Rory stared at the evidence board, her eyes burning from exhaustion and frustration. The faces of their victims—Clayton Harrow, Talia Montero, Wesley Kade—seemed to stare back at her accusingly. Red string connected crime scene photos, witness statements, and potential leads, creating a web of information that, despite its complexity, had led them exactly nowhere.
She glanced at the clock on the wall, watching the second hand tick relentlessly forward. Four thirty-seven p.m. In a few short hours, night would fall, bringing with it the terrifying possibility of another victim.
“Damn it,” she muttered, running a hand through her disheveled hair.
“Hey,” Evan said from behind her, accompanied by the smell of fresh coffee. “Thought you could use this. Even remembered the almond milk.”
Rory smiled as she accepted the steaming mug. “You sure know the way to a woman’s heart,” she said. “Coffee and thoughtfulness.”
Evan blushed and glanced away. It was rather endearing how easily he got uncomfortable around her.
“So,” she said after taking a sip, “any word from the lab on those fibers we found at the Kade scene?”
Evan shook his head, his usual easy smile replaced by a grim line. “Nothing conclusive. They’re still running tests, but so far, all they can tell us is that it’s not from any domesticated animal they’re familiar with.”
Rory sighed, turning back to the board. “So we’ve got mysterious animal fibers, a cryptic symbol that may or may not be related to some kind of cult, and three dead ranchers with seemingly nothing in common except their profession. Great.”
“Don’t forget the agitated cattle,” Evan added, a weak attempt at humor that fell flat in the tense atmosphere of the office.
Rory’s gaze fell on a photo of Wesley Kade, his weathered face creased in a warm smile. It had been taken at last year’s county fair, where Kade’s prized bull had won first place. Now, that same face was cold and lifeless in the morgue, another victim of a killer they seemed no closer to catching.
A thought niggled at the back of Rory’s mind. “You know, we never did get a chance to do a thorough interview with Kade’s ranch hand. What was his name again?”
Evan flipped through his notes. “Uh, Jake Boyer. Been working for the Kades for over twenty years, practically part of the family. Lives on the ranch, too.”
“So he might’ve seen something.” Rory shook her head. “Why didn’t we speak with him before?”
“Because he wasn’t there,” Evan said. “Officers checked out his house. Nobody was home.”
Rory frowned. “So if he lives there, where was he last night?”
***
Jake Boyer was in the barn, mucking out stalls with mechanical efficiency. He looked up as they approached, his lined face a mask of grief and exhaustion.
“Officers,” he said by way of greeting, leaning on his pitchfork. “You know I already spoke with a couple of other officers, right?”
Rory didn’t know this, but she nodded anyway. “We’re sorry to bother you, Mr. Boyer. We just have a few more things we’d like to clear up, if you don’t mind.”
Jake sighed, gesturing to a couple of overturned buckets. “Might as well sit. Cows won’t mind waitin’ a bit longer.”
As they settled onto the makeshift seats, Rory noticed the way Jake’s gaze kept drifting to an empty stall at the end of the barn. Following his look, she saw a nameplate: “Thunderbolt.”
“Was that Mr. Kade’s prize bull?” she asked.
Jake nodded, a ghost of a smile crossing his face. “Yep. He loved that ornery bastard like he was one of his own kids. Broke his heart when we had to put him down last month. Hip injury, no coming back from it.”
Rory felt a pang of empathy, memories of her own rodeo days flooding back. “I remember a bull like that from my circuit days. Tornado. Mean as they come, but a champion through and through. Losing an animal like that…it’s like losing a piece of yourself.”
Jake’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of recognition crossing his weathered face. “You rode rodeo? Wait a minute…Wood. You’re Raymond Wood’s girl, aren’t you? The barrel racing phenom?”
Rory nodded, a mix of pride and old pain tightening her chest. “That was a lifetime ago.”
“Your daddy used to talk about you all the time at the stockyards,” Jake said, his tone softening. “He was mighty proud.”
At the bar, too, I’ll bet, Rory thought. When he was deep into his cups and needed something to brag about.
She swallowed hard, pushing back the complicated emotions Jake’s words stirred up. “Mr. Boyer, we need to ask you about last night. Our officers reported that you weren’t home.”
Jake’s posture stiffened slightly. “That’s right. I was over in Rawlins, visiting my sister. She just had surgery, needed some help around the house.”
“Can anyone confirm that?” Evan asked, his tone carefully neutral.
Jake’s eyes narrowed. “My sister can. And the night clerk at the Lazy J Motel where I stayed. You think I had something to do with this?”
Rory held up a placating hand. “We’re just trying to get all the facts straight, Mr. Boyer. How long have you worked for the Kades?”
