Читать книгу The Amulet - Joanna Wayne - Страница 10

The cold sneaked into Carrie’s lungs as she and Rich tramped the near frozen ground. The mountains had a whole different feel at night. Eerie shapes coalesced in the mist, and crept across the rugged terrain at the far edges of their flashlight beams like translucent shadows.

The decline grew sharper, and she had to grab on to the trunks of spindly trees or to low-hanging branches to keep her balance as her boots crashed through the layers of leaves, twigs and exposed roots.

“I still can’t imagine why the man dragged Elora all the way out here to kill her,” Carrie said.

“Maybe he wasn’t planning on killing her. He may have been taking her somewhere, then panicked when he crossed paths with Bart.”

“Taking her where?”

“Maybe a mountain hideaway or an old cave. It might have been a kidnapping that turned deadly.”

Could have been, but she hadn’t uncovered any evidence to indicate that was the case. “The body was found over there,” she said, aiming the beam of her flashlight at the ravine just past a downed tree. There were still remnants of the yellow crime scene tape. The rest had been blown away.

Rich stepped over the trunk of the fallen tree, then shot a beam of light into the ravine.

Carrie stayed back. “You’re not crawling down in the ravine, are you?”

“No, I can see enough from here. Mainly I wanted to get a feel for what it was like out here in the dark. It helps me put myself in the killer’s shoes.”

“I don’t know about the killer, but I’m sure Elora must have been terrified.”

“Yet she apparently didn’t make enough fuss when they left the hotel that anyone noticed.”

“He probably had a gun to her head. She may have even been gagged.”

“Or she may have known him. I’m sure you checked for any sign of a lover’s triangle.”

“I checked. Not even a hint of one.”

“And the husband checked out.”

“I didn’t find any reason to suspect him. If anything he seemed very much in love with her. He’d even blown his Christmas bonus to bring her here for their tenth anniversary.”

Carrie was certain Rich would check all this out for himself, if he hadn’t already. He was just getting her take on the details, probably to find fault with it.

“But they’d argued just before she disappeared?”

“He wanted another drink and she wanted to go back to the room so she could call and check on the kids. She stormed off, and that was the last time she was seen alive.”

“But one of the shoes she was wearing was found by the back service entrance?”

“Right.”

“Have you got any leads on those markings the killer carved into her stomach?”

“No. One squiggly line intersected by a straight one, but not at right angles.”

“Yeah. I’ve seen the crime scene photos,” Rich said. “Still hard to figure. He had a gun, so why kill the woman by slitting her throat?”

“And then throw her into a ravine,” Carrie added.

“That made sense. Like the condom he used, the water would make it more difficult to collect DNA evidence.”

Carrie stamped her feet a few times to warm them. “It’s almost like the type of pattern you’d find from a serial killer.”

“Or someone who’d given this crime a lot of thought before he committed it. Be nice if someone had found either the gun or the knife.”

“Agreed. We have the bullet that hit the squad car. It was from a .38.”

Crazy, but she almost felt guilty talking to Rich about this case. Bart had been the only partner she’d ever worked with. He’d taken her on when she was so green she didn’t even know her way around a warrant. He was her mentor, her friend, her…

“Had to be a man who not only knew about evidence, but also knew his way around the mountains and around the hotel,” Rich said, breaking into her troubling thoughts. “A stranger to these parts would never have taken off through the woods on a pitch-dark night. Reminds me of some other murders that occurred near here a few years back.”

Damn. She didn’t know about any other murders. Not one person had mentioned them, not even Sheriff Powell.

“A serial killer?”

“No. A mass slaughter. Four female campers had their throats cut one summer night. Two were found in the tent, apparently killed while they slept. The other two were killed in the surrounding woods. It appeared they’d tried to run away, but the lunatic had chased them down.”

“How long ago did that happen?”

“Twenty years or so. I was in junior high. It made quite an impression on me at the time.”

“What happened to the killer?”

“He was never officially apprehended, but some transient who’d been sleeping at the camp grounds killed himself a few days later, and most thought he’d done it from guilt.”

“I’m surprised the sheriff hasn’t mentioned those murders in view of the present investigation.”

