Читать книгу Undercover Hunter - Rachel Lee - Страница 12
ОглавлениеCade woke early in the morning, despite having sat up until just after two combing over every bit in the file with DeeJay. It was a sadly thin file, one they needed to pad out. But you could never be sure when some little item might open a door in your thinking.
He sat in the kitchen while coffee brewed, facts and details running around in his head like skittering mice. Not much in the way of pattern yet, not enough for predicting much.
Sighing, he rubbed his eyes. DeeJay, he reluctantly admitted, was turning out to be an okay partner. While she was absorbed in the job, she pulled in those bristles and became tolerable. Clearly a good detective, and he thanked God that she could put personalities aside for the sake of work. He didn’t care what kind of hell she gave him otherwise, as long as they got this case solved before someone else’s kid disappeared.
He understood what she meant about the sickening and sickened minds that became serial killers. He’d heard all the psychological theories about how they’d been abused kids, how many had suffered brain damage at some point. But any way he added it up, the world was full of people who’d been abused and brain damaged and they didn’t commit crimes like this.
The idea that someone out there was enjoying all of this nearly made him want to resign from the human race.
The coffee finished brewing and he rose to get a cup. Kelly Jackson had been right: the place was decently furnished. Ready to use. He wondered if Jackson would rent it to tourists once the resort opened. People who couldn’t afford the fancy hotel prices up on the mountain but might want to take a little house for a week as a base of operations.
He’d bought some sweet rolls when they stopped at the grocery for odds and ends, and as his stomach growled he brought out the package. Coffee and a cinnamon bun. It didn’t get much better.
But then DeeJay showed up, rumpled in yesterday’s clothes. Apparently the coffee had beat out an urge for a shower and clean togs.
“May I?” she asked.
“Help yourself. Coffee’s community property. Rolls, too.”
A faint smile curved one corner of her mouth. So it was possible. She didn’t look pinched and disapproving, but maybe that was because she had just wakened. Give her time to ramp up, he thought, mildly amused.
She didn’t say anything until she’d packed away a full mug of coffee and half a roll. Then she pushed her mussed hair back from her face and put her chin in her hands. Unlike most women, she didn’t say the usual I must look a fright. Apparently, she didn’t care.
“We didn’t get a whole lot out of that file last night,” she remarked.
“Unfortunately. Nothing of real predictive value, unless I missed something.”
“Well, he seemed to accelerate just a little before it all stopped the first time, but these latest disappearances... He’s spacing it. Unusual.” Then she sighed again. “Three isn’t a large enough sample set. There’s some evidence of acceleration, but it’s hard to be sure. If he’s got that much self-control, we might have some time.”
Most of these killers began to lose control of their impulses and act with increasing rapidity. So far this guy hadn’t, not in any meaningful way.
“So in theory,” she said, “we’ve got three weeks, a month, before his next move and next to nothing to go on. But we can’t afford to count on that.”
“I know. He could snatch and grab again this week if a victim appeals to him.” And that was the devil of it. You could count on most serial killers to stick with a victim type, to stick to their ritual, whatever it was, but there was no sliding scale to accurately predict when they’d act again. Never.
DeeJay spoke again after a brief silence. “Imagine him hanging his trophies in that cargo netting in the woods. Like advertising. He had to have known they’d eventually be found.”
“Maybe.” He reached for another roll, then went to get the coffeepot and refilled both their mugs. “I need to know more about how many people go up into those mountains. Hikers and the like. Sooner or later someone would find it, obviously, but after a few years, how much would be left?”
“The netting would rot,” she agreed. “It wasn’t nylon or plastic. If the bodies hadn’t been wrapped in plastic, they wouldn’t have found much as it was. Do you suppose he’d try that again in the winter?”
Cade thought about it. “He did it once before. Or maybe he kept some of his victims in cold storage until the weather got better.”
“He could be doing that now.” She shook her head. “He likes risks, but he’s not stupid. My guess is he won’t be hanging them in the woods this time.”
Cade eyed her sharply. “Why?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “I bet he wasn’t happy to lose his trophies.”
“He must have known he was giving them up when he went away.”
“Maybe, maybe not. He might have thought they’d never be found. Regardless, he knows they’re gone now, and it wouldn’t make him happy. He needs something more secure, and the way he hung the first ones seems to indicate a need to admire his trophies. To relive the experience.”
