by Lukens, Mark
“Who’s been inside the cabin so far?” Palmer asked.
“Just the M.E., the fire chief, and the firefighters,” the sheriff answered. “And me.”
Palmer nodded. He saw that a few of the firefighters were removing the last of the burnt debris of the roof by hand, carrying it out the back door where they were creating another pile.
“I don’t want any of this debris taken away until our guys go over it,” Palmer said.
The sheriff nodded like he already knew that. “We’ve got it in piles beside the house. The fire chief’s preliminary explanation is that there was some kind of explosion inside. Most likely from the gas stove and oven.”
“So this place wasn’t only set on fire with gasoline?” Palmer asked.
“The gas was used as a propellant,” the sheriff answered. “That’s what the fire chief said. The explosion was the spark that set it all off. He found an exploded soda can in there that most likely came from the microwave oven. The can had been thrown across the kitchen in the blast.”
Palmer nodded again and turned his attention back to the M.E., who was waiting patiently.
“These three bodies were out here on the porch when I got here,” Carson said, gesturing at the three charred bodies lying on the front porch, one near the doorway on his stomach, arms reaching out towards the door like he was trying to crawl back inside. “Two more just inside the doorway there.”
The M.E. noticed Palmer staring at the body near the doorway. “Looks like he was trying to crawl back inside the house during the fire, doesn’t it?” the M.E. asked Palmer like he was seeking his opinion.
Palmer didn’t nod. He just looked back at Carson. “So that’s the strange thing about the bodies? Because one of them looks like he might’ve been crawling back inside the cabin?”
“Oh God, no,” Carson said and chuckled. “There’s a lot more than that.”
CHAPTER 28
The cabin
The M.E walked over to the edge of the front porch and pointed at the closest burnt body. His hand was trembling as he pointed and Palmer didn’t know if it was from nervousness or excitement, or both. “The flesh around this man’s neck is gone. Only the spine is remaining. And, I know it’s hard to tell now, but areas of the flesh around the mouth are gone.”
“Maybe the explosion—”
“No,” the M.E. said, cutting Palmer’s words off. “The explosion didn’t cause that. These wounds were there before the fire. He also has an ax in his hand.”
Palmer noticed that. The man’s burnt hand was skeletal and still wrapped around the handle of the charred ax.
“Why would this guy be holding an ax?” the M.E. asked. “He couldn’t have even been standing up with his neck like that; he wouldn’t have been able to hold his head up at all.”
“Maybe someone placed the ax there after the fire started,” Palmer offered, but it didn’t make a lot of sense. “One of the bank robbers who got away.” But why put an ax in the man’s hand? he wondered.
“And that guy over there,” Carson said, pointing at the next body, pretty much ignoring Palmer’s theory. “The back of his body and the back of his head have all been hollowed out.”
“The explosion …” Palmer said again, hoping it would be an explanation.
“I don’t think so. For one thing, this guy is outside here on the porch, not inside where the explosion took place.”
“And the explosion wasn’t that powerful,” the sheriff said. “Fire chief told me that.”
The M.E. nodded at Sheriff Hadley and then looked back at Palmer. “And again, those wounds look to me like they were created before the fire … before the explosion. Someone gutted this guy from the back and left him on the front porch. Took all his organs out, his muscle, bones. Everything … it’s all gone.”
The M.E. stepped up onto the porch and the sheriff followed. “Fire chief said it’s safe enough inside the house now.”
Palmer stepped around the outstretched hands of the man reaching for the door. He was reminded of photos he’d seen of people trapped in ash in Pompeii, frozen forever in their last acts on Earth, frozen in screams of agony.
“This guy,” Carson said, pointing down at the man in front of the door. “He doesn’t have any eyes. Torn out completely.”
Palmer felt that sick feeling in his stomach again. This was shaping up to be more and more like the crime scenes down in New Mexico. What the hell was going on here? Who the hell was doing this kind of shit to people? Bank robbers? That was hard to believe.
“And he’s got a wound down his side where it looks like something ripped him open.”
Palmer didn’t say anything.
“It looks like something pushed its way out of his body,” the M.E. said. “They all have similar wounds, holes and splits about a foot or so in diameter, ragged edges, the walls of burnt flesh pushed out.”
“What could do something like that?”
Carson shook his head; his big eyes magnified behind his glasses. “I can’t say for sure. But the bodies just inside the cabin here are just as strange.”
The M.E. and the sheriff entered the cabin, stepping around the man’s burnt body on the floorboards. They both walked gingerly on the floor, even though the sheriff had claimed it was safe to enter the building.
Palmer followed them inside and saw the other two bodies immediately.
“This one over here doesn’t have any eyes,” Carson told Palmer.
“Like the one on the front porch.”
“Sort of,” Carson answered. “But this guy’s eyes look like they were cut out with a lot less precision than the one on the front porch. And you’ll notice here along his side, the hole in his flesh.”
Palmer felt that sick feeling wanting to surface more forcefully, but he crouched down and took a closer look. The M.E. was right, it was like something had been inside of this man and had exploded out of him. He even saw what looked like the sharp point of a broken rib sticking out through the charred flesh, the bone gleaming white in contrast to the blackened meat and clothing.
