Her Final Prayer: A totally gripping and heart-stopping crime thriller (Detective Clara Jefferies Book 2)

by Kathryn Casey

  “Chief, it’s Conroy,” he said. “What’re you doing here?”

  “You okay, Conroy?” I asked.

  “Yeah, sorry. Just here talking to someone.”

  “No problem, but next time let dispatch know you’re getting out of the car,” I said, slipping my gun back in the holster. “Who are you talking to? Is that Myles Thompkins?”

  “No, one of his neighbors,” Conroy said. He’d aimed the flashlight at the ground again. There was enough lamplight glowing from inside the house so that as I got closer, I could see Conroy in his uniform. The guy beside him I didn’t recognize.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  Conroy introduced me to a short, stout guy with dark brown sideburns who wore a silver belt buckle the size of a saucer on his jeans. His name was Scotty and he lived about half a mile down the road. “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  Scotty frowned. “I was just asking the officer that. What the heck are you two doing here?”

  “We’re looking for Myles Thompkins. We need to talk to him,” I motioned at the front door. “He’s home, inside?”

  “Nope. I opened the door,” Scotty said. “I rode over to check on things for him, feed and water the dogs.”

  “He left you in charge?” I asked, and Scotty nodded, said that Myles often asked him to watch over the place while he was gone. “Where is Myles, and when do you expect him back?”

  “Didn’t say when he’d be coming home, but he texted me late, really late last night and said he was going to be gone for a while. He’s hunting up in the mountains,” Scotty said. The guy looked like he’d been smoking a little weed. His eyes were just a little off, and I could smell it on him. “What do you want to talk to him about?”

  “A case we hope he might have some information on,” I said. “Nothing we can really discuss at this point.”

  “It doesn’t have anything to do with those killings this morning, does it?” the man asked. Conroy gave me a questioning glance.

  “You’ve heard about those?” I said. “What did you hear?”

  “That somebody murdered the family that lives on the bison farm,” Scotty said. “Murdered all of them, except the dad’s bad off in the hospital and the baby’s okay.”

  “You heard that from whom?” I asked.

  “Folks at the hardware store in town,” he said. “Everybody was talking about it. I thought it was particularly sad ’cause I’ve seen that lady, Laurel, off and on. Pretty lady.”

  “Where?” I asked.

  “When I was fishing in the river, near the place where the kids go to spoon,” he said. “You know that place?”

  “Yes, I know it.” I thought about how as a teenager I believed that Max and I were safe there, that no adults knew about it. Teenagers obviously still thought the same thing. How many generations of young people had? No wonder my father knew where to look for me. “Go on,” I urged.

  “Well, I’d see her there. She sat on the big rock on the riverbank. Sometimes she’d be reading. Once I heard her singing, some old song I don’t remember now. Singing, all to herself.”

  “Did you ever see her here at the house with Myles?” I asked.

  “Nah,” he said. “Never did. But I know they were friends, ’cause once when I saw her at the river, he was there, too, sitting next to her, talking.”

  “When was that?” I asked.

  “Months back,” Scotty said. “I can’t say how long ago.”

  I considered how much I didn’t know about Laurel Johansson’s life, and how even the smallest details could make a difference. We’d searched around Myles’s land earlier but hadn’t been able to get into the cabin. I wondered what could be inside that might answer some of those questions.

  “Scotty, since Myles left you in charge, I would like to ask for your help,” I said. “This is a serious matter, multiple murder victims, and we need your assistance with the case.”

  “What d’ya want?” he asked. “I can’t let you do anything with the dogs. Myles is really particular about those animals. It’s his livelihood.”

  “No, nothing with the dogs.” I thought about how to phrase this. I needed Scotty to agree to a search. “As the person Myles put in charge of his property, you have the legal authority to allow us to enter the cabin. I’d just like to see if anything in there might help us. It could be that Myles left a map or a note showing where he’s gone. People do that sometimes when they go off alone. I need to find him. I’m hoping he has information that might help us solve the murder case.”

