Читать книгу Landry's Law - Kelsey Roberts - Страница 8

Snow crunched beneath his boots as Sheriff Seth Landry cautiously made his way down the steep bank to the crime scene. Flurries still swirled in the air as he greeted his deputy, J. D. Lindsey.

“Has the coroner been called?” J.D. nodded, then blew warm breath into his cupped hands. “As far as I know, no one has touched a thing.”

“Who called it in?” Seth asked. J.D. pointed toward the Mountainview Inn behind them. “One of the guests. Ken Updyke. He’s passing through on his way to Seattle. He was out jogging and came up on this.”

Seth regarded the scene. The snowstorm had pretty much obliterated the area around the body. He stepped forward and knelt to get a better look at the victim. Judging from the small entrance wound at the back of the guy’s head, Seth figured the weapon was a .22.

He also noted that the man’s clothing wasn’t right. He was wearing a suit beneath a camouflage down jacket but didn’t have any gloves on. He made a mental note of that inconsistency.

“Looks just like the last one,” J.D. remarked.

Seth’s gut knotted at the mere suggestion. Jasper, Montana was a small, out-of-the-way town where everyone knew everyone else. Tourists passed through to visit some of the quaint shops and historic markers in the area. To date, none of them had turned out to be serial killers. If he actually had a serial killer on his hands.

“Anyone know who he is?” Seth asked the half-dozen or so onlookers who had gathered. The victim was on his stomach, but his face was turned to one side.

“Isn’t that Harvey Whitlock?” one of them asked.

Seth adjusted his position and tilted his head to get a better look. “It appears so.”

“He’s only lived here a couple of months,” J.D. said. “I guess that’s long enough to make an enemy.”

Seth stood as the coroner arrived. He shook hands with Dr. Hall. “Sorry to get you out so early,” Seth offered as he watched the doctor shifting from one foot to the other in an apparent attempt to ward off the cold.

“I’m getting too old for this,” Hall grumbled. “Isn’t that Harvey Whitlock?”

Seth nodded. Dr. Hall handed J.D. a camera and instructed him on where and when to take photographs of the victim and the scene.

The idea that there might me some deranged killer running loose in his town still distracted Seth. He pulled out his notepad and started making some observations and listing possibilities.

By the time Dr. Hall was ready to have the officers turn the body over, the ambulance crew and at least a dozen more gawkers had arrived. Seth silently hoped his death would be more private. Not some public spectacle like poor Harvey’s.

J.D. took the feet, the ambulance guys the midsection, and Seth took the head. With practiced precision, they turned Harvey over so that he could be placed on a stretcher, then whisked away from the prying, curious eyes of the crowd.

“What’s that?” Seth asked, pointing to Harvey’s left palm.

They all moved in for a closer look. The frigid water from the creek had washed away the writing until it was very faint.

“Savannah, 9-1-2,” Seth read aloud.

“Looks like part of a phone number. Maybe an area code?” J.D. theorized, excitedly.

Seth was puzzled. If he recalled correctly, Harvey was from someplace in the east, which had 200, 300 and 400 area codes. He breathed a little easier. There had been no writing on the hand of the first victim. Maybe the two cases weren’t related.

“I don’t think that’s a phone number,” came a voice from the crowd.

Seth turned and looked in the direction of the voice. It was a man in his early thirties. He had the dress and manner of a yuppie tourist. Seth went over to the man.

“Why not?”

The yuppie shrugged. “I saw him last night in the bar.”

“And?” Seth prompted.

“He was staring at the clock.”

“When was this?” Seth asked.

“Maybe ten after nine or so.”

“And you’re sure it was him?”

The yuppie insisted that he was.

“How can you be so sure? You aren’t a local.”

“I remember him because of the babe who showed up to meet him. I mean, no offense to the dead or anything, but that guy isn’t exactly GQ material, and he managed to snag the prettiest woman in the place.”

“What did she look like?”

“Pretty brown hair, incredible green eyes, a body to die for—sorry, poor choice of words—I mean—”

“Did you happen to hear him call her by name?”

The yuppie nodded with enthusiasm. “That’s why I don’t think that writing on his hand is a phone number.”

“Because?” Seth prodded.

“Because he called the woman Savannah.”

Seth swallowed, hard. Savannah Wyatt.