“Why? No reason to think there’s any connection between those and what we’re dealing with.” He rested one foot on the trunk of the downed tree and lifted his head as if studying the dark haze that surrounded them. “Ready to head back to the car and a little warmth?”

She nodded, but the campsite killings stayed on her mind during the hike back, making the woods feel more eerie than ever.

Rich didn’t talk at all until they reached the car. “See, that wasn’t so bad,” he said, opening his door and sliding behind the wheel.

“Not bad at all,” she lied. “I found the mountain air invigorating.”

And she missed Bart so much it hurt.

THREE DAYS LATER, Bart had still not run into the woman who’d mesmerized him in the ballroom. He had seen Rich McFarland several times, however—always at a distance.

It galled him that Rich had replaced him as Carrie’s partner. This should have been his case all the way. He wouldn’t interfere with what they were doing, but he wouldn’t let them interfere with what he had to do, either. And he’d keep an eye on Carrie the way he’d done since the day he’d taken her on as a partner.

She was smart, but she still had a lot to learn. Not the kind of things you could learn from books. She’d aced all of that in her classes at the university. The knowledge she lacked was the kind that came from experience.

Bart had gotten his experience the hard way, working his way up the L.A.P.D. He didn’t miss it anymore—at least not often. He breathed a lot better in the Cascades.

The sun was fighting its way through the early-morning haze when he took the service elevator to the first floor and slipped into the garden. It was too cold for blossoms, but the maze of perfectly manicured shrubbery still made for some interesting scenery.

Besides, if he went all the way to the far south corner, he could watch the arriving employees and the departing night staff. You could learn a lot by seeing who left in groups and who took off alone.

The garden was empty except for an older woman sitting on one of the stone benches. She looked to be at least in her seventies with paper-thin skin and deep wrinkles around her mouth and eyes. A full, dark skirt hung to her ankles revealing only a glimpse of her black leather boots. A woolen cloak shrouded her, covering her head, but he could see enough of her hair to tell it was gray.

She looked up when he approached. “Good morning, sir.”

“Good morning. What brings you out so early?” he asked, mostly making small talk, but somewhat curious as to why she was out and about before the sun had cleared the horizon.

“I like to watch the sunrise from the garden.”

“Do you come here often?”

“Too often.”

A strange answer, but he wasn’t about to pry into her business. “Enjoy your day,” he said, in way of goodbye. He’d already walked by her when she responded.

“He’ll kill again.”

Bart stopped and spun around, wondering if he’d heard her wrong. “What did you say?”

“He’ll kill again.”

“Who’ll kill again?”

“The man who abducted the woman and shot you.”

The statement threw him off. He’d been certain no one knew who he was or why he was here. “How do you know who I am?”

“I listen.”

That didn’t explain much, but his thoughts were rushing ahead. “Do you know who abducted the woman?”

“No. Why are you looking for him?”

“I just want to find him and make certain he goes to prison before he strikes again.”

“Is that your duty?”

“That’s the way I see it.”

She nodded and pulled her cloak tighter. “Maybe you should reconsider your priorities.”

She stood and walked to a nearby fountain. Slowly, she slipped off her gloves and stuffed them into her skirt pockets. She spread her open arms in front of the spray the way people held their hands in front of the fireplace to get them warm. After a few seconds, she pressed her damp fingers to her thin lips.

“He kills because of what was done to him.” Her voice was low and she was still facing the fountain, more as if she were muttering to herself than talking to him. He stepped toward her.

“You seem to have given the killer a lot of thought.”

“No, but the mist is full of whispers.”

Bart was beginning to doubt the woman was totally lucid, but she knew about him, so maybe she knew about other people as well. “I’ve been looking for a woman I saw the other night in the ballroom,” he said. “She was wearing a long, green satin dress and a magnificent diamond-and-emerald pendant.”

“Katrina.”

“Is that her name?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know her room number?”

“No, but if you watch for her, you’ll see her again.”

“What’s her last name?”

“Katrina is all I know.”

“Is she here with someone.”

“No. She is always alone.”