  Scotty sucked in a healthy dose of oxygen and thought it through. “Why would you think Myles might be able to help you?”

  “Because he knew Laurel. As you said, they were friends. We need to find Myles as quickly as possible, Scotty,” I said.

  The man looked unsure, and Conroy moved forward and said, “You know, Scotty, I’m thinking Myles will want us to find him. He’ll want to know what happened to his friend.”

  Scotty chewed on that for a few moments and then nodded. “I think you’re right. I could tell he had a lot of feelings for that woman. I think he’d want to know what happened to her and to help if he could.”

  “So, it’s okay if I go inside?” I asked. “I have your permission to go into the cabin and look for anything that may be connected to the case or that could help us find Myles?”

  “Sure,” he said. “I know Myles. He won’t have anything to hide.”

  “Why don’t you two stay here? We don’t need all of us inside,” I said to Conroy. While I would have liked his help, I wanted him to distract Scotty so he didn’t change his mind.

  The men agreed, and I left them and headed toward the house. Once inside, I clicked off my flashlight, since Scotty had the lamps on. I scanned the well-worn desk, Myles’s collection of books on the wall, a pipe in an ashtray on an end table near an overstuffed chair. I walked through the kitchen and everything shined. Nothing looked new, but it all appeared well cared for. In his bedroom, I found a photo of Laurel, her high school graduation picture I guessed, in a silver frame beside the bed. Her hair in a topknot, her eyes glistening, she looked happy and excited about the future. I snapped the photo with my cell, and my chest filled with anger when I thought of her defaced body on the bed at the ranch.

  It was then that I spotted a pair of dark brown high-top boots neatly placed just outside the closet door. I stooped down and picked the left one up, turned it over. Dirty but nothing remarkable. I picked up the right one and did the same. This time I saw something on the sole near the toe, something that had dried brown and looked like it might be blood. I took out my phone and clicked through the photos I’d taken at the crime scene until I found the ones in the kitchen. I enlarged the one of the bloody print on the tile floor and compared it to the tread on the boot I held in my hand. The same bowling pin semicircle ringed the outside with the chubby crosses in the center.

  The manufacturer’s mark was on the heel: a ‘W’ for Wilderness.

  Before I walked back outside, I called Max. “I’m at Myles Thompkins’ cabin. He’s not here, but he put his neighbor in charge of watching the place and caring for the dogs. The guy gave me permission to look around inside.”

  “Did you find anything?” Max asked.

  “We need the CSI unit,” I said. “Call Judge Crockett and get a warrant. When he asks for probable cause, tell him that it looks like we’ve got the bloody boot.”

  Nineteen

  “Explain to me how and when Myles got in touch with you,” I asked Scotty. “Everything you can remember.”

  The guy looked flustered, regretting having given me permission to enter the house, I assumed. “I told you what I know, which isn’t anything much,” he said. “What’d you find in there?”

  Conroy had retrieved crime scene tape out of his trunk, and Scotty watched my fellow officer string the yellow and black plastic from one tree to the next, cordoning off the cabin and barn. Each foot of tape that unrolled increased Scott
y’s discomfort. “I don’t know why you’re doing that,” he said. The temperature kept dropping, a frigid night ahead, and the wind had started to blow. I had my parka on, and Conroy was bundled up tight, but Scotty had on only an insulated plaid wool shirt. The guy kept shivering.

  “Look, Myles didn’t do nothin’ wrong. I know him, and he’s a good guy,” he insisted.

  “You’re a true friend, and I bet he’ll appreciate hearing that you said that,” I said. “But there are some things inside that we need to get the crime scene folks out here to look at. I’ve got a search warrant being drawn up, and we’ll be taking a closer look. But it’s nothing for you to worry about.”

  “Shit,” Scotty looked at me with something akin to terror in his eyes. “Is Myles going to be pissed with me?”

  “Why should he?” I asked. “If it’s like you said, he’s not the kind of guy to do anything wrong, right?”

  “Yeah,” Scotty said. “That’s right. Not Myles.”