Cade nodded. It was a common enough impulse among serial killers. That’s why they kept trophies, to relive the emotional high they’d gotten. “How many serial killers have you studied who didn’t accelerate?”
“None. I don’t know whether the compulsion gets stronger or they start to feel invincible. I do know of some cases where they wanted to be caught and stopped. We don’t know which kind we’re dealing with here.”
“I’m wondering because he came back. Gage is scouring the files for anyone who might have been picked up by the law five years ago and got released last spring or so. Nothing so far. But unless he was in prison, he chose to leave. That means he chose to come back here. That could be key.”
“It could be.” She ate another mouthful of roll and washed it down with coffee. “Thanks for these. A power bar doesn’t sound good right now.”
“My pleasure. We could get breakfast at the diner a little later when we go to see the sheriff. I guess search parties are going out again today, but he’s not planning to be out there until this afternoon.”
“They won’t find anything.” Her tone was almost sad. “So if he chose to come back, why? Unfinished business? Wanting to see if his trophies were still there? Thumbing his nose at the people around here? Because I’m not buying stupid.”
“What kind of unfinished business?” he wondered.
Her dark eyes met his, looking almost hollow. “Who knows? But I’d wager it’s personal. He’s got something to settle, and he needs to settle it here. A demon’s riding him.”
“I’d call him a demon.”
“No argument from me.” She glanced at the digital clock on the stove front. “I guess I need to clean up to get ready for the day.” She pushed back from the table, and a minute later he heard the wheels of her suitcase trundling down the hall to the bathroom.
* * *
Her eyes felt full of grit, but nights on short sleep were nothing new to DeeJay. A shower and some more coffee and she’d be fit. Plus some protein. Those rolls had been great, but she needed eggs and bacon to power up her brain.
She reached a decision in the shower, however. Cade Bankston wasn’t all that bad. Maybe he hadn’t wanted her as a partner for some reason, but nothing about him seemed misogynistic, at least when it came to work. They’d been cooperating like equals since last night, and she’d had enough of the other kind of relationship to appreciate it.
So okay, they could work together, which was a huge load off her shoulders.
The house seemed to have an ample hot water heater. She’d been living in a place where she’d invariably wound up rinsing the soap off in frigid water, no joke in winter Wyoming. She allowed herself an extra minute to luxuriate but, remembering that Cade might well want a shower, too, she sighed and stepped out, reaching for a folded towel from a stack on a shelf over the toilet.
Not bad for a cheap rental and a whole lot better than some of the motels her former job had put her in. Even the couch had been a satisfactory bed.
Little spots of color had been added to each room, as if the former occupant—Kelly?—had tried to inject some cheer. She figured her husband, Hank, had taken care of all that in the end.
When she finished dressing in jeans and a flannel shirt, and her combed, wet hair was tucked behind her ears, she closed her suitcase and stepped out. Men’s voices reached her from the kitchen. It didn’t sound like the sheriff.
Curious, she ditched her bag at the end of the couch and followed the sound. A strange man was there, and he rose to his feet instantly.
“DeeJay, this is our landlord Hank Jackson, Kelly’s husband.”
DeeJay shook the offered hand and smiled. “You have a nice wife.”
“I think so.” He smiled, a warm, unguarded expression. “But I’m the lucky one. So I was asking Cade here if you two need anything. Kelly left most stuff she used here, but you never know.”
DeeJay pulled out the remaining chair and sat. Only then did Hank sit. The way he stuck out one of his legs indicated he had some kind of old or new injury. Did all the men around here have broken bodies?
“I was just thinking,” DeeJay said, “that this place has a great hot water heater. I was tempted to indulge.”
Hank’s smile widened. “I like my hot showers. I figured other folks would, too. It’s a big tank.”
“Then I’ll enjoy the next one longer.”
Cade spoke. “Hank was just saying that they’re running another search party today. He’s got to leave shortly.”
“That’s so sad about the boy,” DeeJay said. What else could she say?
“This creep better hope I don’t get to him first.” Hank’s face hardened. “Preying on the weak...I have no tolerance for it. None.”
DeeJay could sympathize, but given that they were officers of the law... She glanced at Cade, wondering whether to let it pass. Before she could speak, however, he did it.
“You know, you’ve got a pregnant wife,” Cade said.
