A thought niggled at the back of Sam’s mind. He groaned.
“What’s wrong?”
“I was supposed to call Charlie Shaw at the Hideaway,” Sam said. He glanced at his phone. One bar. Maybe . . . Nope, the call failed. He could usually send and receive texts with one bar, and handed his phone to Nate. “Text Emma and ask her to call Charlie Shaw. And text his number—it’s in my recent calls. She’ll know why.”
Fifteen minutes later, they turned off a paved road onto a gravel one that turned to sand and finally a sand-dirt mixture. With overcast skies, it wouldn’t be long before it was pitch black. “Looks like there have been a few trips in and out, but how does he get in here when it rains?”
“Four-wheeler, if it rains very much. I think he leaves his truck back where the road is gravel,” Nate said.
The cabin was made of logs and much nicer than Sam had expected. He and Nate stepped out of the SUV. The sun had set and Sam shivered, zipping his jacket against the cold wind. There were no lights on inside the cabin and no sign of Trey, other than his four-wheel-drive pickup parked beside the cabin. “I hope he’s here,” Sam said.
“He may be out hunting. If he is, he’ll be back soon since it’s getting dark.” Nate walked up on the porch and rapped on the wooden door. “Trey, you here?”
No answer.
Sam scanned the area. The cabin and yard had that empty feel, like no one was home. “If the door’s open, do you think he’d mind if we waited inside?”
“Naw.” Nate tried the door, and it opened easily.
Thick curtains shuttered the windows, and the house was dark and cold. “Reckon we could start the generator?” Sam asked as they both used the flashlight app on their phones to illuminate the room.
Nate groaned. “Oh no!”
Sam followed Nate’s light and froze. Trey lay face up on the floor with a dark circle on his chest. Sam reached him first. The dark circle was blood from a gunshot wound. He felt the deputy’s wrist. “No pulse,” he said. “And he’s stiff.”
Nate knelt beside Trey and shined a light in his eyes. “Probably happened in the last twenty-four hours. We need to make sure we don’t destroy any evidence.”
They carefully backtracked out of the house, and Nate used Sam’s radio to call for the crime scene unit and the county coroner, then they waited in the SUV. Thoughts raced through Sam’s mind. Why had Trey been killed? He wished they’d paid more attention to the car tracks in and out of the area. “Do you think there might be shoe prints on the floor? If Trey didn’t use the cabin much, and he hadn’t swept since he’d been here . . .”
When Nate didn’t answer, Sam turned to him. The sheriff stared through the windshield, his face a stony mask. When he realized Sam had said something, he gave a slight shake of his head.
“Sorry,” he said gruffly. “I didn’t know Trey much outside of the job, and the election caused a few problems, but we’d put that behind us. He was a good man, and the department is going to miss him.”
Sam nodded somberly. “It’s always hard, losing someone you work with.”
Nate took a deep breath. “Yeah. What were you saying?”
Sam repeated his question, and energy seemed to spark in Nate.
“You know, we can do a little preliminary work while we wait. You still have any of that gel lifter stuff in your SUV?”
“Yep, but before I get it out, let’s see if there’s anything to lift.”
They climbed out of Sam’s SUV, and Nate squared his shoulders. “We’re going to get whoever did this.”
Sam nodded his agreement. They started with the front porch, and after angling the lights on their cell phones almost level with the porch, footprints appeared. “Some of these are ours,” Nate said. “But there are at least a couple of shoe prints different from either of our shoes. You have enough sheets to take several prints?”
“Yeah.” Sam returned to his SUV for the tools he needed. They were able to get several clear prints that they could compare to Trey’s shoes.
By the time they finished, the CSI team had arrived, followed by the coroner. Sam itched to call Emma and make sure she was all right. He checked his phone and groaned. The text asking her to call Shaw hadn’t gone through.