“Going on twenty-three years now,” Jake replied, his voice softening. “Wes gave me a job when nobody else would. I was fresh out of rehab, most folks wouldn’t give me the time of day. But Wes…he saw something in me, I guess.”
“You must have known him pretty well,” Rory said.
Jake nodded slowly. “As well as anyone, I suppose. Wes was…complicated. Had his demons, like we all do.”
“Did you notice any changes in his behavior recently?” Rory asked. “Especially after losing Thunderbolt?”
Jake’s brow furrowed. “Now that you mention it, yeah. Wes was…I don’t know, distracted? Kept muttering about ‘making things right’ and ‘settling old scores.’ I figured he was just taking Thunderbolt’s loss hard, you know?”
Evan leaned forward. “Did he mention any names? Anyone he might have had a grudge against?”
Jake was quiet for a moment, clearly wrestling with something. Finally, he spoke, his voice low. “There was one name he mentioned. Hadn’t heard it in years, thought all that bad blood was water under the bridge. But a couple days before…before it happened, I overheard Wes on the phone. He was arguing with someone, and he said, ‘You listen here, Garrett. This ends now, one way or another.’”
Rory’s pulse quickened. “Garrett? Do you have a last name?”
Jake nodded slowly. “Sloan. Garrett Sloan. He and Wes used to ride the rodeo circuit together back in the day. Had themselves a real fierce rivalry.”
Rory and Evan exchanged a look.
“Can you tell us more about this rivalry?” Rory asked. “Why would Mr. Kade still be upset about it after all these years?”
Jake shifted uncomfortably. “It’s ancient history, really. But…well, there was an incident. Big rodeo in Cheyenne, must’ve been thirty years ago now. Wes was set to win it all, had a real shot at going pro. But during his final ride, something spooked his horse. Wes took a bad fall, shattered his knee. Never rode competitively again.”
“And Sloan?” Evan asked.
“He won,” Jake said simply. “Went on to have a real successful career, too. But there were rumors, you know? Whispers that maybe Garrett had something to do with Wes’s accident. Nothing ever proven, mind you, but…”
Rory’s mind kicked into overdrive. A long-standing grudge, a mysterious phone call just days before the murder. It wasn’t much, but it was more than they’d had before.
“Mr. Boyer,” she said carefully, “do you know where we might find Garrett Sloan now?”
Jake shrugged. “Last I heard, he had a small spread out near the old Willow Creek Mine. Keeps to himself mostly. But Officers,” he added, his voice taking on a note of urgency, “I don’t think Garrett had anything to do with what happened to Wes. He may have been a rival, but he wasn’t a killer.”
Rory nodded, standing. “We’ll keep that in mind, Mr. Boyer. One last thing—did you notice anything unusual on the ranch in the days leading up to Mr. Kade’s death? Any strangers hanging around, anything out of place?”
Jake thought for a moment. “Can’t say that I did. But I was in and out, getting ready for my trip to Rawlins.”
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Boyer. If you think of anything else, please don’t hesitate to contact us.”
As they walked back to their vehicle, Evan voiced what Rory was thinking. “It’s thin, isn’t it? A thirty-year-old rodeo rivalry doesn’t exactly scream motive for serial murder.”
“No,” Rory agreed, her voice tight. “But it’s the best lead we’ve got.” She paused, a conflicted look crossing her face.
Evan caught her expression. “What is it? You know something about this Sloan character?”
Rory sighed, leaning against the truck. “Yeah, you could say that. Garrett Sloan was still competing when I was on the circuit. Real piece of work. Arrogant, mean-spirited. Thought he was God’s gift to rodeo.”
“Sounds like a charmer,” Evan said dryly. “You have run-ins with him?”
A humorless laugh escaped Rory. “You could say that. Let’s just say he didn’t take kindly to a ‘little girl’ outscoring him in roping events. Made it his mission to try and intimidate me out of competing.”
Evan’s eyes narrowed. “Rory, if you have a personal history with this guy, maybe we should—”
“No,” Rory cut him off. “We follow this lead. Personal feelings aside, Sloan’s connection to Kade is the first solid link we’ve had between the victims. And there’s something else…”
“What?”
Rory’s gaze drifted to the distant mountains. “Sloan always had it out for the wealthy ranchers. Saw them as pretenders, city folk playing at being cowboys. He especially hated the ones who came in and bought up big spreads without ‘earning it,’ as he’d say.”
Evan nodded slowly, understanding dawning. “Like the Monteros.”
“Exactly,” Rory said.
“Well, if Sloan really is our killer, he has one hell of a way of getting payback.”