  “Tell me, when did he get in touch and exactly what did he say?”

  Scotty thought for a minute. “I guess it was middle of the night some time. I got a text. He said that he’d be gone for a while.”

  “You said earlier that he was going up the mountain,” I said. “That he was doing some hunting.”

  “Well, he didn’t actually say that. At least, I don’t think he said that,” Scotty said. “I think I kind of guessed at that. Myles just said that he was going to be gone for a while and he needed me to watch the cabin and the dogs. Usually when I do that, it’s because he’s hunting.”

  “Okay, I see. How about showing me the text? That might make it easier.”

  Scotty looked doubtful at first, but then pulled out his cell phone. He maneuvered through his text messages, then opened one and handed me the phone. It had been sent just after 3 a.m. It read:

  This is Myles. I left and won’t be back for a while. Please feed the dogs and take care of my place. Thanks.

  “He wasn’t specific about how long he’d be gone or where he was going. Did you have any other communication from Myles?”

  Scotty screwed up his face, thinking. “Nope. I don’t think so. I don’t remember any calls or anything. Like I said, I just figured he went hunting again.”

  “Does Myles have any other vehicle, or just that red pickup?” I asked, gesturing toward the truck parked near the house.

  “Just that one,” Scotty said.

  “But he has a horse?”

  “Yeah, Homer,” Scotty answered. “He usually takes the horse when he goes hunting. That’s another reason I figure he’s up on the mountain, ’cause Homer is gone. Plus, it’s bow hunting season on deer right now, and Myles usually goes right about this time. I didn’t see his bow and arrows around the place.”

  “Describe Homer.”

  “A bay stallion,” he said. “Big-shouldered, maybe sixteen hands with the typical black points, mane and tail.”

  “Okay, great. One more time, please think about this: Did you hear from Myles after that text at all?” I asked. “Any other texts you might have deleted by accident? Any other communication?”

  “Not that I remember. But I gotta admit that I’m a little fuzzy. I stayed up kind of late last night drinking with a buddy, and this afternoon I smoked a couple of joints.” He looked at me and shrugged, like maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned the marijuana. “I get a little forgetful when I’ve been indulging.”

  I chuckled, tried to put the guy at ease. I didn’t care about a little weed. We had a killer to find.

  “Okay,” I said. “Now tell me again about the times you saw Laurel with Myles.”

  At that, Scotty said much of what he had before, except that he remembered something else, that Myles had once told him that he sometimes spent time with Laurel, and that Scotty shouldn’t ever mention it to anyone. “Her being married, Myles didn’t want her husband to think anything wrong was going on. Myles said it wasn’t,” Scotty said. “I didn’t think much of it. They were just good friends.”

  “You never saw her here at the cabin though?” I asked again.

  “No. Never,” he said.

  About then, we heard the sound of wheels on gravel. Max drove up first, followed by the county’s CSI trailer. He got out of the car, stopped to talk to Conroy for just a moment, and then came over to where I stood with Scotty. “I’ve got the search warrant,” Max said, presenting Scotty with the paperwork. Then to make sure if he was ever asked he could verify that I hadn’t conducted an illegal search, Max said, “Scotty, thank you for giving Chief Jefferies permission to go inside the cabin. We appreciate it.”

  “Why’re you mentioning that?” he said.

  “I just wanted to personally thank you for helping us. We have an important case to investigate. Like I said, we appreciate the help. It was you who gave permission, right?”

  At that, Scotty beamed with pride. “Yeah. Glad I could help.”

  “Okay, well, let’s get going then,” I said.

  The CSI trailer’s doors opened, and the techs immediately went to work. A couple of them looked bushed. The bison ranch. Carl’s trailer. Now Myles’s cabin. This was the third scene we’d called them to process in the past fifteen hours. They started by setting up a generator with lights outside, shining them toward the barn and house. Once that was done, a cameraman videotaped the area, the land and the barn. I followed next to him, guiding him, since I’d been the one to do the initial walk-through. There wasn’t much to document outside, but then we went inside, he recorded the way the house looked when we first entered, and I led him to the bedroom.

