| |
Allen’s voice stopped her before she reached her vehicle. Her fingers tightened on the handle of her Outback.
“A quick question,” he said, reaching her before she could escape. Mia whined at her side, nosing Allen’s hand and earning a quick scratch of soft ears.
Elle shot him a suspicious look. “Yeah?”
“We’re still missing part of the first skeleton. The storm let up and the temperatures are rising again. I was wondering when you two planned to go back out and check farther downstream, towards the camp?”
She opened the door, forcing him to move back out of the way. She valued her personal space, and he was in it. “I’m not,” she answered, storing her pack and stepping back so Mia could jump in.
“Oh? What happened to needing to know the truth to protect your interests at that camp?”
“Nothing. Did you get a look at that trail where the lowlands start? Before it bleeds into the lake where my camp sits? It’s nearly impenetrable.”
Allen frowned, his eyes narrowing in stubborn determination. “I could get some men and machetes...”
“The weather we’ve had? And the light dusting of snow? There are probably sinkholes along that shore the size of a city bus, cleverly concealed under a thin sheet of ice and just enough snow to make them invisible until it’s too late. I’m not risking my dog for that.”
His expression turned thoughtful. He gave Mia a last pat, and she turned and jumped into the back seat of the Outback, turning circles before she settled down. Elle closed the door and fingered her keys, looking at him pointedly.
He didn’t budge. “What do we know so far? There are a few common threads here.” He looked at her expectantly.
She gave a sigh of disgust and leaned back against her vehicle. “Sure. Both were known drug pushers, reported missing approximately a year apart, which is a possible pattern. Both male, both buried alongside the bank of the Hat Creek.”
“What about the trees? Both were found tangled in the roots of a sycamore tree.”
Her brows shot up, and she shrugged. “Sycamores are common along a river.”
He nodded. “And they have a pretty interesting history if you care for some light reading. They grow fast, reaching a hundred feet in record time, and they are long-lived, some reaching six hundred years or more.”
Elle stared at him deadpan, studying him. “And a lot of them become hollow as they age,” she added.
Allen grinned. “I should have known better than to challenge your intellect when it came to the woods.”
She didn’t return his smile, and he sighed. “What would you need to do to pinpoint your next search area? Aside from the fact that there may be more bones from the first victim to find...”
“You’re wondering if where there are two, there are three,” she finished, opening the driver’s side door.
“That’s right. Aren’t you?”
“No!” she snapped.
Allen laughed softly as she climbed in and shut the door, starting the SUV and cranking the heat to high. Grudgingly, she rolled the window down.
Allen responded as soon as she did. “Liar, that doesn’t fit your profile at all, Elle Adams. You’re curious, like me. And you don’t like bad guys.”
She hesitated, looking up. “That’s where you’re wrong. If it turns out our unsub is hunting drug pushers and taking them off the streets, I might like him or her very well.”
“It’s still wrong. Vigilante justice doesn’t work. Nobody should be judge, jury, and executioner. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. I believe you know that.”
Elle shrugged, looking troubled and tired. “I need an aerial view, upriver above the first victim, and on the other side of that river the same length. And you’re right, maybe we concentrate our search in areas heavily populated by sycamores. It’s a start, and it would narrow the ground Mia and I had to cover by miles.”
Allen nodded brusquely. “Now you’re talking. And it just so happens I know someone who might help us out. Owns his own chopper and runs a small search and rescue operation just west of Veil Falls.”
“Then send him out and I’ll talk to him. Maybe we can set something up. If we do, I’ll call and let you know.”
When she put the car in reverse and the vehicle started backwards, he leapt out of the way quickly. She was rolling the window up as she moved.
She gave a sharp nod and pulled a neat three-point turn in the Outback. Behind her in the lane, Allen Peabody watched her leave.
#
ELLE NAILED THE LAST board in place, looking up when the rusted-out Ford drove into the yard. She stood up as Mia, who’d been sleeping at the top of the porch steps, stood up and barked. She sent her a look. “A bit late with that, girl,” she muttered, rubbing the crick in her back and squeezing the hammer reflexively.
The engine shut off and a tall man got out, shoving gloved fingers into the pockets of a tan sheepskin jacket as he took long strides in her direction. She straightened further, her lips pulling down. There was something oddly familiar about that long, rolling gait that seemed to want to hurry and take its time all at once.
He was lean, sporting dark hair dusted liberally with gray on the sides that poked from beneath a dark brown watch cap, with craggy features that emerged as he got closer. He wasn’t smiling, but she knew his eyes were taking her measure as much as she was his. She had the advantage. The sun at her back, partially casting her in the shadows, made him squint.
