Would she dare get together with any of them on an evening or weekend?
As it was, she didn’t share everything she knew. A couple of people had told her in confidence about their own backgrounds, in each case as bad or worse than hers. Those stories she didn’t even consider sharing.
Finally, in frustration, she exclaimed, “I just can’t believe any of them would do something like this.”
Ignoring her outburst, he asked, “Have any of the men asked you out? Expressed interest? Watched you in a way that feels sexual?”
She knew he was hinting at his earlier option B. Somebody had given her a couple of very twisted gifts, but—
Please, no.
She blew out a breath. “Ray Hammond flirts with me, but he flirts with some of the other women, too.”
“He hasn’t asked you out?”
“Just for coffee. That kind of thing. I’ve…taken to making excuses.”
She’d swear his jaw muscles had tightened.
“Anyone else?”
“Matt Grudin was already in the office when I joined CPS.” As if that made any difference. “He really wanted me to go out with him. He was pushier than I liked.” She turned her head to meet Daniel’s narrowed eyes. “And don’t you dare tell him I said that. He got the message. I think he’s seeing another woman now. Anyway, I have to keep working with him.”
She wasn’t about to tell Daniel that she still caught Matt checking her out. Some women would have been flattered, but she didn’t like it. She never encouraged him and tended to avoid crossing his path if she could help it. Unfortunately, his desk was just across the aisle from hers.
This time, the repeat of “Anyone else?” came out as a growl.
“No.” The only other man in their unit, Emmett Harper, was at least five years younger than her, easy mannered and enthusiastic.
“What about the women?”
She explained that she liked some of the women she worked with better than others, but that was normal.
He asked a few more questions, but then let the subject go with an “Okay.” His legs tightened, and the black gelding went straight to a lope.
Once again, Nessa followed suit. The mare knew who the boss was here, and it wasn’t the stranger on her back. Nonetheless, the faster pace exhilarated Lindsay, especially as they gained speed to a gallop.
Despite everything, she felt herself grinning, maybe even laughing, and when Daniel glanced over his shoulder, she saw the flash of white teeth. For this moment, they felt connected.
When she slid off Nessa by the open doors into the stable, she said, “That’s the most fun I’ve ever had being interrogated.”
Daniel’s laugh kicked off an arrhythmia in her heartbeat.
HE KNEW WHERE to start now: with Mr. Pushy, Matt Grudin, and Ray Hammond, who might or might not have gotten the “no” message from Lindsay. Once Daniel had taken her home, he would run background checks on the two men.
And, yeah, he was letting this get personal. Some stalkers never openly expressed interest in a woman; she was just supposed to suddenly see him and exclaim her wild attraction to him. Her continued indifference was a crime in that man’s eyes.
Daniel wasn’t ruling out the women, either. Most if not all in the office were smaller and weaker than the two male victims—especially Martin Ramsey—but they had an advantage. Men tended to discount women. Not hesitate to let them in the door, turn their backs when they wouldn’t on a male stranger.
Which got Daniel speculating. How had Norris been overpowered? Had there been a tap on the head that wouldn’t be noted until the autopsy?
Right now, Daniel wasn’t in any hurry to get back to work. Lindsay had unsaddled Nessa without any prompting, cross-tied her and was now brushing her. He smiled at the sight of the mare, head low, twitching her skin here and there to make sure especially itchy places got appropriate attention, lips drooping.
Now, if Lindsay had put her hand on him, he’d probably do the same.
“She’s about to fall asleep on you,” he said.
Lindsay’s unshadowed smile felt like a kick to his chest. “I noticed,” she murmured. “She loves this. Max looks annoyed instead.”
“He has sensitive skin and is maybe a little lacking in patience.” Hoof pick in hand, Daniel bent to lift a foreleg to check for small stones or any kind of debris that could irritate the frog. He was pleased to see Lindsay doing the same, then sliding a hand over Nessa’s hindquarters before beginning to comb her luxuriant tale.
“Do you show any of them?” she asked.
“Max and I enter cutting horse competitions. Otherwise, no. I bought one of my other mares from a college student who didn’t have time for her anymore. Apparently, they rated well barrel racing.”
“That looks fun.” Lindsay sounded wistful before she went to the mare’s head and gently rubbed her poll and ran her fingers through the black forelock. Nessa responded by butting her head against Lindsay’s shoulder, then nibbling at her braid. Lindsay laughed. “Sorry, I’m not edible.”
Daniel had a contrary opinion on that, but he could hardly say so.
After they turned the horses loose in a pasture, Max trotted off and bucked just for the fun of it, while Nessa ambled to a spot of shade beneath an old oak tree and settled down, hip shot, for an apparent nap.
Lindsay was still smiling as she turned away. “Maybe I’ll do that when I get home, too.”
And maybe strip to no more than panties and a tank top, given the heat of the day. Daniel stayed a couple of feet behind to be sure she didn’t notice how interested he was in the idea of her sprawled on her sheets.
The buzz at his hip was the distraction he needed, even if he didn’t want it. He opened the driver side door of his truck and glanced at the screen of his phone.
