Truth in the Bones

by Vickie McKeehan

  Josh cut his eyes and sent her a sidelong stare. “That’s a little far-fetched, Skye. It’d be like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

  “Yeah, but I was hoping your super-seer powers would kick in by this time and tell us why he picked this spot.”

  “I’m willing to dig, but if I haven’t picked up on anything by now, I’m beginning to doubt it’ll happen.”

  The robust hike ended back at the river bank. Josh began to turn over dirt in random areas, sticking the blade of the shovel into the earth and scooping up the soft terrain.

  While he dug, Skye fanned out along the cliffside making her way around to the gorge at the other end. She poked under ferns and fennel, looked around blooming knotweed, but spotted nothing that might resemble a stash of weapons. Not even any dirt that seemed to have been disturbed.

  She took pictures of what generally could pass for a gorse plant, even though she knew it wasn’t. The photo would surely appease the ranger and hopefully prevent any further questions. After an hour or so, she headed back to where Josh still dug in the mud.

  “Anything yet?” she called out.

  “Nothing.” He mopped his brow and leaned his weight on the shovel. “How about you?”

  “Like you said, we’re looking for a needle in a haystack.” She sat down on the nearest rock. “Let’s think about this for a minute. We’re looking for a guy who travels to commit his murders. He can’t take a weapon onboard an aircraft unless he’s a U.S. Marshall or checks it inside a bag. He wouldn’t do that without leaving a traceable line to follow.”

  “Which means he either has to steal the weapon he uses at each crime scene, or he brings the gun with him by car.”

  “There is a third option. He could buy the weapon at a pawn shop or gun show while he’s in town surveilling the neighborhood. And then leave it somewhere safe for when he shows back up again. The Israel Keyes stash approach.” Skye looked up and down the trail. “Oh, my God, I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before. The Maldonado family car, a ten-year-old Chevy, went missing with Christy. What if he picked this spot because this is where he left his car that day? He came back here that night to switch out vehicles. He headed straight down I-90 from here and went back to wherever he came from, maybe even flying out of a different city farther east.”

  “There’s just one problem with that. How did he leave his car in the same parking lot where we left ours and get into Seattle?”

  Skye chewed her lip. “That is a problem. Could he have hitched a ride out of the park?”

  “He could have, but that’s too great a variable. You could stand out on the shoulder of the Interstate for hours and not get picked up. Not likely his first choice.”

  “Did he have some sort of motorbike small enough to fit on a standard car, maybe a pickup truck? One of those minibikes would get you into Seattle.”

  Intrigued by the idea, Josh nodded. “Motorbike? Okay, that’s reasonable. A bike would certainly fit in the bed of a pickup. If you’re right, and he switched out cars, then where’s the Chevy? It has to be around here somewhere.”

  “Point taken. Look around us, though. We’re sitting in the middle of a wilderness paradise filled with all manner of trails back in these woods. Some are accessible by car. I saw those clearly marked on the detailed map at the ranger station.”

  “And they’re within a five-mile radius of where we’re standing.”

  “Exactly. He could’ve easily rolled it down one of these embankments. The question is do we spend the time looking for it now or notify Harry and Emmett and get them involved with a search team? They should contribute something to this.”

  “I vote search team. We’ve been out here a long time.” Josh looked up at the darkening sky. “The temperature is starting to drop again and it looks like it could snow.”

  “Then let’s get the shovel back to Pete and head back to Sierra.”

  Nine

  Kandahar Province

  Afghanistan

  Eight years earlier

  Conflict had dominated this region throughout history. Over time, Britain, the Soviet Union, various rebel forces, an ever-changing line of warlords, and now the U.S. had fought and died here. Each had done everything possible to leave their mark.

  Despite facts and figures, insurgents and smugglers still found a way to use the mountainous terrain to their advantage. Villagers still toiled in the lucrative opium fields, cultivating the world’s largest supply of heroin. Cannabis, known as hashish, had long ago replaced the wheat crop that used to grow tall and abundant.