“I know.” Hank’s face relaxed. “I won’t turn into a vigilante. But sometimes you wish...”
“Yeah,” DeeJay agreed. “Sometimes you do.” And they were supposed to be travel writers, so she steered the conversation. “Are you planning to rent this place to people who come here to ski?”
“I might. Still need to do some work if I go that way. I rented it most of the summer to a couple who came out here to work on the resort. They’re supposed to be back in the spring.” He paused. “You going to write about this kidnapping in your article?”
DeeJay shook her head. “I’m sure it will all be solved. No, we’re here to get to know the town a bit and pump up how this could be a great resort.”
“Good,” said Hank, pushing back from the table. “This place has suffered enough since the semiconductor plant closed. We need more jobs and a better economy.” Then he flashed a smile. “We’re friendly folk here. Usually.”
DeeJay smiled. “I’ll try to keep that in mind. That Mavis at the diner is something else.”
“Wait till you meet her mother, Maude. Mavis is still batting in the farm team.”
* * *
They left the house a short while later with tablet computers in cases that also allowed them to carry small paper notebooks, pens and business cards. Handy little designs, suggesting they were serious writers. Also serious cops, but image was everything.
“The diner,” said Cade. “I’ll call Gage from there and find out when he can see us.”
DeeJay climbed into her side of the car. She closed the door and waited until he had the engine running. “I hate being unarmed,” she remarked.
He glanced at her. “Are you going to tell me you couldn’t turn almost anything into a weapon?”
“Can you?”
“I’ve had to get inventive a few times.”
“Me, too,” she admitted. “But it still feels odd to be on the job without my service piece.”
“Yeah.” He pulled away from the curb and started down a street that was finally beginning to show some pavement. “Must be warming up. So if you don’t mind me asking...?”
“Depends,” she answered shortly.
Here came the bristles again. He decided to ignore them. “Why Wyoming? I hear you were with some big MP unit in investigations. Most of the kinds of cases we get out here will probably bore you to tears.”
“I’m not bored right now,” she pointed out. “And I’m not an adrenaline junky. What about you? Are you bored? Why didn’t you stay in Denver? At least I heard it was Denver.”
She had turned it right back on him. She was as quick as she was evasive. Part of him was amused, and part of him argued that they had to find some trust to stand on if they were going to get through this. Trust in one’s partner was essential.
Time to take the bull by the horns. “Look, we’ve got to work together. That means we have to be able to trust each other. You don’t have to like me. I don’t have to like you, but damn it, DeeJay, we’ve got to find some ground to meet on apart from the case. You have to believe I have your back and vice versa.”
“Do you?”
Her answer made Cade angry. So that’s how it was going to be. Wouldn’t help anything, but they’d have to work around it. Then, just as they parked in front of the diner, she spoke again.
“My last commanding officer screwed me out of my career.”
He froze. “Why?”
“Because I insisted on pushing a sensitive rape investigation. My performance report reflected my inability to follow orders. By the time he got done, I was lucky to resign honorably.” Then she climbed out of the car and marched into the diner.
A half minute passed before Cade followed. Well, that explained a whole hell of a lot. And he heard more behind it. He would have bet the farm that the CO had simply been the final straw.
The place was crowded when he stepped inside, mostly younger men who were talking about the day’s search party. DeeJay had somehow claimed a booth by the window, and he slid in across from her. The place was jumping, filled with voices, clattering crockery. He heard worry in the voices, but he heard anger, too. These men were ready to take the law into their own hands.
He looked across the table at DeeJay and saw her knuckles were almost white as she gripped the menu. She felt it, too, and was wondering what they could possibly do to help tone it down. Nothing. Not a thing. He could see her reach the same conclusion. He pulled out his cell phone and called the sheriff. He got the dispatcher, a crusty old crone with a froggy voice. “Tell Gage the writers are at the diner, but it might be wise for him to show up here pretty quick.”
DeeJay surprised him. “Good call,” she said.
The place was a cauldron, and it was getting ready to bubble over. Mavis swung by, dumping two cups and filling them with coffee before hurrying on. Breakfast was apt to take a while.
Then it happened. A male voice, right at the end of their booth, loud and challenging. “You those writers? You going to make yourselves famous on our problems?”
DeeJay barely looked up. He gave her credit for that. “We don’t write that kind of stuff.”
“No?” The guy leaned in. “Then what kind of crap do you write?”