Dispatch. Never good news.
Lindsay had opened her door, too, and pulled herself up onto the seat, but she was watching him.
Even as he answered, he held her gaze. “Deppero.”
“Detective, we just had a call from the sheriff’s department. They have a body, and they’re wondering if it might be connected to the two murders here in town.”
He’d actually intended to call the new sheriff, a rancher he knew named Boyd Chaney, to discuss the two murders. Gossip must have done that for him.
Chaney co-owned a ranch with a friend, who a year ago had helped hide a little girl who witnessed her father’s murder. Once her whereabouts were discovered, all hell erupted. At the memory, Daniel felt an unhappy twinge from his thigh. That was the day when he’d been shot in a gun battle worthy of the Old West.
Chaney had been so pissed off at the lack of help from the sheriff’s department, that fall he’d mounted an election challenge and unseated the slug who’d held the office for twenty-four years.
Shaking off the thought, Daniel asked, “Address?”
When the dispatcher told him, he said, stunned, “There’s a murder victim at the sheriff’s ranch?”
Lindsay’s vivid blue eyes widened.
“If I understood him correctly,” the dispatcher said primly.
“They have a name for the dead guy?”
He couldn’t look away from Lindsay, who he’d swear hadn’t blinked in at least a minute.
“Yes,” the dispatcher said, “he’s apparently an employee. Howie Haycroft. That’s all I know.” Next thing he knew, she was gone.
“Damn,” he said softly, swinging in behind the wheel. He stowed his phone between the seats and slammed his door.
“Did you get a name?” Lindsay asked, her apprehension not well hidden.
In the act of inserting the key, he went still. “Can I count on you not repeating what I tell you to anyone at all?”
“I swear.”
He wouldn’t have told her at all if he hadn’t wanted to
find out if she knew the victim. Specifically, whether she’d ever investigated him for child abuse.
And, man, he wanted her to look puzzled and shake her head.
“Howie Haycroft.”
Her forehead creased as she thought. “Howie…? No, I don’t remember…” Horror crossed her face. “Haycroft. Howard Haycroft. Oh, dear God.”
He could echo that. “Your case?”
“Yes, but… Oh, it has to have been three years. It was one of my early ones.”
“Crap.” Daniel could have said something a lot stronger. “Whoever this is has access to the CPS files.”
Her teeth chattered before she squared her shoulders, pulled on her seat belt and lifted her chin. Composure restored—on the outside.
“Will you tell me what you remember?” he asked.
“I can tell you the basics. You’d find it in court records anyway.”
“Let’s have it,” he said grimly, and fired up the engine to take her home.
Chapter Seven
Daniel parked in front of the sprawling log ranch house that was County Sheriff Boyd Chaney’s home. The second partner of the ranch, Gabe Decker, had had Daniel out to his own place for barbecues and the like a few times. Daniel would call Decker a friend, but despite several meetings he didn’t know Chaney as well.
Chaney must have heard Daniel’s truck coming, because he waited on the deep porch that ran the length of the house. A big, fit man, he came close to Daniel in height.
Climbing the porch steps, Daniel said, “Chaney.” He let a crooked smile form. “Or should I say Sheriff?”
The man grimaced. “Make it Boyd.”
“Where’s the body?” Why waste time on small talk?
“Bodies.” Boyd’s eyes met his. “We found a second one.”
What the hell?
“I’ll ride with you,” Boyd said. “Worker housing is half a mile or so north, beyond the barns.”
Daniel didn’t say anything until they were on their way. By then, he’d decided where to start. “What makes you think these killings have anything to do with the ones I’m investigating?”
“Now that I have access to law enforcement databases, I found background I didn’t uncover when I hired Haycroft and his son Colin ’bout two years ago. Neither of them had ever been convicted of a crime, a red flag I look for. Boy was only eighteen then, but a hard worker. Increasingly lousy attitude, though. He didn’t like being told what to do, especially by women. Resented our foreman, too.”
“Leon Cabrera?” Like Boyd and Gabe, Leon was an ex-army ranger and had been or should have been a sniper.
Boyd’s face set in hard lines. “I was about to let him go.”
Was? Strong hint that Howard Haycroft’s son was the other victim, not a surprise after Lindsay’s description of the mess the Haycroft case had been.
“How about Haycroft?” he asked.
“Smart enough to keep his mouth shut, but kids learn from their parents.”
Ahead, what had to be twenty log cabins had been built scattered about among a few acres of tall ponderosa pines. Each would feel private, not institutional like most company housing. Native plants formed an understory beneath the trees. The soil itself was tan and gritty, bright green lawns and flower beds conspicuously absent.
Boyd nodded ahead. “Last cabin on the end.”
Turning in, Daniel parked again, but neither man moved to get out.
“Colin was almost seventeen when he spoke out for his father,” Daniel remarked. The background Lindsay gave him explained why the son had been condemned to share his father’s fate. Despite the evidence to the contrary, Colin had insisted the father wasn’t abusive.
