“Some people go to church on Sunday mornings,” Sergeant Wylie said.
“Yeah, and some people sleep past sunrise,” his partner O’Dowd said.
They turned onto the access road and headed for Camp Nelson. It was a perfect California morning, clear and crisp with nothing moving or making a sound save the occasional bird dive-bombing an earthworm. O’Dowd slowed the car as they passed the saloon.
“Nothing doing there,” Wylie said.
But then they emerged from the forest into the clearing and the quiet morning seemed like a distant memory. There were squad cars with their lights spinning parked at random intervals all around the property. Uniform officers moved in and out of the cabins, interviewing guests. Men and women in lab coats were unpacking the forensics van. It was hard to tell what the police tape was meant to keep in and what it was meant to keep out.
“Looks like we found the action,” Wylie said.
“Yeah,” O’Dowd said, “and it looks like they started without us.”
He pulled up behind last squad car and cut the engine.
“You’re the primary on this one, right?” he asked.
Wylie glared at him.
“You know, for someone so young you’re awfully damn lazy,” he said.
“I’m forty-four.”
“You’ve got time yet. I didn’t start phoning it in till I turned fifty.”
A trooper fresh from the academy handed them two pairs of latex gloves and scrub booties.
“Main scene’s over there,” he said, pointing to Bonnie’s cabin.
“You mean the bodies?” O’Dowd asked.
“Yes sir. Or at least one body. The other vic is still breathing.”
“I thought we had two DOAs,” Wylie said.
“Well, by the time you walk over there you might,” the trooper said. “The woman’s all the way dead, but the male is touch and go.”
Wylie and O’Dowd looked at each other, then turned and ran. They shouldered their way through a circle of lab coats and burst into the cabin, both of them breathing hard. A pair of EMTs were preparing Rudy for transit. They’d wrapped a thick bandage around his skull and fitted his head into a foam contraption that looked to O’Dowd like the packaging his stereo had come in.
“Can he talk?” Wylie asked.
“He’s been shot in the head,” the lead EMT said. “You’ll be lucky if he ever talks again.”
Wylie leaned over the stretcher.
“You mean to tell me this son-of-a-bitch has a bullet in his brain and he’s still alive?” he asked.
“I can’t say for sure if it hit the brain or not.”
“Any chance he’ll recover?” O’Dowd asked.
“There’s always a chance,” the EMT said. “But I wouldn’t count on it.”
Wylie and O’Dowd watched them wheel Rudy away, then turned to the bed. Bonnie lay on her back with her legs tangled beneath her. The wall behind the bed was spattered with blood and brain matter.
“She had no chance at all,” O’Dowd said.
“Yeah, it was over real quick for her.”
A crime scene photographer neither of them had noticed before stepped to the foot of the bed and began snapping pictures.
“Hey, take a look at this,” O’Dowd said, pointing to the nightstand. “We’ve got a stuffed money clip, a knockoff Rolex, and a silver cross.”
“Huh,” Wylie said. “Definitely not a robbery.”
“Nope,” O’Dowd said. “Not that anyone would have come all the way out here to rob just one cabin.”
“So we’re looking at an intentional hit.”
“One of them was the target, anyway. Could be the other one was collateral damage.”
“Doesn’t make our job any easier.”
O’Dowd shrugged.
“Let’s hope our hitman forgot to wear gloves.”
* * *
Without the kids in tow, Jim managed to make the four-hour drive in just under three hours. He sped into the clearing, parked his Mercedes among the squad cars, and ran for Bonnie’s cabin.
“Where is she?” he yelled. “Is she in there? Is my wife in there?”
Someone reached out and caught his arm as he ducked under the police tape. It was Wylie.
“Sir,” he said, “we’re still investigating. This is as far as I can let you go.”
“What are you talking about? I own this place. They told me my wife is dead.”
“You’re Mr. Hood?”
Jim nodded.
“God,” he said. “I feel like I’m going to pass out.”
“Why don’t we have a seat over here in my car,” Wylie said. “I’ll have someone bring you a bottle of water.”
He snapped his fingers at a passing uniform cop, then handed him a dollar.
“Let’s get this man some water,” he said. “There’s a vending machine in the lodge.”
“Yes sir.”
Jim sat on the passenger’s side, Wylie behind the wheel. Jim scanned the property. So much trouble, he thought, over a backwoods dump. Even if Bonnie had made improvements.
“What happened?” he asked.
“What did they tell you?”
“Only that Bonnie was dead. That she’d been killed.”
Wylie cleared his throat. He wished like hell it had been O’Dowd standing there when the husband came charging up the path.
“She was shot,” he said, “late last night or early this morning.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“There’s more,” Wylie continued. “There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just come out with it: your wife wasn’t alone.”
Jim cocked his head like he was struggling to comprehend what Wylie had just told him.
“What do you mean? Was someone else hurt?”
“Rudy Manuel, her handyman. It looks like they were in bed together when the shooter—”
“You’re telling me Bonnie was with another man? I don’t believe it. Not with him. Not with that little…”
Wylie studied him out of the corner of one eye. The tears were real. The confusion seemed real, too.
The officer returned with a bottle of water. Wylie passed it to Jim, waited while he took a long swig.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “but I have to ask: you really didn’t know your wife was having an affair?”
Jim struck the dashboard with the palm of one hand.
“Of course I didn’t,” he said.
“Easy now,” Wylie said. “I’m not judging. Things happen in a marriage.”
“Not in my marriage. We have two kids. We built a small empire together. Bonnie wasn’t going to risk all that for a fling with a glorified vagrant.”
He’d said more than he meant to. He looked over at Wylie, found no hint of suspicion or blame.
“It was those bikers,” Jim said.
“Bikers?”
Jim told Wylie about the brick through the Jeep window, the threatening notes, the confrontation at the Camp Nelson Saloon. He spoke quickly, his voice breaking now and again, his forehead damp with sweat.
“I see,” Wylie said.
“You see what? Why didn’t you people protect her? Isn’t that your job?”
I could ask the same of you, Wylie thought.
“Listen, Mr. Hood,” he said, “why don’t you go get a cup of coffee in the lodge? I’ll come talk to you again in a little bit, when I know more. If you like, I could have an officer sit with you.”
“I’d rather be alone,” Jim said.
He didn’t bother to shut the door behind him. Wylie watched him walk across the property, then went looking for O’Dowd. He found his partner on the phone in Bonnie’s cabin. O’Dowd nodded, held up one hand.
“Got it,” he said into the receiver. “Thank you, that could be a big help.”
He hung up, looked over at Wylie.
“Did you get anything off the husband?” he asked.
“Not really,” Wylie said. “Only that he was quick to point the finger. What was that call about? You sounded almost hopeful.”
“I don’t know if it’s good news or bad,” O’Dowd said. “Our living vic has quite a rap sheet. Including a five-year stint for armed robbery.”
“Well now, that’s interesting. Could be he crossed the wrong people and was hiding out up here.”
“Could also be a red herring.”
Wylie nodded.
“Let’s hope Mr. Manuel’s feeling chatty when he wakes up,” he said.
“If he wakes up,” O’Dowd said.