by Linda Berry
Twenty minutes crawled by.
Nature seemed to be scheming in Moolock’s favor. Islands of cumulous clouds were congealing into one dark, brooding mass, moving northwest across the sky like a continent. The snowstorm Tegan had predicted would force the chopper out of the sky. He touched the small bulk of the medicine bag through his jacket and silently expressed his gratitude for the power of the stones. Elahan’s potent magic was altering the weather system, as she said it would, supporting Moolock’s efforts.
Now for his plan to be effective, the rider had to make an appearance on the creek trail before the snowstorm swept in and hid him from view. The clouds moved across the sky with extraordinary speed, edging past the town, the village, blocking the sun, casting the land into white oblivion. The sound of the chopper vanished.
Moolock’s gut tightened as the clouds traveled closer.
Another twenty minutes passed.
Then thirty.
No rider appeared.
The roiling mass of clouds sailed steadily westward and fingers of fog reached Beartooth Creek. Within minutes the entire trail would be obscured. Soft flakes, preceding the full brunt of the storm, drifted in Moolock’s direction, catching on his coat and Lelou’s fur.
He released an anguished cry and reluctantly lowered the binoculars. His shoulders were tight and his entire body was stiff with cold. He had no choice but to peel himself away from the ridge and retreat down the mountain before the mist made his descent icy and treacherous.
Lelou sprang to his feet, his intense gaze focused below, his low growl jolting Moolock’s attention back to the creek. He lifted the binoculars and scanned the trail and wondered if his eyes were betraying him. He’d been focused on the white landscape for so long he was now imagining things. Moving on the edge of the fog were apparitions, ghosts. But one ghost materialized as a man riding a horse, moving along the trail at an ambling gait.
Moolock adjusted the settings of his lenses and focused closely on the rider. Wearing a dark trench coat, a raccoon hat, and a thick scarf that hid his features, he sat straight and tall in the saddle. Like a soldier out in the field scouting for an enemy, he slowly swiveled his head from left to right, and then he veered off the trail into the woods in the direction of the cabin. Moolock was certain this was the man who had tried to kill him in the woods only days before.
With Lelou in the lead, Moolock cautiously trekked down the mountain and through the woods to a rise at the rear of the cabin. From here he had a view of the barn, three sides of the cabin, and a good portion of the meadow. The ground was shrouded in drifting mist that gave the structures the appearance of floating. Snow was falling in thick, heavy flakes.
A subtle movement drew his attention to the south side of the barn. A flicker. Moolock lifted his binoculars and made out a barely discernable outline of a man blending with the shadows. The man opened the barn door a crack, peered into the interior, then disappeared inside, but not before Moolock caught the glint of the pistol in his right hand. Moolock viewed the scene with an exquisite hyper focus. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. Lelou nudged him hard, and the fabric of reality snapped back to normal.
It was time to enter the cabin, and wait.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
NIKAH’S NUDE BODY had replaced Lancer’s burnt corpse on the metal slab when Sidney arrived back at the morgue. It was grimly ironic that both murders took place on the same weekend, and that the lovers were sharing the same autopsy slab this morning.
Doctor Linthrope was washing his hands at the sink while Stewart sewed the post-mortem incisions with thick twine using standard baseball-style stitching. The two arms of the “Y” ran from each shoulder joint and met at mid-chest with the stem running down to her pubic region. The colorless body, remarkably preserved due to the freezing temperature of the creek, was now an empty shell, drained of blood, stripped of larynx, organs, and brain. Staring at her corpse, Sidney shuddered. So young. She found it hard to imagine Nikah as the vibrant woman described by Tommy and other villagers.
“Busy day, eh Stewart?” she said sullenly.
“Yep.” He glanced up, and returned to his work, focused.
Hearing her voice, Dr. Linthrope dried his hands, turned and smiled, his bushy gray brows lifting in greeting. “Chief Becker. You’re back.” He snapped on a pair of vinyl gloves and joined her at the slab. Stewart finished his stitching and stepped aside, revealing a full view of the body and the telltale signs of trauma.
