He took a seat at the back of the mourners. He wasn’t a relative or a friend of the family, and he didn’t want to be disrespectful. Besides, this way he would be able to see everyone else who was in attendance.
The front of the stage was lined with an array of flower arrangements. In front of the flowers was a large black-and-white photograph of the Joneses on their wedding day. It was a duplicate of the one Kyle had seen in the cabin.
When everyone was inside and settled, an elderly lady began playing the organ. After a few hymns, the minister stepped up to the lectern to deliver the eulogy. He spoke fondly of the Joneses and of their promised life in the hereafter before he turned the podium over to Carrie.
Kyle straightened up, trying to see over the heads of those in attendance while Carrie made her way up the red-carpeted steps. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail, the long, brown tresses spilling down the middle of her back. She wore a simple, dark blue dress, without any noticeable makeup or jewelry.
She appeared nervous as she adjusted the microphone to her height, flinching at the amplified creaking that rang out through the sanctuary.
After she cleared her throat, she paused for a moment as she unfolded a few sheets of paper and laid them on the platform before her.
“Please forgive me for reading this,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’m not very good at public speaking. I’m much better at writing, and there were so many things I wanted to say I was afraid I would forget if I didn’t write it all down.
“When I was eleven, my parents were taken from me in an automobile accident. It was the most horrible time in my entire life. I couldn’t understand why something so terrible should have happened to me. What I had done to deserve such punishment from God? Fortunately, Grandpa Bill and Audrey Gran took me in. Without them, I’m not sure I would have made it through the next few years.” At first, she was just reading aloud, but as she continued, she seemed to gain confidence, the words seeming to come easier.
“My grandmother was an incredibly strong lady. No matter what happened, she never lost faith. At my parent’s funeral, she was the one who held us together. I remember her standing before the church, her chin held high as she spoke of how proud she was of her daughter and how she knew she was in a better place, waiting for her friends and family to join her one day. I remember Grandpa Bill pulling out his hanky to dab his eyes and holding it for me to blow my nose. And even though she was hurting as much, if not more than the rest of us, my grandmother never shed a tear. She was our backbone, our strength. Her faith was amazing.”
Carrie paused to flip the page, and it appeared as if she might break down. She sniffled and wiped beneath her eyes with a shaky hand. A smile crossed her face. “Guess I could still use Grandpa’s hanky,” she said. A few in the audience laughed nervously, but Kyle wasn’t one of them. The more he listened, the more guilt-ridden he became.
“Grandpa Bill and Audrey Gran lived on a small ranch in Montana at the time,” she continued. “With Bill and a few hired hands running the ranch while Audrey taught third grade at the elementary school in Lewiston. I remember how strange it all seemed to me after moving from the city. My parents were gone, and I was in a new place without any friends. I began to withdraw, but it seemed like every time I began feeling sorry for myself, Audrey Gran would suddenly appear with milk and a plate of freshly baked cookies or an offer to go horseback riding to the far side of the ranch. It was as if she was gifted with clairvoyance. She was always there when I needed her most.
“Some of my fondest memories from that time are riding out late in the afternoon to watch the sun set behind the mountains in the distance. Although she never spoke about it directly, later I came to realize that this was Granny’s way of getting me to look at life from a broader perspective, to see all the beauty and wonderment of life instead of focusing on the darkness and pain that was so prevalent in my life at that time.”
She paused for a moment and bit her bottom lip. Tears welled in her eyes as she struggled to maintain her composure.
“I told myself I wasn’t going to do this,” she said, her voice cracking as the tears rolled down her face.
Kyle felt as if someone had stuck a dagger in his gut. And every time she threatened to break down, it twisted a little bit more.
It took a while for her to regain her composure, but she would not step down. The sanctuary was silent except for the scattered sobs and coughs and sniffles as everyone shared in her grief.
Finally, when she had gathered herself sufficiently, she cleared her throat and began again.