In one smooth movement, DeeJay slid out of the booth and faced the guy. She was almost as tall as he was, and in that instant Cade glimpsed the MP, someone who could walk into a rowdy bar and take control.
“No,” DeeJay said firmly, loud enough to be heard in much of the suddenly quieting diner. “We want to make your town look good. As long as you don’t give me a reason to feel otherwise. Now we’re both real sorry about the missing boy. But we’re travel writers.”
Cade enjoyed the show. It wasn’t her words—it was her tone of voice and the way she stood. If that was command presence, she had it in spades.
The guy who had challenged her seemed to change his mind. “Sorry for disturbing your coffee, ma’am. We’re all just real upset.”
“I can understand that. You’re good neighbors.” Then she slid back into the booth.
Cade wondered if he’d get his head bitten off if he complimented her. He was still trying to decide when she said something surprising.
“Thanks for letting me handle that,” she said.
“You did great. Never doubted it.”
She shook her head a little. “Much as I hate to admit it, sometimes a woman has an advantage. Men don’t usually want to hit me first. But you’re a big guy. If you’d stood up, he would have felt challenged.”
“You’re right.” He didn’t tell her he’d have handled it without standing up at all. He was absolutely sure if he did, she’d take it wrong. Maybe he was learning a little about how to handle the prickly pear. Regardless, she’d done well and he was impressed.
Just then a piercing whistle cut through the room. Cade swiveled his head and saw that Dalton stood just inside the door, in full uniform, his jacket open so that the pistol on his hip was both visible and easy to reach.
“Searchers,” he said, his raspy voice allowing no disagreement, “outside now. We need to get this day started. And while we’re at it, I don’t want to see any weapons.”
“But...” someone said.
Gage shook his head. “Listen, Bob, we’re all mad and upset, but I don’t want to be carrying one of you to the morgue today. Or worse, some innocent ranch hand or hiker. We catch this guy fair and square or we’re just murderers. Now get out there.”
The men trailed out after him, leaving only a few very elderly types behind. Suddenly, Mavis asked what they wanted for breakfast. They both ordered large meals, then watched through the window as Gage handed out some further orders. Soon trucks were pulling away.
“He’s good,” DeeJay remarked.
“He’s respected.”
“I hope they listen about the guns.”
“They’ll be reminded at the staging areas, I’m sure.”
Gage joined them just as they were being served large platters of bacon, eggs and toast. He pulled a chair from one of the tables, and Mavis promptly gave him a mug of coffee.
“You want a full breakfast or rolls?” she asked.
“Just rolls, Mavis. Thanks. My stomach’s so knotted these days I’m in danger of losing my love handles.” Mavis laughed, a deep, harsh sound, and wandered back to the kitchen.
“Thanks for calling me,” Gage said to Cade. “I’m starting to feel like I’m sitting on a powder keg.”
“You are,” DeeJay answered. “They’re looking for a way to burn off adrenaline.”
“Well, the cold and hiking today ought to help with that. I hope.”
Mavis delivered Gage’s rolls, refilled coffee cups all around the diner, then vanished into the back. Quiet conversation resumed among the old men in their little corner.
“So,” Gage said quietly, “I didn’t bring over the vic photos. Obviously. I’ll have Sarah Ironheart, one of my deputies, bring them over to the house later. I think you met her once, Gage.”
“A long time ago, I believe.”
“Well, you were never here very long. I doubt anyone remembers you.”
“I sure as hell hope not.”
“I was looking over them again this morning, along with the autopsy reports. Sarah will bring them, as well. But something struck me.”
He looked at DeeJay a long moment, then at Cade. “These vics not only resemble each other—I guess that’s not unusual for this kind of thing.”
“Not at all,” Cade agreed. “A lot of them seem to have a particular type they’re after.”
“In this case, dark-haired boys about five feet tall and lean. Small. But something struck me.” Again his gaze trailed to DeeJay.
“What?” she asked.
“If you were ten inches shorter and a boy, you’d fit the victim profile.” He pushed back from the table, carrying a roll with him and draining his mug as soon as he stood. “I’ve got to go ride herd at the staging areas. Talk to you later.” He paused and looked again at DeeJay. “You be really careful, hear?”
