She only hoped she didn’t screw up and kill him as quick as she’s killed Arthur. Talk about premature eradication. Or as unsatisfying as Joe’s. How was she supposed to know there was water at the bottom of that gully? Thinking about it now, someone like Joe Dillon deserved a watery death. He made her feel like she was drowning in his love, and then flushed it all away. Death by drowning wasn’t part of her plan, but on the upside, they’d never find the body.
As she pulled into a rest stop, she patted her husband’s urn. “We won’t make that mistake again, will we, Honey? If they aren’t found, how will anyone ever know what they did to me?”
#
Just before Jace walked out of her motel room, she snapped a quick picture of her whiteboard notes and wiped the thing clean. A few quick flicks sent the image to the team in Dallas. They knew what to do with the information. Several members of her team had learned to read her scrawl, and by the time she paid her bill, they would already have her notes transcribed and picked apart from every possible angle.
Maybe this time they’d find something.
The trip ahead of her promised to be long, and if she didn’t leave soon, she’d be late for the private plane Graham had chartered for her out of the little La Junta airport, which would make her miss her connection at DIA. Still, her time in Colorado didn’t quite feel finished. Too many threads were still unraveled, and any one of them could be the answer to the case.
Why was Delisky’s tank allowed to run out when the killer had been so careful about destroying the evidence before? What was he doing in the middle of nowhere in Southern Colorado at all? What crime did the killer imagine someone like Kyle had committed? He was just a small-town shop owner with a little piece of land and a foolish hope he could turn ten acres of scrubby dryland into a farm. He’s two months behind on his car payments, and the Mercedes is about to be repossessed, for petesakes.
For that matter, why Delisky at all and not some other guy? Why Arthur Fleming? The first victim they found looked like a man who should’ve been bouncing grandkids on his knee. Why Tom White, the ex-marine? How did the killer overcome a man with military training? Did he know his attacker? Was Tom surprised? Were any of them?
As she drove her rental through the back streets of La Junta, she looked into the windows she passed, wondering if the killer watched her from behind the lacey draperies and vertical blinds. For all she knew, he could still be in town. Hell, he could live in this town. She could’ve passed him on the street on her way to the motel. She could be passing him now.
Every location, she encountered the same thing—a killer behind every window; a monster behind every smile. Each unsolved murder hit her the same way, throwing up barriers of distrust between her and any other human being she happened to encounter. She could count on one hand the number of people she trusted without question, and they all worked on her team. Even Graham wasn’t above suspicion on a bad day, and the good days were few and far between.
An old man stood on a street corner gazing into the sky—unmoving and unaware a killer was in his midst. Her car slowly passed him, and he didn’t bother to glance her way. For an instant, she followed his gaze and saw a vulture making lazy circles around the water tower.
I wonder if the same bird spent the past couple days circling Mr. Delisky.
Without conscious awareness, she turned down one street and then another, watching people and trying to discern some invisible sign they weren’t who they appeared to be. She knew deep down the killer had left this place, but still she drove. When she finally stopped, she was back in the parking lot of the Laze E. Daze. One quick look at her watch told her not only had she missed her charter flight, but the connection at DIA had already landed in Dallas.
Even if she wanted to leave today, she couldn’t. But she didn’t need a psychiatrist to tell her she didn’t want to leave today. This crime scene still pulled at her. She just needed to figure out why.
Flipping her phone open, she made two quick calls—one to Dallas, and one to Ben Yancy.
She needed to visit the ravine again—while there was still light enough to see what she hoped to find.
#
“We went over every inch of ground. There’s nothing left to see out here.” Yancy kicked a stone, sending it bouncing down the incline before coming to rest near where the car had been. “The scene investigators scoured this place clean.”
She didn’t doubt the abilities of his people—even though his crew looked less than efficient. She didn’t really doubt Yancy either. A gut feeling told her they were missing something. Maybe every crime scene had some speck of evidence they’d missed, pointing them toward the killer.
“Did they scour the place where the car was pushed from?”
“So many times the guys were starting to call me anal.” A quick glance at his face showed no humor apparent on his craggy features. “You think there’s still something out here to find, don’t you?”
“No. Not really. It’s just that a part of me can’t believe he never leaves anything behind.”
“He left the hair this time—”
She swept her hand through the air, cutting him off. “And before we can get any DNA tests back, he’ll be pushing his next victim off a cliff. I need something I can hold in my hands that’ll tell me who this guy is.”
“So you’re out here hoping he dropped a business card or something?” Now she could hear the humor in his voice, but for some reason it didn’t rankle her the way her colleagues’ jokes had. Unlike the agents back in Dallas, his efforts to lighten the mood weren’t designed to make light of a horrible situation.
“Something like that. Maybe he dropped his wallet.”
“Or left a confession tacked to the side of a tree?” She stopped walking, letting him get ahead of her by several steps.
“Find something?” he asked.
She shook her head, but left her eyes focused on the sparse foliage lining the ravine. Slowly, she began walking toward one tree in particular.