66
Emma slouched on the sofa. While she’d been with Sam today, it’d been easy to forget that he’d lied to her about what happened the night Ryan was killed. Maybe not lied, but he’d let her believe a lie. Doubts filled her mind like rocks. Once again she was tempted to cut and run, but was that because that’s what she always did in a relationship? Maybe it was time to grow up. Cut Sam some slack. She sighed. Was she being too hard on him? Ryan could be a jerk when he was drinking. Could be? More like always.
In her mind, she could see how Ryan and Sam’s argument could’ve happened. It was probably even the same argument she’d had with Ryan earlier that night. After their mom and dad had left the restaurant, Ryan had been determined to stop off at the restaurant bar. An hour later, it was evident he’d been drinking before he even arrived at the restaurant. Three drinks didn’t make a person as drunk as he was.
“Come on, Ryan, you’ve had enough,” she said. “Let’s go.”
“Nope.” He turned and ordered another whiskey sour. “Don’t want to. But you can leave, Li’l Miss Perfect. Run home and tell Mama and Daddy your brother is getting drunk.”
“That’s enough,” Sam said. “Let’s go.”
Ryan downed the drink and shuddered. “Okay. I wanna go to the Hideaway, anyway.” He moved toward the door, his body very erect and walking very carefully and precisely. While Sam went to get his truck, she tried again to get him to go home, and he shoved her.
Emma whirled on him. “You know, you’re always talking about taking off. I wish you’d just do it. No one wants to be around you. Life would be a lot easier if you were gone!” she hissed. “I wish—”
“What? That I wasn’t your brother?” He swayed. “At least I’m my own person and don’t pretend to be perfect.”
Emma pushed the thoughts away. She couldn’t change the past, but in her heart she knew if she could ask Ryan for forgiveness, he would give it to her.
A text dinged on her phone. Maybe it was Sam. She’d forgotten to charge the phone after he left, but it was plugged in now. She hurried to the kitchen counter and tapped the screen. Corey. Swallowing her disappointment, she read the text.
My client called. I know it’s late, but can I stop by and share my good news with you?
Emma hesitated, glancing at her watch. How did it get to be nine thirty? Should she answer his text? He was on their suspect list, but Corey being the murderer seemed so farfetched. Instead of texting, she called him. “What’s the good news?”
“My client is withdrawing his opposition,” he said. “I’ll tell you all about it over the coffee I’ve brought from the Guest House.”
A load lifted from her shoulders. At least one thing was going right today. “Good.” A beep sounded on her phone, and she glanced at it. Sam.
“I’m in front of your apartment,” Corey said.
“Come on up. I’ll press the button that unlocks the front door.”
Emma would call Sam as soon as Corey left. When her doorbell rang, she checked the camera app. True to his word, Corey stood in the hallway with two cups in his hands.
She opened the door. “Did he really withdraw his opposition?”
“Yes indeed.”
“Come on in,” she said, stepping back to allow him room to get past her.
“I think this is still hot—I just got it and came straight here.” He handed her a cup with the Guest House logo on it. “Can you manage it?”
“Sure.” She took the cup and led the way into the living area. Corey took the sofa, and she settled in the chair across from him and flipped the top back on the cup.
“How did you convince him?” she asked and sipped the coffee. “Ooh, this is as good as I remembered.”
“It is, i
sn’t it,” he said. “I just told him you would do a better job than anyone I knew of.”
Her heart warmed toward Corey. “I appreciate your vote of confidence.” She took another sip of the coffee. “I wonder if the Guest House would tell me what brand this is.”
“I’m sure they would,” he said. “What are your plans? When will you start the project?”
“Tomorrow. My supervisor has said I can work there instead of Melrose.” Unless Sam insisted that she work somewhere else.
“Good.” He looked around the apartment. “Is there any way I could look at what you have from the project in 2000? That would give me an idea of what you’re going to do.”
