When Gannon woke in the hotel room, it was pitch-black, and he clicked on the bedside light and sat up. It was 3:00 a.m. on his phone. He thought there might be a message from John, who had left the hotel that afternoon around two, but there was nothing.
The tiles of the dark kitchenette were cold on the soles of his bare feet as he came out of the suite’s bedroom. He took a bottle of water out of the mini-fridge and took it to the window. It gave a view of the hotel’s rear parking lot. He stood and drank some cold water, watching in the silence. The fluorescent light on a dozen lonely cars. The darkness beyond. Everything still.
He’d just finished the water bottle when he heard the rattle at the door. He turned and watched it open.
“You hungry?” John Barber said.
The all-night diner they found twenty minutes later was near the entrance of town by the antler arch. Barber took out his reading glasses as they slid into a booth. He took a little notebook from his pocket and began to mumble to himself as he went over his notes.
When the tired-looking waitress came over, they both ordered the same thing, eggs and bacon with french fries instead of home fries. Gannon yawned as a tractor trailer pulled out on the other side of the window beside them. The grumble and scratch of its upshifting made the plate glass wobble. After it left, the only sound was the country music that was playing low from the kitchen.
“The FBI agent who was killed was named Braddock,” Barber said.
“And you found this out how again?” Gannon said, squinting.
“My brother’s coworker and friend, Don Hicks. I spoke to him and several of his Park Service buddies. One of the buddies is dating the local DA who is working a task force on this case with the Feds. Turns out there’s a lot going on with this thing. A hell of a whole lot.”
“I’m getting that impression,” Gannon said. “So this Braddock was Agent Hagen’s partner?”
“Yep. They were both from the Bureau’s Behavioral Science Unit.”
“Behavioral Science? Wait. The serial killer squad?” Gannon said holding up a finger.
Barber nodded.
“They’d just flown straight in from DC when it happened. They came looking for a serial killer they’ve been after. The NATPARK killer, they’re calling him.”
“The what?”
“The NATPARK killer,” Barber said, tapping at his notebook with a finger. “Over the past three years, three women—all young, all attractive—have been abducted, raped, and tortured in three separate national parks while on camping vacations. Two were taken off hiking trails during the day and one out of her tent in the middle of the night. Each victim was strangled to death after extensive torture, and in each case, there’s been a very distinctive...”
Barber licked a thumb and went through his notes.
“Postmortem posing,” he finally said.
Gannon took a sip of the water the waitress had poured, then shook his head.
“What’s highly unusual even for a serial murderer is the massive distances between the crimes,” Barber continued. “The first victim had been taken at the Great Smoky Mountains in North Carolina, the next at the Grand Canyon, and the most recent was at Rocky Mountain Park in Colorado last year. Without any witnesses, the FBI worked out a profile and have been doing a lot of investigating in the RV community for people with histories of sexual violence.”
“You’d think this case would be front page stuff,” Gannon said. “Let me take a wild guess. The Feds are keeping a tight lid on it?”
“Yep,” Barber said, turning a page in his notebook. “National parks have millions of visitors each year so the rumor is the Bureau of Land Management especially have their undies in a bind about making sure it doesn’t leak. They wanted it investigated discreetly. Didn’t want it to cause some kind of panic.”
“Guess those Fed pencil pushers take their family vacays at the beach these days, huh,” Gannon said. “So Braddock and Hagen came here to look at victim number four?”
“Yes. Owen found a dead young woman up in the foothills of Grand Teton the evening before around eight. Hagen and Braddock were actually waiting on the next killing to see the fresh crime scene so when Owen called it in, they immediately jumped on a plane. They actually told Owen to stay put at the crime scene until they got there. Then yesterday morning as they were heading into the site, they were all shot as they stood right beside the body. With a rifle. Apparently from some distance. All the bullets match. Lapua Magnum .338 boat tails.”
“Lapuas,” Gannon said with a whistle. “That’s a long-range cartridge. Sniper rounds?”
Barber nodded again.
“That’s completely bananas. Was it an ambush?” Gannon said.
“Maybe. But it’s a remote area with only one way in or out, so maybe they’re thinking the killer got boxed in just after he dumped the body.”
“Couldn’t get out so he up and started blasting away at two FBI agents, a park ranger, and the county sheriff with a safari big game sniper rifle,” Gannon said.
“Worst thing of all, it worked,” Barber said, snapping his book closed and tucking it into his pocket. “Since the son of a bitch got clean away.”
“Well, at least the rocket scientists down at the BLM are in for some bad news,” Gannon said. “Law enforcement killed by serial killer is the kind of juicy headline even the government won’t be able to cover up. Good luck keeping the lid on this now.”
“Exactly,” Barber said. “Especially since I already anonymously emailed every news outlet in the state about it.”
“What now?” Gannon said.
Barber took out his phone and looked at it and took a deep breath.
“We’re to get Owen later this morning. His autopsy is done. After we eat and get a few hours’ sleep, we need to head over to the funeral parlor to pick out a coffin and arrange transport to the plane.”
Gannon shook his head. Then he reached out and put an arm on his buddy’s shoulder.
“I’m so sorry, John. About all of this. Your poor brother. This isn’t right. They have to catch this son of a bitch.”
“Well, if they don’t, I’m going to,” Barber said coldly as the waitress approached with their plates. “If it’s the last thing I do in this world.”