The Montero ranch materialized on the horizon, a sprawling property that stood in stark contrast to the modest homesteads that dotted most of Bearclaw County. As Rory guided the patrol car down the long, winding driveway, she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of unease. The manicured lawns and gleaming fences seemed out of place against the rugged Wyoming backdrop, a reminder that Talia Montero had been an outsider in their tight-knit community.
“Quite a spread.” Evan whistled, his eyes wide as he took in the expansive ranch house and state-of-the-art barn. “Guess all that city money went to good use.”
Rory said nothing, her jaw set as she parked behind a cluster of official vehicles. Sheriff Harlan’s SUV was there, along with an ambulance and a couple of state police cruisers. This was bigger than their usual fare, and she could feel Evan’s nervous energy radiating beside her.
“Remember,” she said, turning to her partner before they exited the car, “we follow protocol. This isn’t like breaking up a bar fight or rounding up stray cattle. Every detail matters.”
Evan nodded, his expression serious. “Got it. I won’t let you down, Rory.”
They made their way toward the barn, the center of activity. The air was thick with tension, a stark contrast to the peaceful autumn day. A light breeze carried the scent of hay and livestock, mingling with something sharper, metallic. Rory’s stomach clenched. She knew that smell all too well.
Sheriff Harlan met them at the barn door, his weathered face grim. “Wood, Tate,” he said with a nod. “Brace yourselves. It’s not pretty in there.”
Rory steeled herself as they stepped inside. The barn was a study in contrasts—gleaming equipment and fresh paint juxtaposed against the horror at its center. Crime scene technicians moved about with quiet efficiency, photographing and cataloging evidence.
And there, in the middle of it all, was Talia Montero.
The woman’s body lay sprawled on the barn floor, limbs askew like a broken marionette. Her unseeing eyes stared up at the rafters, a look of terror forever frozen on her face.
Rory heard Evan’s sharp intake of breath beside her. She kept her own expression neutral, even as her mind raced to catalog every detail. Talia’s clothing, now torn and bloodied. The angle of her body, suggesting she’d fallen or been thrown. And around her neck…
“Is that rope?” Rory asked, gesturing to the ligature marks visible on the victim’s throat.
Sheriff Harlan nodded. “Looks like she was strangled. ME’s preliminary report suggests it was the cause of death, but we’ll know more after the autopsy.”
Rory’s gaze swept the scene, searching for the murder weapon. “No sign of the rope itself?”
“Not yet,” Harlan replied. “But that’s not the strangest part. Take a look at this.”
He led them to a spot near Talia’s body. There, burned into the wooden floor, was a symbol unlike anything Rory had ever seen. It was an intricate design, all swirling lines and sharp angles that seemed to writhe and shift the longer she stared at it.
“What the hell is that?” Evan murmured, voicing the question on Rory’s mind.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Harlan said. “But whatever it is, it was done recently. The wood’s still got that freshly charred smell.”
Rory crouched down, careful not to disturb any evidence as she examined the symbol more closely. Something about it made her skin crawl, a visceral reaction she couldn’t quite explain. “Could be some kind of signature,” she mused. “Or a message.”
“Either way,” Harlan said, “it’s our best lead at the moment.”
“What about Mr. Montero?” Rory asked, turning back to Harlan. “He’s the one who found her, right?”
The sheriff’s expression darkened. “Yeah, he’s up at the house now. Says he woke up this morning and his wife was gone. Came out here looking for her and… well.” He gestured to the grisly scene before them.
“We’ll need to talk to him,” Rory said, already moving toward the barn door. She needed air, needed to escape the oppressive atmosphere of death and mystery that hung over the place.
Outside, the Wyoming sun seemed almost obscenely bright. Rory took a deep breath, letting the crisp autumn air clear her head. Evan joined her a moment later, his face pale.
“You okay?” she asked, genuine concern coloring her voice. It was easy to forget sometimes that her partner was still relatively new to this, that he hadn’t seen the things she had.