“But the strangest one is over here.”
The M.E. walked over to the last body. “It looks like this guy had been torn apart into pieces and then fused back together somehow.”
Palmer shook his head. “What do you mean? How can you tell something like that?”
He pointed down at the deep cuts in the man’s arms and legs, the clothing melted away in the fire. “Jagged and deep cuts. Snapped bones. But it looks like they were … I don’t know any other way to say it than they were somehow fused back together.”
“Like from heat? Maybe the fire.”
“No,” the M.E. told Palmer. “I don’t think so.”
“Then how?”
“I don’t know. I really don’t have any kind of guess. Like I said, I’ve never seen anything like this in twenty-six years. Never heard of anything like this.”
Palmer’s mouth was suddenly dry and he could feel the beginning of a headache coming on. He could really use a drink right now. He wondered how he could get back to his car and sneak a nip from the bottle in his duffel bag.
What the hell was going on here? Palmer wondered. He echoed the M.E.’s sentiment—this was the strangest crime scene he’d ever seen in the years he’d been with the Bureau. They had numerous bodies with damages that seemed almost supernatural. And the only connection to the archaeologists’ bodies and these murders was Stella Weaver. Her vehicle had to have been the missing vehicle from the dig site, and now it was here. But she wasn’t here. Was she involved in this somehow? The murderers could’ve taken her and her vehicle from the dig site. They could still have her captive, or they could’ve dumped her body in the woods somewhere on the way up here.
And there was still the missing boy to consider. How did David figure into all of this? Maybe the murderers killed David’s parents first. They took David to the dig site, then killed the archaeologists and took David and Stella with them up here to Colora
do. They still could’ve dumped both of their bodies along the way, or they could still have them as hostages.
“No ID’s on the bodies yet?” Palmer asked even though he was fairly sure that hadn’t happened yet with the degree of mutilation and burning done to them.
“Not really,” the sheriff said. “But we think we know who these guys might be.”
Palmer looked at him with raised eyebrows, his curiosity piqued.
“There was a bank robbery a few days ago in Cody’s Pass, a town south of here. The robbers killed one of the customers and got away with two metal cases of money.”
Palmer nodded for him to continue.
“We think the bank robbers were holed up here. We think one of these bodies is the owner of the cabin, a man named Tom Gordon. He lived here alone. We found the two metal cases they used in the robbery, same description the witnesses gave. And we found several guns. A lot of the money was still inside the cases. Not much damage from the fire because the cases were made of metal.”
They were all quiet for a moment as Palmer thought this through. “So,” Palmer finally said, “these guys rob a bank, come here in that vehicle stashed around back, then one of them kills the other four guys in his group, rigs an explosion, sets fire to the cabin, leaves most of the money behind, and …”
“There were snowmobile tracks leading away from this cabin,” Sheriff Hadley said. “The guy must’ve taken Mr. Gordon’s snowmobile from the garage out there and drove right out of here.”
Palmer glanced back out through the doorway at the front yard cluttered with vehicles.
“Not easy to see now,” the sheriff said quickly. “But the tracks were there. And Mr. Gordon’s snowmobile is gone from the garage.”
Palmer looked back at the sheriff. “Why would he kill all of his partners and not take the stolen money?”
“Well, we’re not sure he didn’t take any of the money,” Sheriff Hadley said. “Some of it might be gone.”
The sheriff walked across the debris-littered floor to the two metal cases on the floor near a destroyed couch, burnt down to the floor with metal springs poking up out of it. The cases were charred black, but open now revealing the packs of money stacked up inside. Palmer and the M.E. followed him there.
“I would guess these cases were full when they left the bank,” the sheriff said. “We’re working with the bank right now to see how much money is missing, and then we’ll count this up. But just by eyeballing it, I’d say some of it is gone.”
“But that brings us back to why the lone robber wouldn’t have taken all of the money with him. He could’ve carried the two cases with him on the snowmobile. Right?”
The sheriff shrugged. “Sure. Could’ve strapped them down to the back.”
“Why would he go through all of this trouble? Why would he mutilate the bodies of his crew like this? Seems like he would’ve just shot them and escaped with the money. I mean the fire … that’s what drew us here. Why would he create a bonfire if he was trying to escape?”
Neither the sheriff nor the M.E. had an answer for him.
“Let’s step back outside,” Palmer said, moving towards the doorway. He needed to be away from the smell of burnt flesh and charred wood.
The M.E. remained on the porch as Palmer and the sheriff walked towards the garage and the pickup truck parked there.
“That pickup truck,” Palmer said.
“It’s Tom Gordon’s truck.”
“Why would this guy take the snowmobile and not the pickup truck? I can see why he wouldn’t take the SUV, but why the snowmobile instead of a pickup?”
“Roads are bad. Route 217 out there wasn’t plowed when this guy left. It would be too hard to get this truck down the road. Maybe too dangerous.”
Palmer nodded. That made sense.
The sheriff seemed satisfied that he’d figured out something that Palmer hadn’t.
