WEDNESDAY, 11:47 A.M.
BRIDGER-TETON NATIONAL FOREST
If this was their man, Heath wanted to look him in the eyes. What kind of monster would do the things he’d done? Heath might even consider doing much more than looking, except he was working for the sheriff’s department now, and what he had in mind wouldn’t reflect his duties as a deputy.
It might be worth resigning.
Oh yeah, even volunteers could resign.
Heath had been on his way to meet Harper at the sheriff’s department when Sheriff Taggart asked him to meet two deputies at Donny Albright’s address up Moose Creek Road instead.
Someone had seen Donny in the woods with two hikers, one of whom was Sophie Batterson Osborne. Donny was dressed in hunting gear, carrying a rifle and scope. None of that meant he was guilty, of course, but it meant they needed to at least question him.
Heath had a bad feeling about this since Taggart was now also heading to Donny’s. Heath was halfway there when he found himself following Taggart. He pulled up behind him to park in the drive. The house was old but immaculate. The yard, what there was of it, was mowed and neat before the national forest encroached. And it was located within five miles of where Harper had witnessed the murder. This guy would have moose, elk, bear, and antelope right at his back door. He wouldn’t even need a precision long-range hunting rifle of that caliber and price, but need and want were often confused.
Taggart stood at his vehicle, checking his phone.
Heath approached and stood next to him. “What are we doing? Is this our guy?”
“We ran a background check on him but came up empty. I sent Moffett and Shackelford to bring him in voluntarily to answer questions.”
The sheriff tucked away his cell, his face twisted with displeasure.
“But now we’re here,” Heath said. “Why? What happened?”
“Let’s go see.”
Sheriff Taggart hiked along the side of the house. Heath was confused. Shouldn’t they be knocking on the front door? Something had definitely happened.
“Taggart!” Shackelford’s voice squawked over the sheriff’s radio.
Instead of replying, the sheriff stepped around to the backyard.
Donny Albright sat propped against a tree. A bullet hole in his temple. A pistol near his limp hand. Moffett was taking pictures.
A sour feeling stirred in Heath’s gut.
They stood looking over the body. He could hear Harper’s voice in his head, complaining about evidence being disturbed. If only Donny’s death would mean this was the end of it and Harper was no longer in danger. His death seemed too convenient.
“Well, this is too bad.” Taggart crouched to eye level with Donny.
“The county coroner’s on the way,” Shackelford said. “You got the warrant?”
The sheriff nodded, looking into the woods as if searching. “Get ballistics and make sure his hand fired that weapon and there’s gunshot residue on the contact wound. That’ll give us the first clue as to whether this was a fake suicide.”
“You don’t think he killed himself?” Moffett asked.
“I didn’t say that. But we’ll know soon enough. I want to get on top of this before the state boys get here. If this is the man we’re after, then everyone is going to want a piece of him for killing that hiker, especially if he’s also the person who killed Arty. But we need to find the murder weapon, the rifle he used, to confirm it.” Taggart looked at Heath. “You’re with me. Moffett, you too, after you’re done with pictures here. Shackelford, you wait for the crew and direct them back here. I don’t want too many people in that house yet.”
Heath followed Sheriff Taggart into Donny’s home. “What do you think happened?”
“He must have known we were coming and he couldn’t escape,” Taggart said. “But that’s only speculation. I wish we could have questioned him.”
Inside the man’s meticulous house, stuffed, mounted elk and moose heads stared back at them from the walls.
“The warrant is for the rifle, but if you see anything suspicious or that could relate to this crime or another crime, let me know.”
In the bedroom, Heath spotted hunting garb on the floor. The clothes he’d worn when he shot Sophie?
Propped in the corner was a rifle. From where he stood, it appeared to be the same rifle that had killed Sophie. Arty too? “Sheriff, in here.”
Sheriff Taggart stepped into the room. “Well, now. Just what we were looking for.”
Through the bedroom window, Heath could see Donny’s body leaning against the tree.
“What are you thinking, McKade?”
“Donny Albright killed a woman, maybe her new husband, for reasons we’ll never know. He tried to kill Harper twice, and his second attempt killed Arty. Now he’s going to set out the evidence for us and go out back and shoot himself? That’s too easy.”
“I get that you wanted to have words with him, but sometimes killers come to the end of themselves.”
“Do you really believe that’s the case here, Taggart?”
“A gunshot wound to the side of the head, the mouth, or the front of the chest usually is a suicide. But let’s talk this out. What if he unwillingly shot himself? Was somehow coerced into killing himself? Then our next question is how. What did someone hold over him?”
Queasiness stirred in Heath’s gut. “For that, we’ll need to talk to family and friends to find out more about him.”
“If this was set up to look like a suicide, that means the real killer wants us to think he’s dead so we’ll stop looking. If he thinks we stopped looking for him, that’s when he gets careless. I might decide to let him think we’re done. But honestly, I hope we’ve found our killer.”