“Sure. It’s in my backpack. Be right back.” She walked to her bedroom and retrieved the report. It was such a relief to know she didn’t have to jump through more hoops to conduct her project. Back in the living room, she spread out the report on the coffee table in front of the sofa. As they talked, it was obvious from his questions that Corey was interested in the project.
She didn’t know how long they’d been discussing her plans when her cell phone rang. Her heart skipped when Melanie Ferguson showed up on caller ID. How was she going to get the information she needed with Corey sitting beside her? “I need to take this in private,” she said, standing. “Be right back.”
Whoa. Emma grabbed the doorframe in the hallway. She’d moved too fast and paused to get her balance before she slid the answer button. “Hello?”
“Emma, Melanie Ferguson returning your call. I know it’s a little after ten, but I’ve been away from my phone, and your message sounded urgent.”
“Thanks,” she said and walked to her bedroom. “Do you remember the person I called about?” She didn’t want to use Corey’s name in case he could hear her.
“Yes. Corey Chandler interned for Wendall in 2011. He started in January. I remember because that’s when I broke my leg.”
The year Mary Jo and Ryan were murdered. “Are you sure?” Emma’s head felt odd.
“Positive. He called me at home on several occasions for help finding files that Wendall wanted.”
“How long did he intern?”
“Three months. He was leaving the week I returned to work.”
Melanie sounded so far away. “Okay. Thanks.” She disconnected and tried to get her bearings.
“Emma, is something wrong?”
Corey? She turned as darkness closed in on her.
67
The Rohypnol had taken effect.
Corey had waited until he knew Ryker wouldn’t be coming back. Greg Hart, Emma’s neighbor, had come and gone, the blonde at the end of the hall was away. Everything was working out perfectly.
He smiled. “We’ll be together now. You don’t have to be afraid of your feelings for me any longer.”
He stood and walked to the bookcase, where he retrieved the bug. He didn’t think it could be traced back to him, but there was no need to take a chance.
“I . . . I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Emma rubbed her forehead. “I don’t feel well,” she said. “The room is spinning.”
He furrowed his brow. “You look as though you’re about to pass out,” he said. “I’m going to take you somewhere safe.”
“No.” She shook her head as if to clear it. “Why are you here?” she asked.
“We’ll talk about it later, after you’re feeling better.” He slipped her coat over her shoulders. “Don’t want you to get cold, do we?”
A sudden urgency to get away from the apartment washed over him, and he hurried her down the stairs. She was compliant but getting sleepy as he guided her to his truck. He’d thought about collecting some of her clothes and makeup, but he wanted nothing from her former life at the cabin.
Once Corey had her seat belt fastened, he slipped her shoes off and hurried around to the other side of the club cab truck. Once he got out of town, he would put her in the back seat, where she could sleep.
Corey jerked his head in the direction of an approaching siren. His premonition had been right! He’d barely turned the corner when flashing blue lights pulled in front of Emma’s apartment.
They would know in minutes she was gone. He’d have to take a roundabout way to the cabin and avoid any highways that might have a roadblock.
No matter. Excitement thrummed through his body. Emma was his now. All he had to do was get her to the cabin, where he would keep her locked up until she yielded to her love for him. He could see in her face she was still afraid of her feelings for him. Time would change that.
68
Sam hung around the cabin until the local funeral-director-slash-coroner was allowed to examine Trey’s body. After his preliminary examination, he informed them Trey had died from a gunshot wound to the heart, and from his experience, he figured he’d been dead at least eighteen hours, maybe even twenty-four. The medical examiner in Jackson would pinpoint the exact time of death during the autopsy.
“If you don’t need me any longer, I want to find Gordon Cole and talk to him,” Sam said to the sheriff.
“Good idea,” Nate said. “I’ll catch a ride with one of my deputies.”
“Do you know where Gordon lives?”
Nate rubbed his forehead. “Doc lives on Cole Road, but I’m not sure about Gordon. Let me ask around.” He disappeared inside the house and reappeared a few minutes later with the doctor’s address and cell phone number. “The coroner is old friends with him,” Nate said. “You know how to get back to the main road, right?”