“Jesus, it looks like she was tortured,” Sidney said, noting red indentations around her throat and wrists, and a baseball size bruise on her thigh.
“At first glance, you would think so, but that’s not the case,” Dr. Linthrope said. “If you look closely, you’ll see there are several less pronounced ligature markings in addition to the prominent ones.”
Stewart held up one of Nikah’s hands.
Sidney gave the wrist a careful inspection, then leaned over and studied the woman’s throat. The doctor was right. Layers of barely visible marks circled Nikah’s wrists and throat, in addition to the ones inflicted most recently that were noticeably red.
“My guess,” Linthrope said. “She engaged routinely in rough sex and bondage.”
“A gasper,” Stewart mocked, using the colloquial term for erotic asphyxiation.
The doctor shot him a glance.
Stewart instantly wiped the smirk off his face.
“Deliberate choking to restrict oxygen to the brain for sexual arousal,” the doctor said.
“Erotic asphyxiation,” Sidney said with a touch of surprise. It didn’t fit the wholesome profile of Nikah she’d fabricated.
“That would explain the pattern of marks going back a few weeks.”
“So, her death was caused by accidental strangling,” Sidney said. “Things got out of hand. Her partner didn’t realize until too late that she wasn’t breathing.”
“Erotic asphyxiation is certainly life threatening, but it wasn’t the cause of death.” Linthrope lifted Nikah’s head and turned it to one side, revealing a two-inch gash behind the left ear. “Blunt force trauma. The skull was fractured. She probably died instantly.”
Sidney’s mouth went dry as she stared down at the livid gash in the white flesh. “Someone really let her have it.”
He nodded, lips tightening, the senselessness of Nikah’s death momentarily leaving him speechless. It was rare for Linthrope to let his emotions cloud his normal reserve. As professionals, they learned to compartmentalize, store the darker side of their business in a vaulted place. Not always successfully.
“That explains all the blood,” Sidney said, blinking at the memory of the wide pool of blood the Luminal detected in Nikah’s office. “What caused the wound?”
His brow creased. “Hard to say. A sharp pointed instrument, of some kind. This bruise on her thigh most likely occurred when she fell.”
“Time of death?”
“Best estimate is between eleven p.m. and four a.m. Friday night.”
“Toxicology?”
“She had a high dose of Ambien and alcohol in her system.”
“Ouch. Not a good combination.”
“Not at all. It would dramatically increase the potential for sleepwalking, sleep-eating, even sleep-driving. Other symptoms are dizziness, loss of coordination, impaired cognition and judgment.”
Sidney processed the information and summarized what she’d learned so far. “So, Nikah was having rough sex with the same partner for a period of weeks, which indicates they cared for each other at some level. Sometime Friday night after having sex, most likely impaired, she sustained a blow to the head by a sharp instrument. She was dressed in her nightgown, but her killer took the time to dress her, clean up the blood, and cart her body out to the creek.” Sidney paused, ruminating. “That speaks to a very conflicted individual. On the one hand, he bludgeoned her. On the other hand, he took the time to dress her. Not only in jeans and a sweater, but boots and a jacket
. He didn’t just dump her naked body in the backcountry somewhere. He put her in the creek where he knew she’d be found.”
“Exactly.”
“Why did he move the body at all?” Stewart asked, raising his brows.
“Good question,” Sidney said. “It makes me wonder if the killer was Native American. Water is sacred. The origin of life. Purifying. Maybe her killer thought the creek would wash away her sins, and his.”
The doctor’s perspective was more pragmatic. “Or he wanted to wash away DNA evidence.”
“And there’s that.” She met his steady gaze. “Did you find anything to ID the killer? Any fluids?”
“Yes, indeed. She’d been sexually active prior to her death. We found traces of semen in the vaginal canal. The sample was sent to the lab.”
