Читать книгу Ranger's Justice - Lara Lacombe - Страница 14

Chapter 2

It wasn’t a bad room, as far as hotels went. The bed was small and lumpy, the air conditioner louder than a jet engine. But the air was cool and there was a desk in the corner where she could spread out her files. She’d slept in worse places before.

Rebecca sat in the lone chair in the room, twirling up forkfuls of lo mein as she worked through her emails. Her boss, Franklin Jessup, had told her to stay in Alpine for the next week at least to provide assistance to the local police in their investigation. Normally, two dead women in two weeks wasn’t the kind of thing that would register at the national level, but since she’d already been in El Paso for a forensic psychology conference, the request from Alpine PD had been easy to accommodate.

This one sounds right up your alley, Frank had written. He was right; Rebecca had made somewhat of a name for herself focusing on crimes against women. It was one area where she felt she could really make a tangible difference in people’s lives. Women were so often the target of violence—any time she helped put a killer behind bars, she knew she was saving lives of his future victims.

She had to admit she was intrigued by these cases—two red-haired women found in a national park in the space of two weeks. It was a hell of a pace, even for a serial killer. The local police had already dubbed the suspect “the Yoga Killer,” thanks to the characteristic arrangement of the bodies: hands over hearts, legs bent with the soles of their feet touching. She pulled up the crime-scene photos for another look, noting how each woman had been placed in exactly the same pose, even down to the sprawl of hair across their faces.

“So he doesn’t want to look at you,” she murmured, clicking through the images. That was interesting. It seemed the killer had no problem taking a life, but he didn’t want to be confronted by the empty, accusing stares of his victims. Postmortem guilt, perhaps? Maybe he got caught up in the moment when he was hurting these women, only to be filled with remorse after the fact. The possibility suggested he had poor impulse control, but the situation was more complicated than that. Both scenes had been devoid of any obvious evidence, and the crime-scene techs had reported it looked like the killer had taken pains to sweep away his footprints. Initial analysis of the bodies had revealed no fingerprints or DNA, which meant whoever was doing this was careful and methodical. Still, Rebecca knew there was no such thing as the perfect murder. They’d find the clue that would bring this killer to justice, no matter how improbable it seemed now.

She just hoped they caught a break sooner rather than later.

A quick search of the FBI’s national database revealed no other similar cases, either in active investigation or resolved. That meant the killer was just starting out, or his previous victims hadn’t been discovered yet. It was possible the man had been working quietly for years, perfecting his approach. The fact that he hadn’t left behind any visible clues suggested a seasoned professional, but it was also possible he was just a smart guy who had watched a lot of CSI. A search of the database for missing persons turned up a disturbing number of young women with red hair, but there didn’t appear to be any clusters that might indicate the Yoga Killer had been practicing elsewhere before moving to the Big Bend area. Still, she downloaded the report and emailed it to one of the interns at the Bureau with instructions to search through the files and categorize any cases that might be connected. Serial killers didn’t just sprout from the ether; this guy had a history. All she had to do was find it.

She picked at her dinner, the noodles now cold and congealing into an unappetizing glob. Her thoughts drifted toward the park ranger she’d interrogated today. Quinn Gallagher. The man had been forthright and seemingly honest in his responses to her questions, and her instincts told her he wasn’t a killer. But she couldn’t shake the feeling he’d held something back during their conversation, as if there were things he’d wanted to say but hadn’t. His subtle reticence didn’t make him a bad guy, but it did make her want to know more. She couldn’t quite put her finger on why, but she knew in her bones that Quinn was the key to this investigation. The question was, did he know that as well? Was he truly innocent as he claimed, or was he keeping information from her out of a sense of fear or guilt?

Only one way to find out.

“You and me, buddy,” she muttered. Quinn might not know it now, but he’d just acquired a new sidekick. Rebecca was going to stick to him like glue during the course of this investigation, and sooner or later, she’d find out what he was hiding.

Bulldog Becca, on the case. Brandon’s voice drifted through her mind, making her smile even as she felt the old familiar pang in her heart. She and Brandon had both worked for the Behavioral Analysis Unit, and over time their relationship had blossomed from being coworkers to friends to lovers. The day he’d proposed had been one of the happiest of her life, and she’d poured her free time into planning their wedding and honeymoon, daydreaming about their life together and the future they would build.