“It was three against one.” Anger glinted in Boyd’s eyes. “Why did investigators believe the one kid?”
“I haven’t taken the time to dig into the police investigation yet. I was a detective at the time, but I didn’t work that one. I’ll pull out records once I’m back at the office. When you called, though, I was with the Child Protective Services caseworker who did her own investigation after the death.”
The word death being a euphemism in this case. Howard Haycroft’s wife had been executed. Hands duct-taped behind her back, ankles duct-taped, too. There’d been a single, fatal shot to the head from behind. Classic.
Expression arrested, Boyd said, “This the same caseworker in both of the recent investigations?”
“Yes. We had to look at her, but we’re ninety-five percent sure she’s no killer. That said, we’ve passed the point where we can pretend it might be coincidence that she was the caseworker involved with all three families.”
Boyd grunted his agreement. He opened his door, but before getting out, said, “I think you can guess how they were killed.”
Yes, that wouldn’t be a surprise.
LINDSAY COULDN’T SETTLE down after Daniel dropped her at home. Not Daniel, she reminded herself; she’d be a fool to drop her guard yet. Detective Deperro.
Since it was lunchtime, she heated a can of soup but ended up dumping most of it down the drain before rinsing the bowl and putting it in the dishwasher. She couldn’t concentrate on the mystery she’d been reading. Daytime TV held zero interest for her. Every sound from outside had her skin prickling for no reason she could name.
All she could think about was Howard Haycroft and the destruction of his family.
He’d killed his wife. Lindsay would swear he had. The scene had been carefully constructed to look like a home invasion, from what she’d heard. Thank God she hadn’t seen that body.
The police determined the back door had been jimmied after Marcia Haycroft was killed, not before. She had either let the murderer in or he’d already been in the house. Lived there.
Police suspicions explained Lindsay’s involvement. She temporarily removed all four kids from the home, although the oldest boy refused to stay in the receiving home, and she had eventually given up and let him go back to his father.
The three younger children, two girls and a boy, cried abuse. Their bodies showed evidence of enough healed broken bones, scars and burns to back up their claim. The oldest son, though, whose name she couldn’t recall, had insisted furiously that the mother had been the abuser, not his dad. The others were making up stories, he’d insisted.
She got the feeling the younger children were afraid of their brother as well as their father.
In the end, the DA declined to file charges of murder against Howard, claiming a lack of forensic evidence. No witness stepped forward. That left the fate of the children in the hands of family court. Howard wanted them home, but in the end the judge ruled that the three youngest children would go into a foster home, having supervised visits with their father until they regained confidence in him.
Her stomach had lurched at the idea of the children pressured into agreeing to go back to him, but the visits didn’t go well and finally petered out.
Last she’d heard, Howard and his almost adult son sold the house and moved away. Idaho, she thought. She hadn’t heard anything about the Haycrofts in a couple of years. Now she wondered if Howard had resumed contact with his younger children. Tomorrow, she’d contact the foster care supervisor with DHS.
But unless something had changed drastically—if one of the younger Haycroft children had been killed or committed suicide, for example—why punish Howard now? And who would care enough to bother? There’d been no adult relatives willing to take in the children, far less avenge them.
And, dear God, what did she have to do with it? Lindsay would rather think that somebody hated her than that these murders were supposed to please her.
It almost had to be one or the other, didn’t it?
She paced, going from window to window, not seeing what was in front of her eyes. Instead, she grappled with an ominous sense of losing control. She felt horribly
as if she were stuck in a web, waiting for the spider.
MELINDA MADE IT out to the ranch while the crime scenes were still being processed. Daniel had forgotten she, too, had met Boyd Chaney at least once, in her case when she’d come out to the ranch to question three-year-old Chloe Keif about how much she’d seen when her entire family had been wiped out. Despite a necessary, tough veneer, Melinda was good with children. He was puzzled by the tension he read between her and Boyd, but made sure neither would guess he’d noticed it.
Both men accompanied her when she studied the two scenes. With the CSI crew borrowed from the state still working, neither body had been moved. Howard’s was in the cabin, requisite trash can with the ash of burned papers beside him, while Colin’s body was in a storage shed. The fire there had been set on the dirt floor, a safe distance from anything else flammable. Seemed the killer hadn’t wanted to start a forest fire.
Melinda waited until they reached their vehicles to ask, “Could he have been involved in his mother’s murder?”
“Lindsay says he appeared to be shocked and grieving her loss. No indication from the younger kids that he had anything but a good relationship with her.”
“So you’re suggesting this boy was brutally murdered just because he defended his father?”
Boyd said, “More because he single-handedly saved his father from being charged with murder or child abuse. And labeled his brother and sisters as liars.”
She seared him with a glare. “You know he was probably scared, too.”
“I didn’t find him very likeable,” Boyd commented with a mildness belied by the razor intensity of the stare that answered hers.
“So it’s okay he got killed?”
“I didn’t say that.”
Time to intervene. Daniel pushed himself away from the fender. “Can we focus?”
The Hunting Season Page 8