He reached the bottom of the steps and stopped and looked up. Elle gave a gasp, the years rolling backwards. She didn’t know this man who took her measure, his broad shoulders thrust backward, his chin tilted stubbornly and his mouth a thin line. But at one time, when she was just a girl, she’d known the boy very well.
“Jacob Crawley. It figures,” she drawled, unmoving.
He froze, recognizing the voice, trying to place it. He took the first step up, and Elle moved backwards, allowing the shadows to hide her for just a few more precious seconds. Time to regain her composure, to conceal the roil of raw emotion that surely showed in her eyes.
But it was too late. “Who the hell are you?”
It was the wrong thing to say. She wasn’t surprised. Some things never changed. “I’m sure you were told who you were coming to see, Jacob. Name’s Elle Adams, and you’re trespassing.”
He gave an indelicate snort, his eyes lighting in startled recognition. “I knew a Mallory Adams. I don’t know an Elle.”
“That’s right. You don’t. Rest easy. I’ll make this simple for you. If Allen Peabody sent you, tell him I changed my mind. You can leave. I don’t need you or your helicopter.” She took another step backwards, ready to cross the threshold and lock the door from the other side. Then she remembered the dog. Mia barred her escape, looking between them both, her tongue lolling sideways as if she were trying to decide whether she should smother him with love or bite his hand off.
He laughed without amusement, stepping onto the porch within a few feet of where she stood, his gray eyes and salt and pepper brows coming into sharp focus. “So, you know that many people who own a chopper in the area, do you?” The deep timber of his voice, rougher than she remembered, rolled over her.
Elle gulped. Features changed, people grew older, and they aged, but eyes stayed the same and his had always held a certain stiff coldness. She recalled a time when she’d made it her mission to thaw them, to make them warm with surprised laughter, or darken with desire. Of course, that was before...
She remembered how he’d looked in uniform. Tall, imposing and determined—untouchable.
“I’ll manage,” she said stiffly. She called to Mia, her mouth tightening when her loyal dog hesitated.
“Just as stubborn as I remember, that hasn’t changed. You’d tear off your hand to spite your face, wouldn’t you, Mallory?”
Elle’s lips drew down. “I haven’t been that girl for a long time. I go by Elle these days. Sorry you made the trip for nothing.”
He cocked his head sideways, considering her. “No. I don’t think so. Jerry Watson said you found two sets of bones. That there may be others.”
Elle shrugged. “We don’t need your help to find them.”
“If that were true, you wouldn’t have requested the help a helicopter could offer to canvass along that river, to get the big picture from above and give you an idea of where to look next.”
“Yeah, well, I’m releasing you from any misguided obligation you might feel. You are free to go.”
He shook his head, folding his arms stubbornly in the same familiar attitude he’d always shown when he was digging his feet in, refusing to budge. “This isn’t just about you. It happened in my town with people I know and call my friends. If there is some crazed lunatic running around killing and burying bodies along that riverbank, I’m doing my part to stop them.”
“You’ve nothing to worry about on that front. They were both drug pushers. They weren’t from around here.”
“Maybe that’s so, but this place has to mean something to the killer to have placed them here, which means he likely lives close by, or owns property in the area. That puts him firmly on my home turf.”
“Still...”
“Stop it. I get it, all right? We have history and we’re both a little salty about it. But this isn’t about either of us, is it? We’re adults. Well, at least I assume one of us is. Let me help with this, and you never have to see me again.”
“I grew up a long time ago,” Elle insisted stubbornly.
He gave a short laugh, the sound rich and sharp and making her breath catch. “Doubtful. Now, since introductions aren’t in order for you or me, at least introduce this lovely little lady. She’s a beauty.”
As if she knew they were talking about her, Mia gave a sharp woof, her ears pricking, her tail coming up as she stood, and her butt wriggling back and forth as she wagged her tail.
He knelt on one knee and held out a hand, cocking one brow in question. “May I?”
Rolling her eyes, she threw up her hands and muttered, “You might as well, she’s dying to slobber all over you. Dog’s a traitor is what she is. You can keep the dog company while I grab a few things and put on a more suitable coat and gloves.”
He grinned at her snappishness. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
#
OFF BALANCE AND NOT paying attention was her excuse for accepting a hand up into the chopper, the sound of the rotor deafening as the blades whipped over their heads.
It was a mistake, and she should have worn her gloves to at least muffle the surge of emotion that slammed into her the moment his fingers took hers, his grip unrelenting when she would have jerked her hand back. Pain and horror lanced through her, a brief glimpse of fresh meat, wet and raw and human, grasping hands frozen into claws, reaching and desperate. It was there and gone in a second, just a brief window into a stranger’s memories, no longer the boy she knew.