He heard voices on the path just beyond the garden. He checked his watch. Ten before six. The first of the day crew were arriving. The restaurant opened at seven, but room service ran all night, and the silver urn in the foyer was filled with hot coffee at exactly six-thirty every morning.

When he turned around again, the old woman was gone. But at least now he had a name for the mysterious woman. “Katrina.” He said the name out loud, liking the sound of it as it rolled off his tongue.

Katrina. Beautiful. Elusive. And much too enchanting to spend her nights all alone.

CARRIE PUSHED UP the sleeve of her uniform and glanced at her watch. Only eight-thirty, and Rich was already getting on her nerves. It was the third day into the partnership, and she was still desperately searching for a sign it might actually work.

“I’ve already questioned half these people,” she said, tossing the list of names he’d just handed her to the top of his desk. The same way she’d already questioned Elora Nicholas’s husband, but Rich had spent the past two days putting the poor guy through an intensive interrogation.

“So, we’ll talk to them again.”

Her hands flew to her hips in spite of her determination not to butt heads with him today. “So what’s the problem? Do you think I don’t know how to handle a few questions?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then what makes you think we need to redo everything I’ve done for the past month.”

“The case isn’t solved, and we’ve got a killer out there threatening to strike again.”

Like she needed him to point that out to her.

Rich picked up his coffee mug, an ugly green one with the logo of a Seattle pharmacy emblazoned across it in black. He took a long sip, then pushed back from his desk and grabbed his jacket. “You got a better idea for how to spend the day, Fransen, or do you just want to sit around here and jaw about it?”

“Jaw about it?”

“Okay.” He gave a mock bow. “Is it your wish, Deputy Fransen, that we remain at the office and discuss this matter further?”

“It’s my wish that we not waste time backtracking.”

“So, what do you have in mind?”

“I know the hotel owners won’t like it, but I think it’s time to start tracking down all the guests who were staying at the hotel that night.”

“According to your notes, you already ruled them out.”

“I did cursory background checks on all of them,” she said, “but I think we should interrogate some of them further.”

“For what purpose? The only red flags you reported were James Fox from Portland, a one-time shoplifting charge from twenty years ago, and Bailey Ledlow who did time for embezzlement.”

So he had at least read her notes. Which meant he knew she’d talked personally to both of those men and was reasonably sure they weren’t involved in the abduction. Ledlow was seventy years old and in poor health. He probably couldn’t have made the hike through the woods alone, much less dragging a woman. James Fox and his wife had argued that weekend and checked out of the hotel early. They’d been back in Portland by the time Elora Nicholas had been abducted. Besides, neither of their prior crimes made them suspects in a murder case.

Rich walked to the door. “You going with me, or not?”

“Partners usually discuss their day.”

“I thought that’s what we just did.”

He would. She started to point out that he was a jerk, then decided against it. Even if she argued and won her point, he was probably right. The killer was probably still here on the scene. Why else would they have received the note?

So they’d do this his way today. She’d just take advantage of this opportunity to sit back and watch McFarland in action, see if he had anything on her when it came to questioning the locals.

“Come on,” Rich said. “I’ll buy you breakfast.”

“At the hotel?”

“At ten dollars an egg? Dream on.”

She stopped at her office to grab her parka and to stick the copies of old police records from the campground slaughter into a manila folder. They were another dead end. The transient who’d killed himself was the likely killer and there had been no similar crimes in the area since then.

Rich was already running down the two flights of stairs to the ground floor by the time she reached the hallway. She took the elevator, hoping she’d beat him down. It was the principle of the thing. She didn’t. So much for principles.

CARRIE HAD BEEN to the area many times since signing on as deputy two years ago. She’d never been to or even seen the wind-and-weather mangled sign that said Maizie’s Café. In fact, she’d never known this road existed. From the highway, it looked more like a dirt trail leading to someone’s barn.

Turned out there were half a dozen or more houses and at least that many mobile homes tucked back in the trees along the dirt road that dead-ended at Maizie’s. The sign and the array of mud-encrusted pickup trucks parked in a square of gravel where the yard should have been were the only indication this wasn’t just another residence.

The house was a one-story, wood cottage that needed a paint job. A big gray cat was perched in a squeaking porch swing.