* * *
Five minutes passed before either of them spoke again. They continued eating as if everything were perfectly normal. But Cade knew it wasn’t, and since DeeJay had the same kind of training in these cases, he was sure she knew, as well.
But apparently she wasn’t going to let it ruin her appetite, and it wasn’t enough to make him lose his. They couldn’t discuss it here anyway. Mavis was moving around again, clearing up dishes, and as much as the place had quieted down she could probably tune in on any conversation she wanted to.
Cade called out to Mavis. “Is it possible to get up anywhere near the ski resort right now?”
She turned, frowned, then shook her head. “Might be a day or two. Work was called off during the storm and that’s a lot of road to clear. The construction office is in the phone book. Look for Masters General Contracting.”
“Thanks, Mavis.”
“God,” mumbled DeeJay as Mavis disappeared with another load of dishes, “a world where people still use the phone book.”
Cade had to laugh. “I know. How about I just plug it into my phone or tablet.”
He saw the smile flicker over her face. The woman was thawing a bit. Thank God.
“I wonder how long we’ll have to wait for this deputy.”
“Not long,” Cade judged. “Gage wants something out of us as soon as possible. He’s going to grease the skids as much as he can.”
She nodded and at last pushed her plate to one side. “I’m going to need to work out twice a day for a month if I keep eating here. But it’s good.”
“And filling,” he agreed. “We can hit the grocery later and find some healthier stuff. When we’re out making like travel writers.”
“Pretending to be travel writers still seems ridiculous. We have to ask the kinds of questions that have nothing to do with the case.”
“On the other hand, everyone seems more than willing to talk about it with us. Natural interest will give us the chance to ask questions.”
“I hope so.”
Mavis returned, and they paid their bill, then once again headed back toward the house. As they drove, Cade mentioned Gage’s warning. “Do you think that was over-the-top? I mean, you’re a heck of a lot taller than the victims, plus you’re female.”
“I’m not going to worry about it,” she said. “I’m not a victim. I can take care of myself. Can’t blame the guy for being hypercautious right now.”
“I guess not,” Cade answered, winding them along streets that in places looked like they ought to be on a Christmas card. She might brush it aside, but Cade couldn’t quite. The history of serial killers was filled with people who broke out of their supposed patterns at times. For example, the guy who killed only teenage girls until he killed his mother. But those things usually involved a long relationship fraught with emotional problems.
So, while it wasn’t likely the killer would even notice DeeJay, he resolved to keep a sharp eye out. “Just don’t get cocky,” he said.
He should have known she would bridle. “I don’t get cocky, Cade. I know what I’m capable of.”
Maybe she did. He still knew next to nothing about her. But then, he wasn’t exactly sharing himself, either.
It bothered him, too, that they were stuck in this partnership, because despite all her thorns and prickliness, she attracted him sexually, almost mercilessly. He kept finding himself wondering if she reciprocated. Then he’d yank his thoughts back into line and remind himself: job first. Besides, if they ever broke those barriers, he was certain it would be a flaming mess.
“You know,” she said as they neared their house, “this kind of work is ever so much easier when we can just step in and help the team. We’re at a fits and starts position because we can’t cozy up to the local law too much. That’s slowing everything down.”
“I know.” He couldn’t argue with that. “But like I said, I think Gage is greasing skids as much as he can. Probably putting it around that we check out okay so folks won’t be worried about us, but it remains...”
“I know,” she agreed. “We don’t want to scare the guy off.”
He pulled the car to a stop in front of the house and cocked an eye at her. “Are you of the rush-in-and-bash-heads school?”
“Only when necessary.”
Which probably said a whole lot about her, he decided. She could operate in multiple modes. Now that was useful.
She looked at him. “You?”
“Only when necessary.”
She gave a brisk nod and climbed out. Damn, he thought, this woman didn’t give an inch. A spine of steel and a ramrod with it. Of course, just that little bit she’d said about her CO ruining her career was enough, and he somehow figured that was just the tip of the iceberg. Something had made this woman tough, and even a bit difficult to deal with.
He hoped he’d find out eventually what her story was. He also hoped that wouldn’t involve sharing his own.
* * *
They’d barely had time to start another pot of coffee—Cade was in favor of bottomless coffee, and DeeJay seemed to share his liking—when someone knocked at the door.
This time, aware of her apparent sensitivities to dominating men, he let DeeJay get it.