For a short time, her life had been perfect. She had a job she loved, a man she was crazy about and a future of endless possibilities to enjoy. But it all came crashing down one spring afternoon two years ago.

Brandon had been working in a Virginia prison, and he was interviewing a man on death row who had been convicted of the murders of several children. A few cold cases matched his pattern, but he had never confessed. Brandon was trying to coax more information out of the prisoner in the hopes of bringing closure to the families of the missing kids. It was draining, thankless work, but Brandon was good at his job and seemed to have a knack for getting people to talk to him.

They were about halfway through the interview when a riot broke out in one of the common areas of the prison. The complex was locked down, and the guard who normally stayed in the room during interviews moved to the door, turning his back on Brandon and the convict.

The killer saw his chance and took it. In a matter of seconds, he’d overpowered the guard and grabbed the baton. Then he turned on Brandon, who had been helpless to defend himself against the brutal beating.

Rebecca’s throat tightened as the facts of the murder ran through her head. She hadn’t been able to look at the photos from the scene, and Brandon’s body had been cremated, so she hadn’t had to see the evidence of his violent death. But that didn’t stop her imagination from trying to fill in the details.

Losing Brandon had shattered her heart, and she’d nearly quit her job. Coming to work every day, passing by his office on the way to her own—it had been too much for her battered psyche to bear. Frank had seen how close to the brink she was, and insisted she take a break.

“We’re not going anywhere,” he’d said. “But you need time to heal.”

Rebecca had initially resisted. Rattling around alone in the apartment she and Brandon had shared did nothing to help her grief. So she’d packed a bag and headed to Austin to visit her parents. They’d welcomed her with open arms and instructions to stay as long as she wanted.

The first few days, Rebecca did little more than sleep. In her dreams, Brandon was still alive, still with her. The horror of his death couldn’t find her while she slept, and unconsciousness became her refuge. Her rational, clinical mind recognized she was sinking deeper into depression, but she felt powerless to stop the descent. The disease sank its teeth into her soul, gripping her tightly in a destructive embrace as it pulled her farther away from her family, her friends. Her life.

If not for the actions of her mother, Rebecca didn’t know if she would be where she was today. Cherice recognized what was happening to her daughter and pushed her to see a therapist. Rebecca initially refused, but her mom kept insisting, applying a potent combination of begging, cajoling and tough love until Rebecca agreed to an initial session.

“This isn’t something you can simply will away,” Dr. Varton said during their first visit. “And with your education and experience, you know that better than anyone.”

Slowly, Rebecca began to confide in the man. She told him about Brandon, about her overwhelming grief. And how the depression was making her question her capabilities as a psychologist. If she couldn’t trust her own mind, was she really qualified to work for the FBI?

It had taken time, but with the help of Dr. Varton and medication, she’d grown to accept that the depression was not her fault and it didn’t invalidate her professional abilities or make her less of a person. Four months after Brandon’s death, she returned to the FBI, ready to get back to work. She had a few rough days in the beginning, but as the months had passed, she found she was able to think about Brandon without feeling like she was standing at the edge of a fathomless black hole, playing chicken with the monster that lived in the depths.

Now, a year and a half later, the memory of his voice brought more comfort than sorrow. There would always be a part of her heart that wouldn’t heal, a raw spot where Brandon had lived. But she was getting better about walling it off, protecting it from the slings and arrows of daily life. Still, it was times like now when she wished she could talk to him again, to pick his brain and discuss the case with him. He’d been the perfect sounding board, always helping her to see the pattern or challenging her to look at things from a different angle.

With a sigh, she closed the laptop and tossed the remains of her dinner in the trash. It was getting late and she needed to sleep—she’d already called Quinn’s superiors and confirmed he was expected at work at seven thirty in the morning. She wasn’t quite sure what a park ranger’s job entailed, but tomorrow she was going to find out.

* * *

Quinn arrived at park headquarters the next morning, feeling far older than his thirty years. He hadn’t slept well the night before. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the two women he’d found in the park, and the memories haunted him. Finding the first had been bad enough. When he’d found the second a week later, he’d needed time off to cope. His boss had insisted he talk to a counselor, but it hadn’t helped much. The shrink had suggested some meditation techniques and visualization exercises, but it seemed no matter what Quinn tried to think about, his brain always circled back to the women and, eventually, Ashley.

