stopped near a western trailhead leading into Forest Park.
The entrance was close to Balch Creek, where thick vegetation and steep wooded slopes made the surrounding city seem much farther away than it actually was.
Portland had always been an unusual American city.
Its wet winters and dry summers supported countless rose gardens, earning it the nickname the City of Roses.
Dense parks, wooded hills, and connected trails spread through the metropolitan area.
Forest Park was the most impressive example.
The massive urban forest stretched along Portland’s western hills, allowing residents to leave crowded neighborhoods and disappear beneath towering trees within minutes.
That balance between city streets and wilderness was one of the main reasons Nick enjoyed living in Portland.
At least, it had been before he discovered that monsters might be hiding among its population.
A Forest Service officer waited near the trail entrance.
His dark green field uniform blended with the surrounding trees, and a silver badge was fixed to his chest.
“Detectives?” “Hank Griffin,” Hank said, displaying his identification.
“This is my partner, Nick Burkhardt.” The officer nodded.
“Follow me.
It’s about fifteen minutes from here.” They left the paved entrance and followed him deeper into the forest.
The trail narrowed as the trees became denser.
Sunlight filtered through layers of leaves and branches, creating shifting patterns across the damp ground.
Although summer had dried the exposed hillsides, the shaded forest floor remained dark and rich with decomposing leaves.
Moss covered fallen logs, while ferns crowded the edges of the trail.
The Forest Service officer moved quickly despite the uneven terrain.
He appeared to be in his early fifties, but years of hiking through the park had kept him lean and physically capable.
After nearly fifteen minutes, the trees opened around a section of trail blocked by yellow police tape.
The PPB forensic team had already arrived.
Technicians in protective clothing photographed the area while others placed numbered evidence markers among the bushes.
Tape sealed both ends of the trail, preventing hikers from wandering into the scene.
“A hiker found it earlier,” the Forest Service officer explained.
“He came running down the trail in a panic and said he had seen something terrible.” “What exactly did he report?” Nick asked.
“At first, he couldn’t explain it.
He kept talking about blood and pieces.” The officer’s expression tightened.
“I didn’t understand until I came up here and saw it myself.” He led them past the tape and pointed toward a large Douglas fir.
Flies buzzed loudly near the base of the trunk.
Nick crouched and pulled aside several fern leaves.
A severed arm lay beneath them.
The skin was pale beneath the blood and dirt.
Several bite marks covered the remaining flesh, while all the fingers were missing.
Nick had only basic forensic-medical training, but the arm’s size and structure suggested that it belonged to a young woman.
“The rest of the body?” Hank asked.
“Scattered through the woods,” the Forest Service officer replied.
“The evidence team is still locating everything.” He remained several steps away from the arm, clearly unwilling to look at it for long.
Nick stood and followed the trail of disturbed plants deeper into the forest.
Crows called from somewhere ahead.
Their harsh cries led him toward an even more disturbing scene.
A red athletic jacket had been torn into blood-soaked strips.
Pieces of human tissue lay among the leaves, surrounded by flies and insects.
Several feet away, a single pink Nike running shoe rested beside the trail.
The scent of blood overwhelmed the earthy smell of damp soil and rotting vegetation.
Hank covered his nose.
“Whatever did this wasn’t trying to hide the body.” Nick studied the shredded clothing.
“No.
It fed here.” They continued less than seventy feet before one of the forensic technicians stopped them.
“We haven’t processed the area beyond this point,” she warned.
“Stay on the marked path.” Nick and Hank remained where they were.
The Forest Service officer joined them but kept his attention on the trees rather than the human remains.
“I thought wolves and bears disappeared from this area years ago,” Hank said.
“They did,” the officer replied.
“I’ve never encountered a bear inside Forest Park, and there hasn’t been an established wolf population here in a very long time.” “What about mountain lions?” “Possible, but extremely rare this close to the city.” “Coyotes?” “They’re around, but this is too much damage for a lone coyote.” The officer looked toward the scattered remains.
“Large predators generally avoid heavily used trails.
They don’t attack someone this close to the city unless they’re sick, starving, or trapped.” Hank lowered his hand from his face.
“You think the body was dumped here?” “I didn’t say that.” “Then what are you saying?” The officer motioned for them to follow.
“Wild animals leave tracks.
Bears, coyotes, and mountain lions all have distinct prints.
I searched the surrounding area before your evidence team arrived.” He led them away from the remains toward a fallen tree.
Thick vines had grown around the decaying trunk.
“There was no bear sign,” he continued.
“No mountain-lion tracks either.
What I found was much more interesting.” He bent down and pulled aside a vine.
A clear shoe print had been pressed into the black soil beneath it.
Nick crouched for a closer look.
The impression was deep and well defined.
The tread pattern appeared to come from a heavy boot rather than a running shoe.
“Animals don’t wear boots,” the Forest Service officer said.
“How fresh?” Hank asked.
“When I found it, moisture was still gathering along the edges of the impression.
I would estimate no more than two hours.” Nick removed his iPhone and photographed the print from several angles without touching the surrounding ground.
He then raised his voice toward the forensic team.
“We found a fresh boot print!
Bring the casting equipment.” “On the way!” someone called back.
Hank studied the ground around the impression.
“One print?” “One clear enough to preserve,” the officer replied.
“There are partial marks farther ahead, but the soil becomes harder and the trail is heavily disturbed.” “Did you follow them?” “Not after finding the body.
I didn’t want to contaminate anything.” “You made the right decision.” Hank placed a hand on the officer’s shoulder.
“We’ll wait for the medical examiner and lab results before making a final determination, but we’ll take responsibility for the preliminary criminal investigation.” The overlapping responsibilities were not unusual.
Forest Park was inside Portland, and serious crimes belonged to the Portland Police Bureau.
Forest Service personnel and park employees handled trail safety, wildlife concerns, and violations within the protected area, but a suspected murder required homicide detectives and PPB forensic investigators.
The unanswered question was whether they were looking at a homicide.
If the medical examiner determined that an animal had killed the woman, wildlife authorities would take the lead on identifying and locating the predator.
If the injuries showed that a person had murdered her and staged the remains to resemble an attack, the case would remain with Nick and Hank.
The boot print strongly supported the second possibility.
Nick returned his attention to the torn red jacket.
A young woman had entered the forest wearing bright athletic clothing and had been ripped apart with enough violence to scatter her remains across the trail.
Joshua Coffey’s transformed face flashed through his mind, followed by the decayed features of the blonde woman outside Northwest Armory.
Nick looked deeper into the trees.
For the first time, he considered a third possibility.
Perhaps the killer was neither human nor animal.