She came back inside with a woman in civvies. Long inky hair dashed by a few streaks of silver and pulled back in a ponytail. Sarah Ironheart, the deputy Gage had promised. Native American was stamped even more clearly on her face than DeeJay’s. A striking woman.
“Brought the photos and autopsy reports,” she said, tossing a thick envelope on the table. “All the gruesome glory.” She took a seat at the table as easily as if she’d been there before and nodded affirmatively in answer to Cade’s question about coffee. “It fuels the world, and any excuse I can get not to drink Velma’s, I’ll take.”
“Who is Velma?” DeeJay asked.
“One of our dispatchers. Her coffee is enough to put a hole in your stomach but she’s so much of a fixture no one dares tell her. It’s rumored she’s going to die right at the dispatch desk.”
“Sounds like a character,” Cade remarked.
“She’s been around as long as the mountains.” Sarah sipped coffee, then regarded the two of them over the rim. “What else are you hoping for, after you review the autopsies?”
“Any information at all. The file is kind of sketchy, what we’ve seen so far.”
Sarah nodded. “The whole thing is sketchy. We had five boys disappear over nearly two years the last time. Now there’s lots of ways to go missing around here, and we couldn’t find a clue. We had search parties out, like now, and never found a thing. Kids run away from home, even here. You know that. They also wander off into the mountains and sometimes we don’t find them. Could have been a lot of things until we started to realize they were all the same physical type. Different in age, but physically similar.” She sighed. “That doesn’t hit you at first.”
“It wouldn’t,” DeeJay agreed. “Not at first.”
“Just after it really sank in what we were dealing with, and that it was happening faster, it all stopped. Then nobody was sure it wasn’t all runaways and accidents until a surveyor for the new resort stumbled on the trophy stash the spring before last.”
“Then you knew,” DeeJay said quietly.
“Then we knew,” Sarah agreed. “What we never expected was that it would start up again after all this time. We figured he’d moved on, or gone to jail on some other offense elsewhere. He wraps his victims in plastic to protect them, so we know we found our missing boys. Now this. People want blood. Be careful.”
Cade spoke. “Gage has been good about trying to establish us.”
“He’s working on it,” Sarah agreed. “But folks are still angry and there’s no telling how they might lash out. Of course, I don’t need to tell you that.” She rose and went to get more coffee, a woman who would be familiar anywhere.
When she returned to the table, she leaned back in the chair and crossed her legs. “I assume you guys have some training in profiling?”
“For what it’s worth,” DeeJay answered.
Cade watched a smile walk slowly across Sarah Ironheart’s face. “Yeah, for what it’s worth. Not much to go on at first.”
“Not really,” Cade answered. “Not until we’ve got some evidence. The thing about the training is that it makes you alert to things that others might overlook. It’s not like we can walk in and hand you a sketch and description of our perp.”
“Anybody did that, and I’d question his know-how,” she answered. “Okay then. Only two of us in the department apart from Gage know who you really are. The other is Micah Parish. You’ll know him when you see him. Huge guy with Cherokee written all over his face. Former Special Ops. He may be getting up there, but he’s still damn good. Beyond that, nobody knows.”
She paused. “Gage may also tell the former sheriff, Nate Tate. Nobody sneezes in this county without him hearing about it. But right now, I don’t know if Gage will bring him in. He’s an invaluable source about the people around here, though.”
“Then I hope Gage tells him,” DeeJay said.
“Another good source if you have any need to delve into local history is Gage’s wife, Emmaline Dalton. Miss Emma, everyone calls her. Anyway, she’s the librarian and she’s got roots here back to the earliest days, plus she’s made gathering local history and lore her avocation. I’m not sure how she could be of use, but you never know.”
She drained her coffee and stood. “Oh, and if you need horses, my husband raises and trains them. Gideon. I’m sure he could spare a couple of good mounts if you want to go wandering off the roads.”
She left directly, telling them that she’d probably be the one to bring them any additional information they uncovered. “Less suspicious than the sheriff. Gideon has a business in trail rides I could claim to be trying to promote.” Indeed, she left them with Gideon’s business card. “He always knows how to find me.”
Then she was gone, and the house filled with silence. Neither Cade nor DeeJay moved for a minute, as they both absorbed everything they’d just been told.
“Masters General Contracting,” Cade said presently, and pulled out his notebook. “I hope there’s Wi-Fi around here somewhere.”
