Читать книгу Trace Evidence - Carla Cassidy - Страница 6

Decorative rocks. Clay spent most of his morning chasing down names on lists of customers who had ordered the kind of decorative rocks he’d found around his father’s chair in his parents’ living room and in Riley Frazier’s parents’ living room.

It was the only real evidence he had from the two crime scenes that had left one man dead, one man severely wounded and two women missing. One of those women, Riley Frazier’s mother, had since been found dead and Clay felt the pressure of trying to make sense of what little had been left behind at each crime scene.

He was still waiting for test results on trace evidence that had to be sent to a lab in Oklahoma City. But he knew the lab was backed up and it might be weeks before he got definitive test results.

“Clay?”

He looked up from the list of quarry customers he’d obtained to see his sister Savannah standing in the doorway of the lab.

“You have any more for me on the McClane fiber?”

He nodded as his sister approached where he sat at his desk. “Unfortunately the only thing I can tell you is that it’s one hundred percent cotton.”

“That’s it?” she asked, a frown creasing her brow.

“Afraid so.” He sighed in frustration and raked a hand through his hair. “I’ve got a single fiber for you on a serial murder case and a handful of pebbles to try to find out what happened to Mom.”

“You can only work with what you have, Clay,” Savannah said softly. “That’s all any of us can do.”

“But it’s not enough.” Anger rose up inside him, the anger of utter impotence. Somehow, someway, he couldn’t help but think somebody had missed something…a vital piece of evidence that might lead them to their mother.

“Glen should have let me process the scene initially,” he said, his anger evident in his voice.

“You know that wasn’t a good idea,” Savannah said. “And you know your team is good. If there had been anything there to find, they would have found it.”

“At least we have the rocks from Mom and Dad’s house and from Riley’s parents’ home,” he said. “Unfortunately, it’s not much in the form of a smoking gun. We don’t even know if the perpetrator of whatever has been going on with the missing women is from here, from Sycamore Ridge where the Frazier’s lived, or from Sequoia Falls where the first incident occurred. Dammit, we don’t have any idea at all what’s going on.”

Savannah laid a hand on his shoulder. “I know you’re hurting, Clay. We’re all hurting and we’re all doing the best we can to find her.”

Clay nodded, but he knew his pain was different from his sisters’ pain. They hadn’t fought with Rita the very last time they’d seen her alive.

They hadn’t said things that needed to be left unsaid, that now might never get the chance to be unsaid. Savannah and Breanna missed her, were frightened for her, but they didn’t live with the regrets that were slowly eating him alive.

“Have you had lunch?” she asked.

“Haven’t had time.”

“It’s going to be dinnertime soon, why don’t you give yourself a break and go get something to eat. Your brain doesn’t function as well when your stomach is empty.”

Clay stood from his desk, knowing she was right. His stomach had been growling for the past hour and the gnarl had become more and more difficult to ignore as time had passed.

He put away the reports he’d been reading from the quarries that had provided client lists, then left the small building that was an appendage to the back of the police station.

It had been six years ago, when Clay’s father, Thomas, had been chief of police that Thomas had decided the small town needed its own crime-scene investigators and crime lab.

Thomas had been not only a great chief of police, but also a fine politician, who’d convinced the town of the need and had actively gone after private donations to get what he wanted.

One of the biggest donations had come from Jacob Kincaid, owner of American Bank, the only bank in Cherokee Corners, and a good friend of Clay’s parents.

In fact, Jacob was like an uncle to Clay and as he stepped onto the hot concrete of the sidewalk, he realized it had been too long since he and Jacob had talked.

Clay walked toward the café in the Center Square. It was a favorite eating establishment in town. Huge portions, reasonable prices and run by a woman named Ruby who claimed to be a descendent of the woman who’d run the first, most successful brothel in the state.

Lots of the cops ate there, but Clay definitely wasn’t in the mood for company. The brief conversation with Savannah had stirred his guilt and the hundreds of regrets he’d lived with since the night of his mother’s disappearance.

He just wanted to eat, then get back to the lab where work was piled up awaiting his attention. He already knew it was going to take hours to go over those lists from the quarries to find out who had ordered loads of that particular decorative rock.

The sun was hot on his shoulders, and the air smelled of city heat—smoked tires, hot oil and a faint overlay of spoiling garbage.

Clay hated summer, when tempers flared more quickly and crime rose drastically. He hated the dry hot wind that scorched the earth, then blew the ashes of dust everywhere.

He’d never felt a real connection to Cherokee Corners, except for that of his family. Even with them he felt a distance.

They were all into their own lives, with families and loved ones and they all worked at the Cherokee Cultural Center in their spare time, a place Clay hadn’t been to since he was thirteen.