“We know she’d been seeing River Menowa,” Sidney said. “We need to get his DNA swab to the lab ASAP.” Though Sidney suspected Nikah’s lover was Native American, she wasn’t ready to dismiss Sander as a suspect. The Stalker was a sadistic offender who took pleasure in choking his victims. The sexual violence Nikah engaged in would appeal to his nature. Sidney felt overwhelmed, thinking of logistics. So much to do, and her small staff was already overworked. She looked at her watch. “Thanks for getting these autopsies done so quickly.”
Both men nodded, and smiled.
Sidney left the morgue and paused in the lobby to call Amanda. She instructed her to bring River Menowa in for questioning.
“Copy that,” Amanda said. “I’m on my way.”
Outside, the snow had ceased and the sky had taken on a deep metallic sheen. Grey clouds brushed the trees that surrounded the mist-shrouded lake. She climbed into her vehicle, headed down Main Street, and pulled to a stop at the town’s traffic light. A handful of townsfolk braved the cold, shoulders hunched against the wind, steps hurried and purposeful on the sidewalks. Against the gray pallor of day, lights glowed from the Art Studio, warm and beckoning. Sidney caught a glimpse of David at the front of his class, dressed in jeans and a ski sweater. Memories of last night’s love fest sent a shiver racing through her. She indulged in a moment of wistful yearning, the sense of pleasure postponed, but within grasp. Then her foot hit the gas and she half skidded across the icy intersection.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
SIDNEY USED her key card to enter the rear door of the station and encountered Darnell in the hallway, coming to meet her.
He flashed a smile, teeth white against dark skin. “Sander is sulking in the grill room. I have coffee and a ham and Swiss sandwich waiting for you.”
She grinned. “How’d you know I’d be starving?”
He tapped his temple. “Cop intuition.”
“Detective material.” She followed him into the audio control room, no bigger than a broom closet, and studied Sander through the one-way mirror while devouring lunch.
The game warden sat slumped in his chair, legs outstretched beneath the scarred metal table. There was an unnatural stiffness to his body, and the fingers of his cuffed hands nervously drummed the table. She sensed he was coiled with tension, ready to go on a rampage, dissolve into sobs, or retreat like a turtle into some dark, hidden place. She had witnessed every kind of emotion coming from men in Sander’s position—men who knew their crime spree had come to an end and they were facing serious jail time.
Darnell handed her Sander’s file and she leafed through the photos he’d printed out, impressed by his thoroughness. Again, the diligent young officer had gone the extra mile, pulling some of Sander’s personal background information off social media. Sidney washed down the last of the ham and Swiss with coffee while reading through it. “Good job, Darnell.”
Aside from red-rimmed eyes, Darnell looked alert. “Just doing my duty,” he said, light-hearted, thumbing a few buttons. “Audio and video are ready to go.”
She nodded toward Sander. “We’re gonna go slow and easy. Take notes.”
“Sugar approach. Got it.” Darnell pulled a notepad and pen from his breast pocket and followed her into the windowless room that had a polished concrete floor and dull white cinderblock walls. They scraped back metal chairs and seated themselves. Sidney sat across from her prisoner under the glare of fluorescent lights.
Sander sat up straighter in his chair, his cuffed hands tightly clasped on the table.
“Would you like some coffee?” she asked gently. “A soft drink?”
“Nah. I’m good.”
“I’m sorry we had to bring you in under these circumstances,” she said, giving him a sympathetic look.
He blinked, his expression wary. Not what he expected.
Sidney had a reputation for being tough as nails out in the field when the occasion called for it, but this was different. She needed to dissuade Sander from asking for a lawyer, which would shut down the interview immediately.
“We’ve known each other a long time,” Sidney continued. “I’ve run across you patrolling lakes, rivers, woods. Doing your job. Doing it well. You grew up around here, right?”