“Wait. What’s up?”
Ignoring him she stopped at its base and pointed at freshly disturbed ground. “He was here. He was here, and he watched the whole thing.”
Yancy let his own gaze continue into the branches above them. “He perched up there near the trunk so he could watch Kyle die.” Without warning, he slapped the trunk. “I bet the fucker was watching us, too.”
She didn’t consider that a possibility, but she was open to ideas. At this point, any theory looked good. “What makes you say that?”
“It rained night before last. Not hard, mind you, but enough so the tracks you found would’ve been washed away. Whoever this bastard is, he sat right here while we pulled his victim out of the car.”
So the theories from her earlier wandering were partly right. He could still be in town. He could be watching them even now. She let her eyes slide slowly over the terrain, sensitive to any sign of life. Even the wind wasn’t moving. They were alone now, but the more she thought about it, the more she knew Yancy was right.
The killer had been within a hundred yards of her, and he got away.
Again.
By the time she stopped fuming, the detective was on the phone with his office. Another twenty minutes, and the ravine would be swarming with officers going over every inch of ground—again. They needed to find the right piece of evidence—if it was out there somewhere.
Seconds later, she made her own phone call, barking instructions to her team. The other crime scenes were probably too old to provide anything useful, but each of them needed to be searched again. Even the smallest bit of cloth hooked to the tiniest tree branch could provide a miniscule piece to the puzzle. She’d worry about explaining the expenses to Graham later.
#
Emma really did detest sleeping in her car, but between Western Colorado and Eastern Utah, her choices had been limited. Every motel where she might’ve spent the night either had tourists crawling over the place like cockroaches, or a
ctual cockroaches.
Unfolding herself from the back seat, she climbed out of the convertible and stretched. As soon as she found a real city, she would get a massage. Maybe she could even treat herself with a day at some spa, letting the world pamper her like it used to.
A chill breeze cut through her light blouse and cut short her attempts to limber up. Resigning herself to another long drive through country she could only think of as god-forsaken, she sat behind the wheel and put the key into the ignition. She couldn’t wait to feel the heater blowing warm against her calves.
But when she turned the key nothing happened.
She tried again and heard the faint click of a deceased battery.
A scream tore from her throat.
Furiously, she tried the key again with the same results. She jammed her foot on the gas and tried again. Even the click was gone.
“What the fuck is wrong with your car?” she screamed at her ashen husband.
You left the lights on again, Emma. Will’s voice echoed around her. A cold finger traced down her spine. She couldn’t move, not even to look at the container where particles of her husband assured her of his death.
“Will?” she whispered into the dim light of early morning.
No answer came.
“Of course not, you twit,” she said with a sick laugh. “He’s dead.” Glancing at the urn still buckled safely onto the passenger seat, she tilted her head. “You’re dead… Aren’t you?”
Silence.
Shaking herself, she laughed, and this time the sound didn’t frighten her. “I left the lights on last night. I knew that. Will’s dead. And I’m alone.”
A light tap sounded on her window, and she shrieked.
“Hello?” a dark green jacket said. “Are you all right in there?”
She sat very still for longer than probably prudent. The man bent to look in the window, and Emma found herself looking into the prettiest blue eyes she’d seen since decades before in Wisconsin. The boy of long ago really did have eyes the color of a robin’s egg, but this new set of eyes had a darker shade—sultry, with a promise of pleasures she’d long forgotten existed between a man and a woman.
“Are you okay, ma’am?” he said.
She smiled. Her new friend most likely had a car nearby. He could give her a jump. Her smile grew wider at the thought of how the man could get her motor started in more ways than one. Not since Will had she felt such a wild attraction so quickly. The instant she looked into Will’s eyes, she was his.
And he screwed her over.
In an instant her smile changed, but the young man didn’t notice. All he saw was a female he could use. He’d use her like all the rest, and then he would be on to the next set of legs and breasts and lips.
She opened her door and stepped out onto the asphalt. The man stepped back, appraising her like some prize cow. He wet his lips, and she knew what he was thinking. He wanted her as much as she had wanted him a moment before. Her want had disappeared, but his was mounting. Just like all the others. Use her and take what she freely offered. Throw her away when he didn’t want her anymore.
Well, since he was like all the others, he would share their fate. Just as soon as he got her car started.
Chapter Six
“Looks like we’ve gone about as far as we can here,” Yancy said as the crime scene unit wrapped up for the second time. “I suppose it’s back to Dallas for you?”
Jace nodded. Her mind was already back at the office. Dozens of bags required analyzing; pieces of evidence needed evaluation. Frank and Lynn could do it without her, but it would take longer—wasting time they didn’t have.
At any minute, the next body could show up in a drainage ditch or a gully or a dry riverbed. Between two of the cases, they’d had six weeks, but they couldn’t depend on so big a gap again. If they didn’t catch this guy soon, someone else would end up in a fiery coffin.
“When are you headed—?”
The tweep of a cell phone playing Mozart’s Requiem broke into her thoughts in a way Yancy hadn’t quite managed. Reaching into her pocket, she pressed a button and stopped the music before bringing the phone to her ear.