She covered her shock, bounding up and in, snatching her fingers back and controlling the urge to wipe the greasy images away. He shot her a sharp look, scowling, misunderstanding her expression of unease for disgust. He didn’t know. Only her father knew any of what she’d gone through and become, what she’d brought back when she woke up. The accident had happened two weeks after Jacob had left on the bus, never looking back at her when it pulled away from the curb, and leaving her teenage heart in pieces.
She covered her expression by fiddling with the headphones, securing them into place, and buckling her seatbelt. Her face was averted when he got in on the other side and settled in. “You ready for this?” he asked abruptly.
Her eyes moved to the three days’ worth of growth, dark stubble at stiff attention on his chin making her fingers itch with forgotten memories. “Let’s get it over with,” she snarled instead.
#
ELLE SHOVED HER WAYWARD thoughts aside, her boots crunching past the thin crust of snow to the wet earth beneath. Ahead of her, Mia explored, looking back to make sure her master was in sight and safe. Her mind played back to the afternoon before, and the ride over and along the Hat Riverwalk. They’d flown over the primary site on the south side of the river, where the original dangling skeleton had been found, and later, the second set of bones almost on top of the first. After flying over the rough swamp that widened into the long, narrow lake near the camp, they’d swung back again, concentrating on the north, as yet unexplored, side of the river. The thick tangle of brush and bramble and cattails made the swamp nearly impassable for man nor beast. It also made it an unlikely burial spot. They’d made note of the elevation, certain areas flattening out and providing a rocky shoreline where bears came down to fish in the springtime and late fall. Mature sycamore trees lined its edge, and the footbridges, a mile apart, made crossing the river not only possible, but entirely likely.
And Elle remembered Jacob’s hands, capable and strong on the controls, reminding her of another time and place when they’d trembled with wonder. Jacob had maintained a steady dialogue, keeping things easy as they talked about the Hat Creek Preserve. In its entirety, it covered close to five thousand acres. What they were looking at was only a small part of it. He’d talked about the fishing industry and anglers who came from all over to walk and fish its shores. The footpaths were many and led through the impressive woods and along both sides of the river for over twelve total miles. The trails were open to bikers and hikers and horseback riders as well. Two trails were maintained in the winter to accommodate snowmobiles and ATVs. They’d discussed the possibility of several places along the river that fit the same profile for a likely location as the first two had. Maybe their killer was done, maybe not. But there was no telling how long he’d been operating there either. They’d found two and it was possible that Allen was right and there were more.
Ahead, Mia looked back at her, waiting for her to catch up. She pulled herself up short, returning to the present. Together, they turned onto the first bridge, their feet making a hollow sound against the weathered wooden planks. They paused halfway across to look out over the rushing water beneath their feet. A dark flicker of movement in the calmer waters near the shore caught her attention—possibly the fin of a fish, or the long ropy tail of an otter, returning to its den in the bank just below the river’s edge. Elle peeled back her hood, removing her gloves and tucking them into her pockets. The temperature was rising, and the walk had warmed her up some. She reached down, pulling at the smooth velvet of Mia’s ears and giving them a rough rub. On the other side of the river, she pulled Mia up short, getting her attention. And then she gave her a different command as they turned back towards home along the river walk that ran along the opposite shore.
#
HER PREVIOUS LIFE AS an FBI search and recovery agent had rarely been the thrill a minute most of her civilian friends believed it was. Her morning had turned up nothing more interesting than a pile of thick, gray rabbit fur and bones, the remains of some predator’s lunch.
Now, changed into thick wool socks and dry fleece pants, a cup of steaming tea at her elbow, Elle sat at the kitchen table in her small cabin and switched on her laptop. She hit the switch to her wi-fi booster and then used her phone’s hotspot to connect her computer to the Internet. Using her temporary credentials, she opened the original case files for the first two victims. Of course, they’d be thicker now than they had been, the recent discovery offering answers to the original mystery and possible closure to the relatives. Coming in on the tail end like she had, she wanted perspective on how it had begun. She knew they’d been reported missing, and that their names and professions hadn’t come with a diploma.
She started with the first set of bones they’d found, Mr. Sly Warhol. Elle wondered if it had been a nickname to hint at a less than honest personality. The photo that popped up was a mugshot, complete with case number. He’d been on the tall side, rail thin with dirty blond hair and a face pockmarked by old acne scars. His eyes had been cold, even in the picture when he was facing time for whatever they’d booked him for. She pulled up his rap sheet and added, “which time.” He’d been in and out of jail a half-dozen times before he finally disappeared almost two years ago, in mid-November, at least that was when it had been reported. Elle knew full well that disappearances in the seedy underbelly of the drug world sometimes went unnoticed for quite some time before anyone realized they were missing. Witnesses, those willing to talk at least, had last reported him working on the west side of Marquette. He’d been a known pusher in the area for a couple of years until one day he just up and disappeared. Of course, no one knew a thing beyond that. With no clues and no willing witnesses, and a lot of people that thought his absence from the street corner near the local middle school was a blessing, the case hadn’t stayed open long before officers on the case had been reassigned to something more important.