Evan nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah, just…it’s different when it’s someone you know. I mean, I didn’t know Mrs. Montero well, but I’d seen her around town. Helped her with directions once when she first moved here.”
Rory placed a hand on his shoulder, a rare gesture of comfort. “I know. But right now, we need to focus. We’ve got a job to do.”
They made their way to the main house, a sprawling ranch-style home that looked like it had been plucked from the pages of a high-end real estate magazine. On the porch, a man sat with his head in his hands, his entire posture a study in grief and shock.
“Mr. Montero?” Rory called out as they approached. “I’m Assistant Sheriff Wood, and this is Deputy Tate. We’re very sorry for your loss. We’d like to ask you a few questions, if that’s alright.”
The man looked up, his eyes red-rimmed and haunted. He was handsome in a polished, city-slicker kind of way—all perfect teeth and manicured nails. But grief had ravaged his features, leaving him looking hollow and lost.
“I’ve already told the other officers everything,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I don’t…I can’t go through it again.”
Rory kept her tone gentle but firm. “I understand this is difficult, Mr. Montero. But every detail could be important. Can you walk us through what happened last night?”
Marcus Montero—that was his name, as Rory recalled from the initial report—ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “It was a normal night. We had dinner, watched some TV. Talia mentioned the cattle had been restless lately, said she might go check on them in the night if she heard anything. I… I should have gone with her.”
His voice broke on the last words, and Evan shifted uncomfortably beside Rory. She pressed on, her instincts on high alert. “So you went to bed together?”
Marcus nodded. “Around eleven, I think. I fell asleep almost immediately. I didn’t…God, I slept through the whole thing. My wife was being murdered, and I was sleeping soundly in our bed.”
The raw anguish in his voice was palpable, but Rory couldn’t afford to let empathy cloud her judgment. She’d seen too many grieving spouses turn out to be clever actors.
“And you didn’t hear anything during the night?” she asked. “No disturbances, no sounds from outside?”
Marcus shook his head miserably. “Nothing. I didn’t wake up until my alarm went off at six-thirty. Talia’s side of the bed was empty, but that wasn’t unusual if she’d gone to check on the animals. It wasn’t until I went looking for her that I… that I found…”
He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. Rory gave him a moment before continuing her questioning.
“Mr. Montero, I have to ask—was there anyone who might have wanted to harm your wife? Any threats, any conflicts?”
For a split second, something flashed across Marcus’s face—anger? Fear? It was gone so quickly Rory almost thought she’d imagined it.
“No, nothing like that,” he said. “Talia was…she could be abrasive sometimes, especially when it came to business. But everyone loved her once they got to know her.”
Rory made a mental note to follow up on that “abrasive” comment later. For now, she had one more question burning in her mind.
“The symbol in the barn,” she said carefully, watching Marcus’s reaction. “Have you ever seen anything like it before?”
The change was subtle but unmistakable. Marcus’s posture stiffened, his eyes widening almost imperceptibly before he schooled his features back into a mask of grief.
“No,” he said, a little too quickly. “I’ve never seen anything like that. What…what does it mean?”
Rory held his gaze for a long moment, weighing his words against her instincts. “We’re not sure yet,” she said finally. “But we intend to find out.”
She thanked Marcus for his time and stepped away, gesturing for Evan to follow. As they walked back toward their patrol car, her mind was whirring with possibilities.
“What do you think?” Evan asked in a low voice.
Rory shook her head slightly. “Too early to say. But something’s not adding up. The husband’s story, that symbol…there’s more going on here than a simple murder.”
“Probably so. And what Marcus said about the cattle being restless lately—what do you make of that?”
“I think,” she said, “that maybe the killer’s been here before, looking for his opportunity. Then he found it last night. Either way, it looks like this isn’t a spur-of-the-moment thing. Whoever did this…they’ve been planning it for a while—which means we’re dealing with someone who is truly coldblooded. The kind who doesn’t tend to make a lot of mistakes.”