“You could always call directory information.”
He cocked a brow at her. “What, go back to the old days?” Then he shook his head. “Might as well. Maybe I can find out how to get us a decent internet connection while I’m tiptoeing through the Yellow Pages.”
A laugh actually escaped DeeJay. “You do that. Meanwhile I’m going to take a look at this file.”
He reached for the wall phone just as she bent the prongs on the envelope and opened it. One way or another, it wasn’t going to be a pleasant day.
* * *
Wyoming was a big state, not heavily populated. The state police often relied on satellite radio because there were so many places, especially in the mountains, with cellular dead zones. It was virtually impossible at times to maintain an internet connection. Things were changing, but the change was far from complete.
By two that afternoon, they were hooked into the local police’s Wi-Fi and able to map out the town and surrounding county. They both saved the maps to files on their computers.
The envelope contents were another matter altogether. Report after report of horror, accompanied by eight photos of boys who were at once strikingly similar and strikingly different. All had dark hair, all weighed less than a hundred pounds, all were short in stature—a definite type. The heartache arose not only for the terror they must have endured, but from the youth staring back at them from those photos. Lives had been stolen and many other lives had been torn apart.
“Slow asphyxiation,” Cade read from the last report. He made a sound of angry disgust and swept everything from the table back into the envelope.
DeeJay simply stared back at him. There were no words for this. None. Her stomach churned, and all the toughness she had donned over the years provided no protection against what she had just read.
She got up from the table, trying to pace off the anger and horror she felt. “It’s not like anything else,” she said, not sure what she meant, not expecting an answer.
“No, it’s not,” Cade agreed. “Damn, I need some fresh air. Do you want to walk to the market? It’s only thirteen degrees out there.”
“I need the walk but I also need my nose. And I don’t want to stiffen up from the cold.” Delayed reaction time could be dangerous, even when you thought you were safe.
“Agreed. We’ll drive. Damn, there’s no hole in hell hot enough or deep enough for this guy.”
She didn’t answer. It seemed pointless. After looking at all those young faces, this had become personal. It was no longer an intellectual detective exercise. “Dangerous,” she remarked a few minutes later as they climbed into their car. “Getting involved.”
“I know. I’ll work it off.”
“I feel the same way.”
He looked at her as he turned over the ignition. At least the car didn’t decide it was too cold to run. He needed to remember to plug the damn block heater in tonight. “You, too.”
“Of course, me, too,” she said hotly. “I’m not made of ice.”
“Didn’t think you were.”
“Then what the hell did you mean?”
“Just trying to make conversation. You’re like a brick wall, Dawkins. Pleasant to strangers when it suits you, but you act like I’m a cow patty you’d like to brush off.”
“You weren’t exactly glad to have me for a partner,” she retorted.
He didn’t deny it, and she sat with her arms tightly folded as he drove them to the store. When they found a place to park between two snowdrifts, Cade set the brake but left the car running. The defroster began to lose the battle against their breath.
“Look,” he said finally, “my reaction had nothing to do with you. It had to do with something from my past. Probably the same as your reaction to me. So how about we call a truce at least until we catch this animal.”
“That gives animals a bad name.”
“True.”
He waited, and she knew she was going to have to answer. She didn’t have to explain, she realized. No heart-to-heart about what life had been like as a female cop. He probably didn’t want to share whatever his problem was, either. So if they could just take all the junk off the table, at least until they finished this job, they’d get by. “Some things matter more than others,” she finally said. This job mattered more than her feelings, certainly. “Truce.”
“Good enough,” he said. “Now let’s go squabble about what we want to make for dinner. The diner’s steak sandwiches and fries are great, but too many of them and I’ll be rolling down the street like a beach ball.”
She laughed because she had to. A similar thought had occurred to her. “Are you aware that bicyclists who ride in races can be slowed down by as little three kilograms of added weight?”
“Interesting. Well, the two of us could be slowed down by the fat. I think I feel my arteries hardening.”
The tension had seeped away, and they both climbed out of the car, walking through the cutting wind toward the grocery entrance.
“What kind of cook are you?” she asked.
“Passable. I’d starve otherwise. You?”
“Not so good. Too many chow hall meals. Lately I’ve been trying my hand at it. How brave are you?”
He laughed. “I’ll cook. As long as you don’t expect high cuisine.”