The distraction of work was his only refuge, but even that had its limits. He was desperate to get outside, to move his body and let his mind take a break. But he was also more than a little afraid of what he might find while patrolling the park.

On the advice of the Alpine Police Department, the rangers had posted notices throughout the area, advising hikers and campers of the recent deaths. The signs were carefully worded so as not to cause panic, but anyone who paid attention to the news would know about the gruesome discoveries in the park. The press hadn’t affected tourism...yet. New campers arrived every day, their packs bulging and their spirits high. Quinn could only hope that the killer had moved on; he didn’t think he could handle finding another body.

“Quinn.” He turned at the sound of his name to find his boss, Gary Thompson, standing in the doorway to his small office. Gary beckoned Quinn over and gestured for him to take a seat across from his desk.

“How you holding up?” The older man’s gray eyes were filled with genuine concern, and Quinn felt something in his belly loosen. He propped his hat on his knee and shrugged.

“I’ve been better.” Should he tell Gary about his dreams and his trouble sleeping? Or would that make it sound like he couldn’t handle his job? The thought of time off with nothing but his thoughts for company frightened him, so he kept his mouth shut.

“I imagine you have.” Gary shook his head. “Hell of a thing, these murders. I’ve never seen anything like it in my fifteen years with the National Park Service.”

Quinn was silent, mulling over his response. He really didn’t want to talk about the details of what he’d seen, but Gary wasn’t the type to gossip. “I hope they catch whoever did this soon,” he said.

Gary nodded. “You and me both. I got a call last night from some lady with the FBI. Rebecca something. She wanted to know when you’d be at work today.”

Nerves jangled in Quinn’s stomach. The police had released him last night after he’d spoken with her. Had they changed their minds? Was she coming to arrest him?

Please, not here, he thought desperately. If he was arrested inside the ranger station, in full view of his colleagues and any park visitors, his career would be over.

“If you need to take time off to help with the investigation, you’ve got it.”

It took Quinn a moment to register what Gary was saying. “I’m sorry?”

“The FBI lady made it sound like you were helping her with the investigation. If you need to take some leave, it’s fine with me.”

Quinn nodded slowly, his thoughts racing. What was Gary talking about? Rebecca had given no indication she wanted his help when they’d spoken yesterday. Was this some kind of trick, or was he simply overreacting? “I appreciate that,” he said. “I’ll talk to her and find out if it’ll be necessary.”

“We all want to catch this killer,” Gary said, rising to his feet. Recognizing the conversation was over, Quinn stood as well. “As I told the police and this FBI agent, we’ll do whatever it takes to help their investigation. You’re one of my best rangers, but we can spare you for that.”

“Thank you, sir.” The praise was unexpected, and Quinn felt both pleased and humbled at the man’s words. It was nice to know his work was appreciated, especially now when he was feeling so uncertain about things.

Quinn headed over to his desk and placed his hat next to his computer keyboard, then walked over to the coffeepot and poured himself a cup of the strong brew. He glanced at the large white board posted on the far wall as he returned to his seat. The board displayed a detailed map of the park, along with today’s weather forecast, river conditions, campsite closings and any areas of concern or issues to note. Nothing unusual jumped out—the burn ban prohibiting campfires was in effect, and the trails where he’d made his discoveries were still closed to allow the police to finish gathering evidence. Other than that, it looked like they were in for another warm day.

The bell above the door jingled, indicating a new visitor. Quinn’s desk was behind a partition, so he couldn’t see who had walked in. But he heard her voice float through the room as she returned a greeting from the front-desk attendant.

“Hello. I’m looking for Quinn Gallagher.”

“Let me check if he’s in.” The young woman who manned the desk poked her head around the corner, one eyebrow raised in query as she made eye contact with Quinn. He nodded, and she moved back to her station.

“Yes, ma’am. He’ll be out in just a minute.”

“Thank you.”

Quinn took a moment to brace himself, drawing in a deep breath. She’s not going to make a scene, he told himself. He didn’t know what more she wanted to talk about, but whatever the subject, he’d get her out of the station so they could have a bit of privacy. His coworkers were good people, but everyone was curious about the case of the two dead women. He’d rather not discuss things in front of an audience, however well-meaning they might be.