“How did you ever find this place?” Carrie asked, friendlier now that breakfast was beaconing.

“The third house on the left after you leave the highway is where my grandparents lived.”

“I didn’t notice. You’ll have to point it out as we leave.”

“Not much to see. Just an old house, about like this one.”

“Who lives there now?”

“No one.” He put the patrol car in Park, then climbed from behind the wheel. She followed, enticed by mouthwatering odors wafting on the slight breeze. He waited until she reached the porch before opening the restaurant door.

Once inside, she was hit with a new wave of the tantalizing odors she’d smelled from outside. She shrugged out of her parka and hung it over one of the hooks by the door while a chorus of gravelly voiced how-you-been’s greeted Rich.

Okay, so he did know his way around the area. She’d give him that one. She looked for an empty table. There wasn’t one, so she waited while Rich stopped at a couple of tables to jaw.

“You still looking for the guy who shot the cop and abducted that woman?” a man asked.

“Still looking,” Rich admitted.

“I knew there would be trouble when they rebuilt that fancy hotel,” another said. “Got strangers running these roads all hours of the day and night now.”

Rich gave a noncommittal nod. A young waitress passed carrying a plate of bacon, eggs and biscuits.

“There’re tables in the back room, Rich.”

“Thanks, Jen.”

“Obviously you’re a regular in here,” Carrie said as they found a table in the next room, one that was most likely the original dining room of the house. It was right off the kitchen and had a couple of windows that offered a great view of the mountains.

“Not so often.”

“You know the waitress by name.”

“I’ve known Jen since she was in diapers. That’s Maizie’s granddaughter. She and her mother live in the mobile home next door.”

A minute later, Jen stopped at their table with two glasses of water. “What can I get you?”

“I haven’t seen a menu,” Carrie said.

“No menus. We got all the usual. Pancakes, eggs, sausage, bacon, pork chops, biscuits, toast. Got some homemade blackberry jam, too.”

“I’ll take two eggs, over easy, some sausage and biscuits,” Rich said. “And coffee.”

“Same for me,” Carrie said, imagining her arteries hardening as she said it. But she hadn’t heard a lot of healthy choices among Jen’s offerings.

A smiling woman who looked to be in her mid-forties served the coffee. “’Bout time you got in to see me,” she said, smiling at Rich. “How’s your grandmother? Is she adjusting any better?”

“A little. She still misses being home. And she misses you. She said to tell you hello.”

“You tell her hello right back. I been thinking about trying to get down there to see here, but I don’t like driving in Seattle. Too much traffic. Gets me all rattled.”

“I’ll drive you down one day. She’d love to see you. Dad would, too.”

“How’s his heart?”

“Still beating.”

“You tell him that darn dog of his still won’t sleep here. He comes down to eat, but then he goes right back up there. Sleeps on the front porch most of the day, right in front of the front door. He’s waiting for ’em to come back home.”

Rich introduced Carrie to Maizie Henderson. Maizie merely nodded at her, then looked back at Rich. “I got to get back to the kitchen before Tom lets my sausages burn.”

“How is Tom?”

She shook her head, and the smile she’d been wearing caved into a frown. “He just ain’t the same anymore, Rich. It’s like his body’s here, but his mind’s still up there in the mountains somewhere. I just wish I knew what happened on that hunting trip.”

“He’s still never said?”

“No, but something happened up there. A man don’t just go hunting a normal man and come home a zombie unless he’s seen something.”

The statement captured Carrie’s attention, but she waited until Maizie had returned to the kitchen before questioning Rich.

“Is Tom Maizie’s husband?”

“Yeah.”

“What happened to him in the mountains?”

“Had a stroke, I expect, but you’d never get Maizie to buy anything that rational.”

“Why not?”

“Easier to blame the mountains than his health, I guess.”

Jen returned to the their table with the coffee and a couple of apple muffins on flowered saucers. “Just out of the oven,” she said, setting a muffin down in front of each of them. “I’ll bring some butter to go on them.”

Carrie took one bite of the muffin and forgot everything else. The texture was light and fluffy and there was just enough nutmeg and cinnamon to make her taste buds sing.