  Tonight, his job was simple. He’d been instructed to wait on a hillside, near a green field of decades-old grape vines, looking out on a village. He was there to take out some high-ranking Taliban leader.

  Because when a drone couldn’t do the job or a smart bomb made too many headlines, they counted on him to accomplish the goal.

  The trick to any covert op was to get in and out of the area without being seen. Staying in control was the next big thing. Keeping your cool under pressure, keeping your mindset focused was essential to the success of any operation.

  He liked going in at night, preferred it. From his early days as a Ranger, he’d earned high marks for his pinpoint accuracy and deadly aim in pitch-black surroundings and high-pressure situations. His one-shot kill ratio still set a unit record.

  It was only later, after years of routine, that he became disillusioned with military life. No one knew how much he hated his Army existence, hated regulations, hated being told what to do. After several botched raids, it became clear to him that he was smarter than all these West Point, ROTC, Army brats who called themselves commanding officers.

  Ninety percent of the time, these guys didn’t know what the hell they were doing. They never ventured out in the field to kill anyone because they didn’t have the guts to take on a tough mission.

  The only thing that made his miserable life tolerable was when the orders came down and he’d get to pull the trigger. There was life for him in pulling that trigger. Lately, he’d even been sneaking out on his own to kill anyone he found alone, people who had wandered too far away from their villages or rural hidey-holes.

  Only then had he discovered how much he could really get off on the thrill of killing a stranger.

  He’d heard scuttlebutt about pulling out of the region. If that happened, he’d already come up with a plan. If the Army decided to pull up stakes and get out of this fucking war, he’d go rogue, find himself a contractor position as a special ops sniper and bring in a bundle of cash that way.

  After all, he had a unique set of tools, a talent for getting the job done without emotional baggage. He’d love nothing more than to employ those tools and fatten his bank account. Wouldn’t that be something? What would Maitlin say about that when he had just as much money as she had? And his hadn’t come from Daddy. He’d make it on his own, without any help from Maitlin’s wealthy, snooty, snobby family.

  He already knew Maitlin’s father hated him. One day, he might just take them both out, slip into their big house in the middle of the night and slit their throats.

  A thrill ran through his body at the thought of doing it. Just as he began to think about how he’d carry out such a plan, a Jeep pulled up. His target came into view. On automatic, he adjusted the sight on his .338 Lapua Magnum rifle and waited for a clear shot.

  He focused in and squeezed the trigger.

  After all, this is what he got paid to do, less than two grand a month wasn’t much, but then it wouldn’t hurt to have another notch on his belt. If he wanted that promotion, another kill would look good to the unit commander, even if the man was a total horse’s ass. He’d learned over the years to play their game. And he’d gotten good at it.

  Ten

  Monday afternoon

  Travis stood on the porch holding Sierra in his arms and waited for the minivan to pull up past the gate and up to the house.

  As soon as Sierra spotted her Mama a
nd Daddy, she bounced in his arms while Atka pranced in nervous anticipation.

  “See, I told you they were on their way back,” Travis said to both baby and pooch.

  Sierra responded by planting excited little kisses on his face and babbled in baby-speak. What little he could pick up was a sweet combination of Pop-pop mixed with Mama and Daddy. It warmed his heart.

  On Skye’s approach, the little girl all but jumped into her mother’s arms.

  Travis watched with amusement. “I think she’s happy to see you guys.”

  “Mama’s happy to see her little angel, too. Did you have any problems, Dad?”

  “Not a one. We spent the day reading stories and playing with that activity center thing she likes so much.”

  “Did she eat okay?”

  “Just fine. How’d it go with you guys?”

  Josh shook his head. “Not a single signal from that night. We stayed out there several hours longer than we should have before realizing Christy’s car might be the best source of evidence.”