Elle closed the file down and moved to the next. Charlie Stine was a tall, muscular black man in his mid-twenties with dreads and distinctive mossy green eyes. A rather prominent nose that looked like it had been broken at least twice completed the computer-generated photo attached to the file. Unlike the previous victim, Charlie’s record was mostly clean, right up until the last year when he’d been busted twice for possession, and another three for peddling cocaine out of his mother’s garage. Elle frowned, and scrolled back to the first victim, the location jumping out at her. Both had been arrested within ten miles of each other, in the same section of the city. They’d been processed through the same precinct. Elle made a careful note and went back and read the rest of Charlie’s report. It was his mother, Millie, that had reported him missing, nearly frantic with worry and mumbling about the ghosts in her closet the night he took off. In the early stages of Alzheimer’s, her claims had been dismissed outright. The case had been filed, but likewise had been summarily dismissed with no evidence to back up any claims of any wrongdoing.
One other similarity struck a nerve, making her frown. The officer assigned to the case had been the same in both instances. John Reilly had worked them, and as she scrolled through the scanned notes and reports, she realized a lot of it was in John’s own pen. She couldn’t fault his thoroughness. He’d been careful, had taken no shortcuts. The case had officially been closed for over a year. But when she looked, she realized the notes had continued for several months after, the bits of evidence still trickling in even though the case had been shut down. Had he worked the cold case on his own time? She didn’t get the impression he’d given up willingly. But she knew how it was. Other cases came along, and the living always received deferential treatment over the dead.
She tapped her fingers lightly over the keyboard, jumping screens and taking note of what caught her attention. Her eyes narrowed, she noted the address for the precinct and the phone number. Her mind still working overtime, she pulled out her phone and put in a call.
A brusque woman answered, sounding irritated to be answering the phone and having to do her job. “Yes?”
Elle hesitated. “I’m deputy liaison to the FBI out of Veil Falls,” she fibbed. She reasoned it was a small one. “You have an officer there, a Mr. John Reilly? I was wondering if I might speak with him?”
There was a brief pause, and the voice warmed marginally. “I’m sorry, Bull retired last year.”
Elle’s brows shot north. “Bull?”
“It was what everyone called him. He was like a dog with a bone over every case that passed over his desk. He didn’t give up.”
Which explained the lengthy files.
“Well, I have some possible new information regarding a couple of cases he worked on a few years back.” Elle mentioned the names. “I’d like to talk to him about them if it’s possible.”
“Ah, the Piper Park Disappearance cases. I don’t see how that would be possible. As I mentioned, he doesn’t do that anymore. Bull’s wife of 43 years died last fall, and he pulled up stakes and moved to Escanaba. He has some little cabin on a lake down there somewhere.” Her voice grew colder as she finished. “And if you have information concerning those cases, I can relay the message to the chief, and I’m sure he’ll get back with you if he thinks it’s important. As for Bull? Since he’s retired, he isn’t working on any cases at all, and I am under no obligation to tell you his whereabouts or give you his phone number.”
Elle thought quickly. The woman was seconds from hanging up on her. “Do you think he sleeps at night? With a nickname like that, I bet he didn’t give up, ever. And he wouldn’t like the ones that got away. I bet he’d give everything to close two of those cold cases, two more successes under his belt?”
There was a long hesitation on the other end of the line. “Rules are rules, and I protect the privacy of our officers, even those who have retired. They’ve earned their right to keep their lives out of the public eye, you know.”
Elle gave a disappointed sigh, gripping the phone and already trying to figure out how she was going to get the number some other way. She wasn’t being shut down by some crotchety old desk sergeant who probably had a gimp leg and had next to no real authority and was bitter because of it. This woman was sharp as a tack and by the book. Elle opened her mouth to protest, but the other woman beat her to it.
“However, if you give me your name and number, I will relay it to Mr. Reilly, and he can decide if he wants to be bothered—that’s the best I can do.” Her voice had the ring of finality to it.
Elle nearly gave the phone a one-fingered salute. “That would be very generous of you,” she gritted.
“Don’t lie, they don’t call me the Dragon Ball-Z of Piper Ridge Precinct for nothing.”
Elle tried not to add a mean snicker and her own opinion as she crumpled the empty piece of paper on her desk into a wad and pitched it towards the trash.
“Thank you,” she muttered.
“I wouldn’t hold your breath on that call back, now,” she finished snidely and hung up.