It had been that fact that he and his mother had fought about the day before she’d disappeared. At the end of the summer, the cultural center always held a huge celebration where the entire town was invited. Rita had told him she wanted him to be a part of the ceremonies, that it was past time he took his place as a member of the Cherokee nation.

He had responded angrily with words that now he wished desperately he could take back.

By the time he reached the café his mood had turned darker than usual. It was just after four and he knew there wouldn’t be much of a crowd in the café. It was too late for the lunch bunch and too early for the dinner crowd.

That was fine with him. All he wanted was a booth to himself, a good hot meal and a moment of peace to enjoy it.

“Ah, if it isn’t my favorite CSI hunk,” Ruby greeted him as he walked through the door. Ruby Majors was a big woman with a bleached blond bouffant that spoke of a different era.

“Hey, Ruby. What’s good today?” he asked as he stopped by the register where she was seated.

“Randy’s having a creative day. I’d stay away from the chicken surprise and the meat loaf medley. Anything else on the menu is great.”

“Thanks for the heads-up. I’m just going to grab a booth in the back.”

“Your cousin Alyssa is back there with that painter woman,” Ruby said.

Tamara Greystone. He hesitated, unsure whether to go forward or just take a seat at the counter where he knew he would eat in solitude.

The decision was taken out of his hand. Alyssa spied him and stood up and waved. He loved his cousin, who he believed was the only person in town who had a soul more tortured than his own.

Even though he wasn’t in the mood to socialize, he drew a deep breath and ambled toward the booth where Alyssa and Tamara were having lunch.

“Clay.” Alyssa rose and gave him a hug. “Please, join us.” She sat back down and scooted over to give him room next to her.

“I was just going to grab something quick, then get back to work.” He turned his attention to Tamara. “Hello, Tamara. Have you spoken with Officer Rogers today?” He slid into the booth next to Alyssa.

“No, should I have?”

She looked as pretty today as she had the night before. Today she was clad in a sleeveless yellow dress that set off the bronze tones of her skin and made her hair look like a black curtain of silk.

He’d had trouble sleeping last night because he couldn’t get her out of his mind. He didn’t like it and he didn’t have time for it. “This morning I tested the blood from those claw marks that were in your classroom. Ed…I mean, Officer Rogers was supposed to get in touch with you and let you know it wasn’t human blood. It was animal blood, probably deer.”

“Well, that’s a relief, I guess. I mean, I’m grateful it wasn’t human, but I would have much preferred it to be ketchup.”

“I haven’t had a chance to check on the fur I found. Hopefully I can get to it in the next day or two,” he said. He’d thought her eyes had looked pretty last night, but today they appeared even more gray, a startling but attractive foil to her dark hair and cinnamon skin. He started to stand. “And now I’ll just let you two ladies finish your lunches.”

Alyssa caught his arm and kept him from rising. “Don’t run off. You might as well sit here and eat your meal with us instead of sitting all alone.”

He could smell Tamara’s perfume wafting in the air, the same subtle mysterious scent he’d found disturbing the night before. He didn’t want to sit with them, but before he could think up any kind of an excuse, the waitress arrived to take his order.

“How’s the case going?” Alyssa asked once the waitress had left the table.

“Which one? I’m working the serial case and, of course Mom’s case and the usual other cases that come in. And now, the vandalism evidence from Tamara’s classroom,” he replied.

“I hope you aren’t taking away time from the other two cases to worry about mine,” Tamara said.

He didn’t want to look at her because he liked looking at her. He couldn’t remember ever being so aware of a woman as he was her. “I try to work every case as if it’s top priority,” he replied and gazed at a picture on the wall just over the top of her head.

“Anything new on your mom?” Alyssa asked.

He turned his focus on her. “Not really.” He had told nobody but the chief of police that he’d discovered the same type of decorative pebbles around where his father had been hit and around where Riley Frazier’s father had been killed. “I don’t suppose you’ve had any helpful thoughts,” he asked pointedly.

Alyssa smiled. “Tamara knows about my visions, and unfortunately no, I haven’t had any more about Aunt Rita other than the one I’ve told you about.”

“You mean the one where you see Mom in her own bedroom.”

Alyssa nodded and her smile no longer lifted the corners of her mouth. “That’s all I’m seeing of Aunt Rita, but I’m having a lot of other disturbing visions.”

“Want to talk about it?” Tamara asked gently.

Alyssa shook her head. “No.” She forced a smile to her face. “We’re here to enjoy lunch, and it isn’t every day that I get to have lunch with one of my cousins and one of my newest friends.”

Their meals arrived at the same time. Clay had ordered a burger and fries, Alyssa had ordered a tuna salad plate and Tamara had ordered a chef salad.