  “Get the boots,” I said.

  The videographer did as I’d instructed. Another tech trailed him holding a yellow tent with the number one on it. When they stopped filming, the ID tech placed the marker. That done, they shot still photos and then bagged the boots and took them into evidence. The boots would be shipped to the state lab. First, they’d pull DNA from the dry blood on the sole. Once that was done, they’d be sent to the ID section, where the tread would be compared to the kitchen print. I had no doubt that we had a match.

  While the techs worked, I went outside to stay out of everyone’s way. Max and I stood back and watched. “Anything else in there that stands out?” he asked.

  “A photo of Laurel near the bed.”

  Max heaved a heavy sigh. “Myles really does love her, huh?”

  “I guess,” I said. “Sad that it turned out this way.”

  “Are we sure he has to be the one?” Max asked. “Is there any other possible explanation for his boot leaving the kitchen print?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I don’t think we can be sure until we piece all this together, maybe find his fingerprints on that knife or gun, or something else tying him to the murders. But it doesn’t look good for him, does it?”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  At that point, Lieutenant Mueller walked out. He’d been inside the cabin, overseeing the search. “We found something in a desk drawer,” he said. “I think you’ll want to see these.”

  He had an evidence bag, and inside was a four-inch stack of envelopes. Each one was addressed in a flowing, handwritten script to “My Dearest Myles.”

  “Letters inside?” Max asked.

  “Yup,” Mueller said. “Love letters.”

  “Who signed them?” I inquired, although I certainly suspected that I knew.

  “Laurel Johansson,” Mueller said.

  I frowned, thinking about how the day had unfolded. This morning Mullins had been convinced that Carl was our killer. When I found the evidence that he was stalking Laurel, I tended to agree. Partly, I still did. But so much was coming together with Myles that seemed to suggest we were wrong about Carl. Yet I wasn’t ready to rule out Jacob’s buddy. Poor Laurel, I thought. I wondered if she knew how much jeopardy she was in and from whom. Maybe I hoped that she didn’t know. I didn’t like the thought that she may have spent her final days living in fear.<
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  “We need copies, ASAP,” I said. “There could be something in one of those letters that would answer all our questions.” The originals would have to be preserved to be fingerprinted and logged into evidence, but I had to know what Laurel wrote.

  “I’ll send someone to the office with them. We’ll have duplicates for you in an hour,” Mueller said.

  “Good,” then I turned to Max. “Have we issued a be-on-the-lookout for Myles yet?”

  “I did it on the way over here,” he said. “State troopers, everyone should be getting the BOLO as we speak.”

  “Add to the alert that we think he’s on a bay stallion,” I said. “We need to get everyone looking for this guy. If it’s him, I want him behind bars pronto. If not, we need to rule him out and find the real killer.”

  “You’re not convinced, despite the boot? You’re thinking about Carl, aren’t you?” Max asked.

  “We still have more questions than answers,” I said. “But whoever is behind this, we need to figure it out fast. Max, we have no reason to be sure that this killer is done. Maybe this monster intended to massacre everyone in that house, and Jacob, even little Jeremy, are still in grave danger.”

  “I’ve been…” Max said.

  “Thinking of that, too?” I asked, and he nodded.

  Twenty

  Max stayed to watch over the search of the cabin, but I left as soon as the copies arrived. At the shelter, the closest thing I had to a home in Alber, Hannah and most of the women were sleeping. The only ones still up were a small group of night owls in the parlor, talking and hand-sewing squares for a quilt. Hannah had started working with some of the families in town that sold to gift shops, mostly in Salt Lake, to make money for the shelter. I’d been intrigued by all the ingenuity she used to pay the bills and buy food and supplies to keep the place functioning. Most of the donations came from mainstream Mormons, who gave generously to help the shelter, although they didn’t condone or practice polygamy. The hallways were dark as I walked quietly by the parlor, staying in the shadows. I paused at the foot of the stairs when I realized the quilters were talking about the Johansson case.