  Travis slapped him on the back. “Sometimes it’s like that. The spirits don’t always cooperate and let you in. That’s why when they do, it’s a privilege.”

  “Hey, ever since the transformation, I’ve always been appreciative of what the wolf’s given me, what she helps me see and do.”

  “There you go. You can’t ask for more than that. I know those woods out there near the South Fork. Finding a vehicle could be a long ordeal.”

  “That’s why we’re here now. Before we go back home do you mind if we use your house as a meeting place, to talk to Harry and Emmett together? I think Reggie and Winston are deep in code.”

  “No problem at all. Make the calls and I’ll set some food out.”

  It didn’t take long for Travis’s dining room to become a brainstorming session. A pot of coffee and cinnamon cake sat among a tableful of scattered papers.

  “So the trip out to Olallie State Park was a waste of time?” Harry stated.

  Skye glanced over at Emmett—who looked nervous but had joined them for the briefing because Skye had practically twisted his arm to get him here.

  She turned to respond to Harry’s question directly. “I wouldn’t say that. Did either of you go to the crime scene yourselves after the remains were found and get the lay of the land, so to speak?”

  “I didn’t,” Emmett admitted. “I relied on the police reports and the crime scene photos.”

  “So did I,” Harry confessed. “Is there any reason we should?”

  “I recommend it. You really have to see the area to appreciate its remote feel. This guy had every reason that night to think he’d have the place to himself. Because he had to go to that spot to retrieve either his own vehicle or one he’d rented. He had to have switched out the cars in the parking lot,” Skye reiterated. “It’s the only thing that makes sense. Why would he risk getting seen by witnesses if there wasn’t a significant reason to stop at that one location? And two years ago there were people in the park that very weekend. We checked with the park ranger while we were there. A group of campers reserved campsites all along the other side of the river bank for a bachelor party, a spot where they could let their hair down without bothering a lot of people. These guys arrived on Friday night and were there until Sunday afternoon. The point is, Josh and I tracked down about half the group. We’ve been on the phone talking to each one of them and not a single person reported hearing gunshots. But one of them did say he got up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom and spotted a man across the river walking with a teenage girl toward the bend in the river where the kayakers found the skull. And before you ask, he couldn’t give us any more than that. It was dark and he couldn’t say what the guy looked like, or describe the girl.”

  Harry put down his fork in between bites of cake. “But we already know the killer was in the area because that’s where Christy was found.”

  Josh stood in front of a map that Travis had tacked up. “The point is if Skye’s right, then that Chevy belonging to the Maldonados has to be within a few miles of this parking lot.”

  “Maybe even less,” Skye added. “Think about it. This guy had a lot to do that night. He had to shoot Christy, dig a shallow hole for the body, find a place to ditch the car, and get back on the road. All without running into nosy campers. The Maldonados’ car has to be somewhere nearby. A search by air might reveal where.”

  “Along with a chance to gather more evidence. We think it’s worth a shot.” Josh took a seat at the table. “And while we’re at it, we need the list of items found with Christy’s remains. We’re assuming they’ve been sent to the lab.”

  “They have,” Emmett confirmed, shuffling through his papers. “Sent off to the lab in Quantico. No idea how long it’ll take for the results to come back, though.” He pulled out a list from the bottom of the police reports. “Found near the skeletal remains was the clothing she was wearing, a sweater top and blue jeans, a pair of panties, a bra, and a pair of Nike running shoes.”

  “That night the killer ordered her to change out of her pajamas and watched her do it,” Josh explained. “But the guy showed zero interest in her…sexually.”

  “An odd behavior pattern to say the least,” Emmett noted. “I have profilers that disagree with your observation about that. The seasoned and experienced ones feel like there’s no way that this guy would go to so much trouble for nothing more than an adrenaline rush. They think he has to be drawn to the family in some sexual, perverted way.”