“Douglas.”
“Where are you?” Graham said.
“Just wrapping up in La Junta. I’ll be back this afternoon.” She glanced at her watch. “In fact, if I don’t leave soon, I’ll miss my flight again.”
“Cancel it. We’ve got another burner.”
She choked back the expletive before it could grace her boss’s ears, Standing as still as a headstone, she listened while he filled her in. “You’re sure it’s our guy?” was all she said, but she didn’t need the answer. She knew.
When the Director finished giving her this new addition to her assignment, she snapped the phone closed. “We’ve got another one.” Running one hand through her hair, she wondered how long this short trip would take, whether her clothes would last another day, and how she would find the manpower to assist her on such short notice. “I don’t suppose I could borrow you for a while,” she said to Yancy. She already knew the answer to that question, too. Even if she could use him, local law enforcement—especially the small-town officer type, regardless of how efficient they seemed—were not supposed to be part of an S.C.I.U. investigation.
“Of course,” he said.
She’d have to call in some favors to get a crew on scene quickly. Frank could do it, but they would need Graham’s authorization. She needed a crime scene unit to meet her at the location, transport for whatever evidence they might find… “What did you say?”
The detective stood a few feet away with a strange expression on his face, but she didn’t have time to ferret out its meaning. “I said ‘of course’. You need help, and I have some time off coming.”
As much as she could use the assistance, she didn’t need the headache involved. Graham would have her ass. “I wasn’t being serious.”
“I was.”
She looked into his eyes, and the rage inside him read like a billboard. Even if she told him to stay behind, he wouldn’t. He wanted in on this. If she let him in, the Director wouldn’t just have her ass, he’d demand her resignation. “I can’t invite you into this investigation, Ben.” But I need his help. “Not officially.”
“Then make it unofficial. Look. You came here by yourself because your people didn’t really think this matched your case. Right? Hell, I didn’t even think you needed to be out here.” He thrust his hands into his pants pockets. “I could’ve told you the details over the phone, but the S.C.I.U. didn’t want that. They wanted you here. Maybe your boss thought you needed to see it personally. Who knows why he sent you? The point is you’re here. You came out to help me, and now you need help. Whether you want help from me or not.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, but he just ignored her and continued. “I know the deal, Agent Douglas. Feds don’t have a high regard for locals. You’re probably thinking I’m some reject whose only background is jerkwater towns like this.” He speared her with a glance like he knew that’s exactly what she’d thought in the beginning. “I know one of the things I learned over the years is to not make assumptions. Well, counting me out because I work here is making one huge ass assumption.”
She shook her head. “It’s not that. I may have made some assumptions about you and your crew when I first got here, but I’m past that. I just don’t think this is a good idea.” She didn’t want to drag Ben into this mess. She liked him. He seemed like a good cop. But he was also a small town cop, and this wasn’t a small town crime. This was crude and messy and horrific, and it was her job. Not his.
“Funny thing is, I don’t really care what you think. By now, this thing is already out there on the web. A few clicks and a couple calls, and I’ll be on your heels all the way to wherever you’re headed. Trust me when I tell you, I’ll be a whole lot more helpful if you don’t fight me. I want in on this, and you’re not going to change my mind.” The steely glint in his eyes was
all Jace needed. She had enough to do without worrying about pushing Ben back home. She’d figure out how to handle the repercussions later. If he wanted in, he was in.
Even if he lived to regret it.
“Okay,” she said, “but you know the old saying: ‘Be careful what you wish for. You just might get it.’”
His only answer came as a strange smile. She chalked it up to his feeling like he won the battle, and as long as he played nice, she wouldn’t disabuse him of the notion. Of course, his extra brain would go a long way toward sorting through the evidence. Maybe fresh eyes would see what she had become blind to. Not that she’d tell him. The guy already seemed too cocky about tagging along without the added ego-boost.
“So, where are we headed?” he said once they reached the roadside.
“Since you’re the local boy, you’re going to have to tell me. Graham said we’re going to a rest area off I-70 in Utah.” The only time she’d seen Utah she’d been in a jet flying too far overheard to really see anything. The whole area looked brown and gray and desolate. She guessed the up-close view wouldn’t be much better.
“Then I’m driving.” He spoke as if she’d argue, and he was putting an end to it before it began. With all the hours she put on the road recently, she didn’t care whether he drove or hired a chauffeur.
“My car or yours?” she asked.
“If yours is a rental, we’re taking it. Since I’m donating my time, someone else is paying for the ride.”
#
After another hundred miles, Emma let the car slow down to eighty. Killing the boy hadn’t been part of the plan, and certainly doing it in such a public place wasn’t within her parameters for safety. Something about him reminded her of someone. Maybe it was his beautiful blue eyes. They hadn’t looked so beautiful in death, though, and that gave her hope. If she could stop his eyes from looking so exquisite, maybe they would no longer haunt her dreams.
Dying Embers Page 4