But still, there was something about the truck. Palmer stared at the front of it for a moment. “Does it look like the hood’s unlatched to you?”
The sheriff looked at the truck, his eyes widening a little. “Yessir.”
They walked over to the pickup truck. A lot of the snow had melted off the truck from the cabin fire.
“Let’s look inside,” Palmer said.
The sheriff lifted the hood up and they both stared down in shock.
“Holy shit,” the sheriff breathed out. “Looks like someone took a baseball bat to this engine.”
Or an ax, Palmer thought. And then he thought of the ax still gripped in the dead man’s hand on the porch.
Another thought occurred to Palmer. “Come on, let’s check out the SUV around back.”
They hurried down the same path through the snow to Stella’s Chevy Suburban, the packed-down snow crunching under their boots. Palmer went to the driver’s side and reached his hand through the now glassless window and pulled the latch for the hood. It thunked open easily. The sheriff lifted the hood up as Palmer got back around to the front of the vehicle.
“Same thing,” the sheriff muttered.
Palmer didn’t say anything. It was similar but not the same. Except in this vehicle the battery was gone. It looked like it had been ripped out of the vehicle.
“So they drive this vehicle here,” Palmer said more to himself than to Sheriff Hadley. “Then one of these guys destroys the vehicles, kills most of his buddies, sets the cabin on fire, takes part of the stolen money and escapes on a snowmobile.”
The sheriff shook his head like it was all beyond him.
The fire, Palmer thought as he looked back at the cabin. Thin fingers of smoke drifted up to the sky from the charred logs. “Who called this in? Someone had to have seen the smoke in the sky this morning.”
“Kid from down the road,” the sheriff answered. “Travis Conrad. Nineteen years old. Good kid. Played football with my son. He drove his snowmobile here. He’s the one who saw the snowmobile tracks in the snow. He also put the fire out on the SUV, trying to save any evidence.”
“He saw the snowmobile tracks the escapee left behind?” Palmer asked and his voice sounded sharp with accusation.
“Yessir,” the sheriff answered. “He saw them all the way down to his property. He followed them here.”
“He have any idea where the tracks were going?”
The sheriff shrugged. “Said they went south past his house.”
“South? You mean back to Cody’s Pass? Back to the place where they robbed the bank?”
Again the sheriff gave a slight shrug. “He said it seemed that way, but this guy could’ve taken the snowmobile off into the woods at any point. I’ve got one of our guys following the tracks right now on a snowmobile. I’m waiting to hear back from him.”
Palmer nodded like that made sense.
“Where’s this Travis Conrad now? The one who reported this.”
“I sent him back home.”
“I want to talk to this kid.”
CHAPTER 29
Cody’s Pass, Colorado—The Mountainside Inn
Stella had eaten a quick meal of basically snack food with David and then she took him into the bathroom with her to get a bath. She took her shower first, with David waiting for her. She kept the bathroom door locked. She didn’t want to leave David out there with Cole even for five minutes. She didn’t think Cole would take David, or even kill him. But she wasn’t going to bet on it. People changed sometimes. People cracked. They eventually broke down. She’d seen it enough times over the last week.
David took his bath next, while Stella brushed her teeth. She kept her gun on the top of the toilet tank lid, within easy reach the whole time.
While David soaked in the tub, she left the bathroom, promising him that she would be right outside the bathroom door if he needed her.
Fifteen minutes later, after David was done with his bath and dressed again, she brushed his hair and made him brush his teeth. Now that she was full, clean, and warm, she realized how tired she really wa
s. She was suddenly a little lightheaded, and her muscles were rubbery with exhaustion.
David lay down on the bed closer to the windows that looked out onto the scenic view of the snowy mountains that the motel clerk had bragged about. He fell asleep almost immediately. Cole was in the same place where he’d been when they had gone into the bathroom … right in front of the TV, perched at the end of the other bed. He was flipping from news station to news station with the remote control.
“Anything?” she asked as she pulled the sheet up over David, who rolled over onto his side, breathing even heavier now.
“The weather’s getting better,” he told her. “All of the snowstorms have moved out of the area, and there isn’t any bad weather forecasted for the next few days.”
“What about us? Anything about us on the news?”
“Nothing about you and David, but there’s still a manhunt out for me. Nothing about the fire at the cabin yet, but I’m sure they’re keeping a lid on that until they figure out exactly what happened there. But they’ll find your vehicle. Hopefully it’s burnt enough to slow them down a little.”
Stella sat down in one of the padded chairs at a built-in writing desk against the wall. She watched Cole as he studied the TV with the remote control in his hand. “How far are you really going to go with us?” she asked, blurting it out. No sense in dancing around the issue anymore. She wasn’t sure if she could trust Cole to tell the truth, but she could at least gauge his reaction to her question.
“I already told you … I’ll go all the way with you,” he said, turning towards her. His face was expressionless, his dark eyes on her the whole time, never looking back to the TV. “I know you don’t believe me, but I want to help. I want this … whatever this is, to end. I want to at least try. See if we can find this … this person to train David …”