  Skye shook her head and pointed to the stack of police reports. “Then where’s the evidence that backs that up? The medical examiner here can’t confirm Christy was or wasn’t raped because of the decomposition that had occurred. What we do know is that the bones indicated that she was fully clothed when she went into that hole, a fact that would suggest the killer wasn’t interested in getting her out of her clothing. That removes a sexual interest. And since there are no other bodies to examine, it’s irresponsible to suggest the killer’s motivation is somehow sexual. Because if you buy into the sex part, I think that would blow the ‘missing man’ theory clear out of the water and we wouldn’t be sitting here.”

  Emmett’s face broke into a grin. “That was my argument. But when you’re dealing with a roundtable discussion, butting heads is part of the mix. Sometimes it distracts from the investigation. They also found Christy’s blue backpack and a candy bar wrapper, specifically a Snickers bar near the body.”

  “What was in the backpack?” Josh wanted to know.

  “A change of clothes, a pair of pants, extra pairs of panties, and that’s it.”

  “Ah. So this supposed teenage girl grabs a few outfits but doesn’t actually pack too much of importance,” Skye noted. “She leaves behind her phone, her iPod, and even chooses to forego taking the laptop she used for school. The police photos of her room back that up. She’s going on the run for who knows how long, but she basically chooses to travel light even though she flees in the family car, meaning she could have loaded up a lot more stuff in the vehicle, but decided not to. Shouldn’t she have taken a lot more with her?”

  “You’d think,” Harry grunted.

  Sierra toddled over and Skye pulled the baby on her lap. “And the candy wrapper seems out of place to me. Why would he take the time to eat a snack?”

  “For energy,” Josh proffered. “The guy’s just wiped out an entire family. He’s out in the woods in the dark digging a hole. He needs fuel. A Snickers bar is the only thing he has in his pocket. Christy’s already dead. After he’s done stuffing his face, he tosses the trash into the grave he’s just dug.”

  “Interesting theory. Then you should test the Snickers wrapper first. It’s likely your best chance at pulling down DNA.” She turned to Emmett. “You know we’re calling this guy the Cross-country Killer, right?”

  “Catchy. But I thought you guys wanted a media blackout?”

  “We do. That hasn’t changed. That’s why the handou
t we sent you doesn’t mention the moniker at all. It’s just for internal use with our group here.”

  “I’m impressed. The FBI works with consultants on cases periodically throughout an investigation. But I’ve never seen consultants do what you guys do and get these kinds of results as quickly.” Emmett got up to refill his water glass. “That’s the truth of it. You obviously haven’t been sitting on the sidelines while dealing with motherhood. Your skills aren’t rusty at all. You both have a flair for this kind of work.”

  “That’s what Harry said. Flattery will get you guys another piece of cake, but not much else. Motherhood is still my number one priority. Even though I have a slew of friends and family members to pick up the slack. The enormous support makes the difference. People like Lena Bowers and Judy Howe are the two biggest reasons the Foundation never shut down when I had Sierra.”

  “I’ve talked to Lena a couple of times,” Emmett said. “That woman’s an organizational freak. And Judy is a marvel. After what she went through and coming out on the other side, she’s an inspiration to us all. I’m not sure I ever said this before, but I think you guys are definitely putting a major dent in the sex trafficking in the area.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I hear scuttlebutt in my neck of the woods. The rumor mill says most of the traffickers have shut down their Seattle operations and moved to either Canada or south to Portland.”

  “That isn’t exactly good news, Emmett,” Skye stated, her voice laced with disappointment. “I want to end their practices, not get them to relocate somewhere else.”

  Emmett patted her hand. “It’s a start, Skye. Dwell on the positive. These results are reported back to D.C. and all the usual interested parties. Since I retired from the FBI, I still have my contacts on speed dial. Believe me, local law enforcement agencies from all over the Pacific Northwest know who to call whenever a kid turns up missing. That’s the Artemis Foundation. You can’t buy a better reputation than that. I think they might even have your number on speed dial. So that’s something.”