For most of the meal Clay remained silent, listening to the two women visit with each other. He’d grown up with two baby sisters, so having girl talk swirling around him was nothing new.

What was new was the fact that he found Tamara Greystone and everything that fell out of her mouth fascinating.

He knew as a teacher she would be smart, but he hadn’t thought about her having a sense of humor. More than once she brought a smile to his face with something witty she said.

Brains, beauty and humor, she was a total package. A total package of trouble, he reminded himself. She was obviously a Native American woman in tune with the spiritual ties to her heritage.

He was a Native American man who wanted nothing to do with his heritage. Besides, he didn’t have time for any relationship, had always found relationships difficult in the past.

He’d come to the realization a long time ago that he was a man who would in all probability spend his life alone. And he’d made peace with that probability.

He finished eating first. Explaining that he needed to get right back to work, he left the two of them seated at the table. He paid the tab for the three meals, then was almost out the door when he heard Alyssa calling his name.

He turned to see her hurrying toward him, her brow furrowed with worry. “Can I talk to you alone for just a minute?” she asked.

“Sure.” He pulled her over by a coatrack where they would be out of the way of incoming and outgoing diners. “What’s up?”

“I didn’t want to say anything in front of Tamara, but last night I had an awful vision concerning her.”

Clay was ambivalent in his feelings concerning Alyssa’s visions. On the one hand, he knew of more than one instance when her visions had helped solve a crime by finding a missing person and saving a life or two. On the other hand, he also knew she sometimes had visions that never came true, never connected to anything and eventually went away.

“What was it about?” he asked.

“Tamara.” Alyssa’s eyes were troubled. “I saw her being chased by a monster and when the monster finally caught her, he…he ripped her heart out.”

Clay put a hand on Alyssa’s shoulder. “Alyssa, did you hear about the vandalism in Tamara’s classroom before you had the vision?”

She nodded. “Ed Rogers came into the Redbud and had a cup of coffee last night. He told me all about it.”

“Including the claw marks and the blood?” Again she nodded and he squeezed her shoulder gently. “Then, isn’t it possible hearing about that provoked that particular vision?”

“I suppose,” Alyssa admitted after a moment of hesitation. “I just wanted to tell you. I was worried.”

“Try not to worry, Alyssa. The vandalism in Tamara’s classroom might not have even been directed at her specifically. Hers was one of the few unlocked classrooms in the school. It was probably simply a matter of convenience for the perps that her classroom got hit.”

“You think?”

He offered her a tight smile. “Go back and finish enjoying your lunch. No monster is going to get to Tamara. I’ve got to get back to work.”

“Thanks, Clay,” Alyssa said.

He watched as she hurried back to the booth, then turned on his heel and headed out of the café, intent on putting Tamara Greystone out of his head.

“Your cousin is quite a handsome man,” Tamara said when Alyssa returned to the table.

“Yeah, he is.”

“How old is he?”

“Thirty-five,” Alyssa said. She gazed at Tamara with narrowed eyes. “Don’t even think about it.”

“What?” Tamara looked at her innocently.

“Tamara, I know both of us are in the same place when it comes to wanting to connect with some man who will mean something in our lives. But trust me, Clay is not the man for you.”

Tamara laughed. “I just asked a simple question,” she protested.

“Well, I’m just warning you, simple question or not, Clay is the worst bet for a relationship in the entire United States. He’s moody and downright surly at times. He’s a loner who is married to his work.”

“Stop! Stop!” Tamara held up her hands and laughed once again. “All I asked was his age.”

“You also said he was handsome.”

“Well, I’d have to be dead not to notice that,” she replied. “Trust me, Alyssa, I’ve heard enough about Clay from his mother to know he’s not the man for me.”

What she didn’t tell her friend was that even knowing Clay wasn’t what she was looking for in a spirit mate, he intrigued her.

There was a dark intensity in his eyes that spoke of pain, a taut energy that whispered of a restless soul, and coupled with his passion for his work, she couldn’t help but find him interesting.

He’d be fascinating to paint with his chiseled, strong, slightly arrogant features, although she usually didn’t paint portraits.

“Hello?”

Alyssa’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I said what are your plans for the weekend?”

“Painting,” Tamara replied. “The art gallery in Oklahoma City is giving me a show in September and I want to have at least five more paintings done by then. I’d ask you what you’re going to do for the weekend, but I know your answer already. Work…work…work.”

“I like keeping busy,” Alyssa said defensively.

“You going to tell me about the visions that have been bothering you lately?”

“I just have a few minutes before I need to get back to the Redbud, I hate to end our visit with talking about them.”

Tamara reached across the table and took her friend’s hand in hers. “You can’t carry it alone, Alyssa. Don’t you realize that’s what friends are for, to share not only joys, but burdens as well.”