“Born and raised, just outside of Jackson.” His voice was hesitant. Cautious.
“You come from an outdoor family?”
“Hunted and fished my entire life. With my dad and brothers.”
“Went to Jackson High?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Big in sports, from what I remember.” So the notes said.
“Baseball, basketball, you name it.” His shoulders relaxed a fraction of an inch.
“Your team made the State championship,” Darnell said, and smiled.
“That we did.” A twitch of a smile. “Team effort.”
“We need to ask you a few questions, Sander.” Sidney continued to use honey in her tone. Friendly. “This conversation is being taped.”
His pale blue eyes darted across the ceiling and located the video camera. A deep furrow appeared between his brows.
“Is your name Sander Vance?”
“Yes.”
“You’re employed by the state of Oregon as a game warden in Linley County?”
“Yes.”
“How many years?”
“Six.”
She kept her eyes lowered to his file for a long pause, then looked up. “You have a sterling record.”
“Yes, ma’am. I love my job.”
She sighed. “You know how this works, Sander. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney, and to have an attorney present during any questioning.”
Sander nodded.
“Just to be clear, I’m on your side. We’re both in law enforcement. We know how the stresses of the job can build up. We’ve all been tempted to push the envelope, step into the gray area on the fringes of the law.” She smiled. “Work with me. I’ll see if I can keep your charges to a minimum.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Tell me what you know about Grisly Stokes.”
Sander shrugged. “Nothing. Only what I told you last night.”
“What about Lancer Richards?”
“Don’t know him.”
Sidney gave him her piercing stare.
He looked away.
“If you want to help yourself, Sander, you need to talk to me. Tell me the truth.”
He shrugged. Clenched his jaw. He needed convincing.
Sidney opened the file folder and laid the two photos on the table of Sander cooking fish over the campfire. “Is this you, Sander?”
“Pretty obvious,” he said.
Sidney tapped the close up photo with the tip of her pin. “This is the same knife we confiscated from you today. Correct?”
“Yeah.”
“Could you hold out your hands please?”
He did, cuffs clinking.
Sidney tapped the jagged scar on his wrist. “Unique scar.” She then laid down the photo of the two hunters with the carcasses of the wolf and other animals, pointing first to the kni
fe, then to the scar.
Sander’s face drained of color as he tied it all together.
“Want to try again? Who is this man with you in the picture?” Sidney was testing him to see if he was going to be straight with her.
Sweat broke out on his upper lip. “You probably already know. It’s Grisly.”
“So you and Grisly know each other well. You’re partners.”
A vein swelled on his forehead. “Don’t know what you mean. I don’t have any partners.” He jerked his chin toward the photo. “That was a one-time deal.”
“I don’t think it was.” To emphasize her point, Sidney laid down a photo of the hidden cache of furs behind Grisly’s cabin.
Sander swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple riding up and down his neck. “I don’t know anything about that.”
“Oh, I think you do. I think you know a lot of things.” Sidney slid a photo of Lancer’s charred corpse under his eyes. “Like the identity of this body.”
Sander winced, pushed it away with a jerk of his hand.
“The autopsy shot holes in your story about killing Grisly last night. You knew it was Lancer. The three of you were in business together.”
He kept his gaze focused on the table.
“Work with me here, Sander. As you can see, we’ve already put most of the pieces together. Help me fill in a few blanks. I’ll let the judge know you cooperated. I’ll ask him to be lenient. If you don’t help me, Grisly will. They’ll cut him a deal, and you’ll get the stiffer sentence.”
He blew out a ragged breath, nodded.
“The stolen goods we found in your bag identifies you as the man who’s been terrorizing Two Creeks Village. Burglarizing. Assaulting women. You’re the Stalker.”
Sander’s face flushed crimson from his collar to her hairline. “I’m not the Stalker.
Everyone knows it was Lancer.”
“Convenient to blame a dead man,” Sidney said. “We also know you and Harper