Grabbing his coffee, Quinn walked around the partition to the larger visitor’s lobby. He spied her right away, and not just because the place was otherwise empty. She was quite a sight with her long red hair pulled back into a glossy ponytail that seemed to spark in the morning sun. A pair of jeans accentuated the curve of her hips, and she wore a thin long-sleeved shirt over a tank top. The casual look threw him for a moment; the last time he’d seen her, she’d been a buttoned-up professional woman in a suit. Today she looked softer, more approachable. The kind of woman he might ask out for dinner, if he was so inclined.

He shook his head, dismissing the thought. He’d dated some in the aftermath of Ashley’s death, but nothing serious. And he certainly wasn’t about to try to go out with a woman who suspected him of murder.

He cleared his throat. “Morning,” he said.

Rebecca turned to face him. “Hi,” she said. She gestured to the informational poster hanging on the wall. “I had no idea the park is so big—it says here it’s bigger than Yosemite.”

Quinn nodded. “Yeah. A lot of people don’t realize how much diversity is here. We have more bird species than any other national park.”

A look of genuine surprise flashed across her face. “That’s impressive,” she said.

“I’m sure you aren’t here to talk about our wildlife.” He nodded at the partition and the desks beyond. “Want to come back?”

“Sounds good. Thanks.”

He led her to his desk and snagged a chair so she could sit. “Coffee?”

Rebecca shook her head. “No, thanks. I already had my boost for the morning.”

“How can I help you today?”

She glanced around before speaking, apparently wanting to make sure no one was listening. “I’d like you to take me to the sites where you discovered the bodies.” Her voice was low, and he appreciated her discretion. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who cared about keeping things as quiet as possible.

A knot formed in his gut, but he nodded. “I can do that.” He wasn’t looking forward to going back to those spots, but it made sense she’d want to see the areas. “You know all the evidence has been removed, right?”

“Yes. But I still want to see them. I need to see what the killer saw and be in the space where he moved. It might give me more insight into him if I can walk in his footsteps.”

She sounded matter-of-fact, but her words sent a chill down Quinn’s spine. The last thing he wanted was to seek out the residue of evil that lingered in the land, but if she thought it would help her catch whoever had murdered those two women, he’d suck it up.

“When would you like to go?” He sounded reluctant even to his own ears, but if Rebecca noticed his tone, she didn’t react to it.

“Today, if possible.”

Quinn’s eyebrows shot up and he ran his gaze over her attire again, this time evaluating her appearance for hiking. “Uh, do you have any hiking experience?”

She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “A little. Why? Is there a problem?”

He tilted his head to the side. “Not necessarily. But I found the first woman off an advanced trail. It’ll take us several hours to get there, and the terrain is pretty rugged. It’s not the kind of hike you take on a whim.”

“What about the second victim?”

“That trail is more accessible—it’s rated moderate in difficulty. We can probably do that today, but we need to do some prep work first.”

“I have a few water bottles in my car,” Rebecca offered.

Quinn smiled for what felt like the first time in weeks. “That’s a good start, but there’s a bit more to it. Were you planning on wearing that?” He gestured to her jeans and sneakers.

She looked down and frowned. “Is there something wrong with my clothes?”

“You’ll want to wear pants, but jeans are too heavy. A lighter fabric will breathe and won’t absorb so much of the sun’s rays. The tennis shoes aren’t ideal, but I don’t think you’ll want to try breaking in new boots for this.”

“Okay...”

“And we’ll need to get you a pack.”

“A pack?” she asked.

Quinn nodded. “For your water, some food, sunscreen, flashlight, emergency blanket and a first-aid kit.”

“I see.”

“And a hat,” he added. “You’ll probably want sunglasses, too.”

Rebecca’s expression was one of resignation. “This isn’t going to be as easy as I’d hoped.”

“I was a Boy Scout growing up,” Quinn explained. “And what kind of park ranger would I be if I didn’t insist on taking safety precautions before we set out?”

“Where can I get this stuff?” she asked on a sigh.

“I have a spare pack at home,” he said. “But we’ll need to head into town to get you the right pants.”

“Let’s go, then. I don’t want to lose any more time than necessary.”