Alyssa squeezed her hand, then released it and leaned back in the booth. “I’ve had one vision that has become more and more frequent in the last two weeks and it’s driving me crazy because I don’t know where it’s coming from.”

Tamara smiled at her. “Might I remind you that you never know where they come from.”

Alyssa flashed a quick grin. “Okay, that might be true, but this one feels different…more vivid…more intense…more powerful.” She leaned forward once again, her gaze troubled. “I see a man, one of the most handsome men I’ve ever seen…dark hair, eyes like blue ice and a smile that could melt a glacier on a winter day.”

“Have you ever seen him before? I mean, outside of your visions?”

Alyssa shook her head. “Trust me, if I’d seen him outside a vision, I’d remember him. Anyway, in the vision, he’s making love to me and then he’s being stabbed and he’s dying in my arms.” She shuddered and took a sip of her iced tea. “Anyway, this is one of the worst I’ve had in a long time and it always bothers me when they’re recurring.”

“But you’ve had recurring visions that never came to anything before, right?” Tamara asked.

“Right,” Alyssa said after a moment of hesitation. “Enough about this. Walk me home and I’ll give you a double-dip cone on the house. I got in some of that caramel toffee ice cream that you love.”

“You’ve got a deal.” Together the two women got up from the booth.

It was almost an hour later when Tamara got into her car and headed home. Her heart was warmed by the time she had spent with Alyssa. She’d love to have a special man in her life, but special friends were important, too.

As she drove down Main Street at a leisurely pace, her senses took in the sights and sounds that were so familiar to her.

When she’d been growing up her family had lived twenty miles outside of Cherokee Corners. Every Saturday her parents and she would get into the car and drive to town for grocery shopping, art supplies and whatever else the family might need.

She’d loved coming into town. Even though through the week she rode a bus to and from the Cherokee Corners schools, those Saturday trips of leisure time in Cherokee Corners had been magical.

It had only been since her return to Cherokee Corners from New York that she’d begun some volunteer work at the Cherokee Cultural Center. There she had met Alyssa and her Aunt Rita, Clay’s mother.

Clay. There was absolutely no reason for him to be in her thoughts as much as he had been throughout the day. She had no explanation for it.

Since she’d returned from New York she had immersed herself in Cherokee ways and traditions, reclaiming the soul she’d nearly lost to Max and New York.

Eventually when she chose the man she would marry, he’d be a warrior, proud of his heritage, strong in tradition and with the Cherokee loving heart.

Everything she had heard about Clay James indicated he was not the warrior her heart sought. She resolutely shoved thoughts of him out of her mind and focused on the fact that she had two lovely weekend days ahead of her to indulge in her first love…painting.

Thanks to Max, she no longer had to beg art galleries to showcase her work, rather she had galleries requesting showings.

She tucked away every penny she made, knowing that Native American paintings were hot now, but there may come a day when she wouldn’t be able to give her work away.

Her parents had encouraged her talent and creativity from a very early age, but they had also instilled a level of practicality, which is why she had gotten her teaching degree despite the fact that painting was her first love.

She pulled down the dirt lane that would take her to her cottage, a sense of homecoming filling her up inside. The moment she’d seen the place, she’d thought of it as her own little enchanted cottage in the woods.

She’d known instinctively that it was a place where her creativity would thrive. The woods held a primal serenity that seemed to wrap her in its arms.

As she approached the cottage, she frowned. There was something on her porch…something that didn’t belong there. She shut off her engine and sat for a long moment, trying to identify the dark bulk that was right in front of her front door.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t moving. She got out of the car, feeling a bit unsteady on her feet as she approached the porch.

A deer. A doe, actually. Lifeless, with soft brown eyes staring toward the heavens, it looked pitifully small.

Tamara sent up a prayer for the soul of the doe, at the same time wondering how it had gotten on her front porch. Had it been hit by a car and somehow stumbled here, broken and bleeding?

She bent down to get a better look, to try to discern what injuries the poor thing had sustained. Her blood chilled as she saw the claw marks that marred the tan hide of the doe’s side. The claw marks looked like the ones that had marked her classroom walls. What was going on?

Fear walked up her backbone with icy fingers as she looked around. The surrounding woods was beginning to take on the shadows of twilight, creating dark pockets of shadows that she recognized would make perfect hiding places.

With trembling fingers, she unlocked her front door and stepped over the dead deer. She stood in the threshold of her home, listening for a sound that didn’t belong, smelling the air for an alien scent, needing to be sure the sanctity of her home hadn’t been breached before she entered farther.

She heard nothing, smelled nothing, but was spooked beyond belief. She hurried across the living room, grabbed her cordless phone and punched in 911.