“Yeah. Stay on the dirt road until it intersects a gravel, then take a left.”
Nate gave him a thumbs-up. “Call dispatch if you need anything, and they’ll contact me on the radio.”
As soon as Sam had cell coverage, he dialed Emma’s number. It went straight to voicemail. He checked the time. Eight thirty. He bet she forgot to charge her phone. As soon as he interviewed Gordon, he would drive to her apartment and make sure she was all right.
After he put Gordon’s address into his GPS, he dialed the doctor’s number and got an answering service. He left a request for the doctor to call him. Sam followed the directions from his navigation system and wasn’t surprised when an hour later, the directions took him to a ritzy part of town and a house that sat on at least three acres of ground. A fence surrounded the property with a security gate at the entrance. Sam stared at the keypad, then redialed the doctor’s cell phone. He was about to disconnect when the doctor answered. “This is Dr. Cole.”
Sam identified himself. “I’d like to talk with you a few minutes.”
“About . . . ?”
If he said Mary Jo Selby, he figured the doctor would find an excuse to not talk to him. “Trey Carter.”
“What about Trey?” Gordon’s voice was cautious.
“He’s dead.”
A sharp gasp sounded through the phone. “What? How?”
“That’s what I’d like to discuss with you.”
There was silence on the line, and then the front gate swung open and Sam drove through. Gordon met him at the front steps dressed in sweats and athletic shoes.
“Come inside,” Gordon said. Sam followed him inside and down the hall to what looked like a TV room. “What happened to Trey? Was he killed in the line of duty?”
“No. Someone shot him at his cabin. Do you have any idea why?”
The doctor blanched. “I need a drink.”
He walked to a bar on the far side of the room and poured a good two inches of amber liquid into a glass that he tossed down in one gulp. Judging from his reaction, Gordon hadn’t known about Trey’s death . . . or he was a good actor.
He turned to Sam. “Tell me what happened.”
“Not much to tell, yet. Nate and I drove out to talk to Trey about Mary Jo Selby and Ryan Winters’s deaths.”
He swallowed hard. “Y-you found Ryan’s body? Where?”
Sam watched his expression. “We found where he’d been buried.”
Gordon
leaned against the bar and closed his eyes.
“You want to tell me about it?”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“Really? I think I’ll go see what Sheriff Carter has to say when he discovers his son is dead.”
“You can’t pay any attention to that old man.”
“He was pretty clear the other night when he told me Trey didn’t murder Mary Jo. Was it you who killed her?”
“No!” His face flushed.
“Well . . . since Ryan is dead, and now Trey, that just leaves you . . .”
“None of us killed her! There was someone else there that night.”
“Who?”
The doctor shook his head. “I don’t know. But there had to have been because I didn’t kill them and I never thought Trey did.”
Sam tapped his hand on his leg. “Can you drive a backhoe?”
Confusion clouded his eyes, and then he turned and poured another drink, downing it as quickly as he had the other. A picture emerged in Sam’s mind. No wonder it’d been hard to figure out. The shooting at Mount Locust was not connected to Emma’s stalker. “You and Trey buried Ryan’s body the night Mary Jo died . . . but why?”
Gordon wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’re crazy.”
“I don’t think so.” Sam hesitated, pulling his thoughts together. “If you aren’t the killer, then you’re next.”
“What?”
“Think about it. There were four of you at Loess Bluff that night. Mary Jo. Ryan. Trey. All dead. You’re the only one left who knows what happened, except for Sheriff Carter, and I doubt the murderer is worried about him. But you, that’s a different matter.”
Gordon sat down hard in the chair beside the bar and stared at the floor. A grandfather clock in the corner ticked off minutes as Sam waited him out. After five minutes, the doctor’s shoulders slumped and he exhaled hard.
“You want to tell me about it?” Sam asked.
Obsession Page 29