Before they finished the muffins, Jen had returned with their breakfasts and more coffee. Carrie was halfway through her eggs and sausage and her stomach was sliding past full when her mind when back to Maizie’s suspicions about what had happened to her husband.

She waited until Rich was finished and excused himself to go to the men’s room before she walked back to the kitchen. Maizie was turning eggs on the grill. Jen was arranging biscuits on a plate. Tom was nowhere to be seen.

Maizie looked up when Carrie approached. “How was your breakfast?”

“Delicious. The muffins were to die for.”

Maizie smiled. “Everybody seems to like them. It’s the fresh apples.”

Carrie waited until Jen left with a tray of food. “It must be hard on you taking care of this place by yourself now that your husband’s ill.”

“Hard enough. He helps some, when his mind is clicking in.”

“It seems strange that he’d go off on a hunting trip and come back so…”

“Out of it. Just plain out of it,” Maizie said, finishing her sentence when Carrie hesitated.

“Does he know who you are?”

“He knows. It just don’t seem to matter none. It’s like he’s somewhere else in his mind.”

It did sound as if he might have had a stroke, or Alzheimer’s. “What do the doctors say?”

“They say he’s had some minor strokes and that his heart’s wearing out. They use a lot of big words and keep wanting to try a lot of drugs, but they don’t know the mountains the way I do.”

Maizie’s voice dropped a decibel or two and her hand shook as she lifted an egg from the grill and slid it onto a waiting plate.

“What do you know about the mountains that frightens you so?” Carrie asked.

“You don’t want to know.”

The eeriness of the conversation was making the hairs on the back of Carrie’s neck raise, but she did want to know. Not that she was superstitious or actually believed the mountains were inhabited by ghosts, but she needed to understand these people the way Rich did. It was important to the investigation. “What could happen to a man in the mountains?”

“Not just to a man. It can happen to anybody. Ask Selma Billings. She can tell you, ’cept she don’t like to talk about it.”

“Doesn’t like to talk about what?”

Finally Maizie looked up from the eggs and met Carrie’s gaze. Her wrinkled flesh had grown pale, and her eyes had taken on a guarded look, as if there were secrets behind them that she couldn’t let escape. “Just don’t get trapped up there when the mist is thick.”

The temperature of Carrie’s blood seemed to drop a degree or two.

“So this is where you got off to,” Rich said, joining them in the kitchen.

For once, Carrie was glad to see him. “I just wanted to offer my compliments to the chef.”

“It’s just breakfast,” Maizie said. “Anyone can cook an egg.” She cracked a couple more onto the hot grill.

It was clear the discussion of the mist was over. Just as well. The whole idea of a man going hunting in the mountains and coming back a zombie was freaky. Really freaky.

But like Rich said, there was probably a medical explanation for Tom’s condition, and it would have nothing to do with the mist.

They said goodbye and left the back way. Carrie slid into the front seat of the car, but her mind was stuck on the conversation with Maizie. She reached to the backseat and picked up the list of names Rich had shown her earlier. Selma Billings was near the bottom.

“I say we start the day’s questioning with Selma Billings,” she said.

Rich scowled. “Exactly what did Maizie tell you when the two of you were alone in the kitchen?”

“That I shouldn’t get trapped in the mist. What happened to Selma Billings that she won’t talk about?”

“Don’t know. She doesn’t talk about it.”

“Don’t brush me off, Rich. I don’t believe in ghost tales any more than you do, but I need to know what we’re up against with the locals.”

“It’s an old Indian legend.” He pulled into the driveway of a gray clapboard house with a black mixed breed cur curled up on the front porch. The dog perked up, then uncurled and came loping toward them.

Rich jumped out of the car and greeted the dog like they were old pals, scratching him behind the ears while the dog’s tail wagged like mad. The dog ate it up. Surprise. Who’d have thought dogs would like him?

“Yeah. Good to see you, too, Jackson,” Rich said, still walking toward the house.

She got out of the car and followed Rich and the dog up the narrow walkway. Obviously they were at his grandparents’ house. She wasn’t sure why they’d stopped, but before they left she planned to hear the details of the Indian legend and find out why Maizie was convinced the mountains had supernatural powers.