“Grandpa Bill was one of the kindest, funniest, and most loveable people in the world. While my grandmother showed me how to be strong, he showed me how to laugh again. He loved animals and the outdoors, and he taught me to love them as well. The first time he tried to teach me how to milk a cow, we wound up getting more on the ground and each other than we did in the pail. We both laughed so hard we cried, and I swear that from then on, every time I passed that cow, it ran from me.” She smiled through her tears as people in the audience chuckled. “Even though he was busy with the ranch, Grandpa Bill always found time for me, and every few weeks, he would take a day off so the two of us could go hiking or fishing. I didn’t have the heart to tell him how much I hated the smelly, slimy things, but I loved those trips.”
She looked toward the ceiling and blinked several times. When she spoke again, her voice was thick with emotion.
“Now that they’re gone,” she said, “I don’t have anyone else to rely on to help me through this. But I do have the lessons of courage and love that they taught me, and as long as I have that, I’ll never be alone.” Again, she paused before she managed to get out, “Thank you all for your kindness … and prayers … and for being here today.” And then it was as if the emotional weight became too much for her, and she broke down again as she hurried from the podium back to her seat.
Kyle felt like a complete bastard. He couldn’t have felt worse if she had called him up in front of everyone and pointed him out as the reason her grandparents were dead.
There was an uncomfortable silence, broken only by a few more coughs and sniffles as an older lady made her way up the steps. She shuffled over to a microphone on the right side of the podium. She sang as the organist played “Amazing Grace.”
At the conclusion of the service, Kyle stayed back while friends of the Joneses gathered around Carrie to give their condolences. He didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable, as if she were being watched. Nor did he want to embarrass her by returning her pen in front of a group of people. He was contemplating if he should just slip out and do it at some other time when he noticed a tuft of red hair among the well-wishers at the front of the sanctuary. After he made his way to the far end of the row, Kyle slipped down the aisle behind Carrie to get a better look. It was the reporter, Wallace Hipple. Kyle recognized him from the press conferences and his photo in the paper.
He didn’t think Hipple had known the Joneses. So why was he here other than to try and get something from her that he could write about in the paper like some overaged TMZ reporter? The story had become the talk of the town, and Hipple had done nothing but increase the apprehension of everyone in the valley with his sensationalized reporting. Kyle wanted to hear what the reporter had to say.
The crowd around Carrie had dispersed for the most part, and Kyle got close enough to catch part of what Hipple had to say. He was the last to speak to her—no doubt in an effort to maximize the amount of time he might spend with her while minimizing the number of witnesses to his questions.
“… dear friends and I just wanted you to know how much they will be missed.”
“Thank you,” Carrie replied politely.
“Yes, well, it’s the least I can do,” Hipple said, doing his best to appear sympathetic. “Now I know this isn’t really the best time for this, but I was wondering if—” He broke off as he glanced above Carrie’s shoulder, his eyes meeting Kyle’s.
>
Kyle arched his eyebrow, challenging Hipple to continue with his question.
“Yes, well, perhaps this is not the best time,” said the pompous little reporter. “Maybe we can talk again some other time. In private,” he added with a sneer toward Kyle. “Here’s one of my cards. Please feel free to call me any time if there is anything I can do for you.”
Hipple turned and walked away down the aisle toward the doors. Kyle was disappointed that he hadn’t caught more of the conversation, but he was glad the little weasel was gone.
Apparently sensing Hipple’s sudden change had been caused by someone behind her, Carrie turned around.
“Special Agent Andrews, isn’t it?” Carrie asked.
Kyle was caught off guard. He hadn’t planned on Hipple spotting him and bolting so quickly. “Uh, yes … well, no. I’m a victim specialist, remember?” he explained, hating the way it sounded.
“Isn’t it a little unusual for an FBI agent to attend the memorial of the victims?” she asked. It sounded like more of an accusation than a question.
“I can’t really say,” he said with a shrug. “I just wanted to offer my condolences and let you know how sorry I am. I met your grandparents, and they were both very kind.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Is that all?”
Kyle had been sincere, but she seemed suspicious of his motives. “I was also curious to hear what that reporter had to say to you,” he admitted.
“Why is that?”
Kyle didn’t want to get into the details of the situation, so he simply said. “I don’t trust him.”
“I see,” she said, her voice suddenly terse. “You don’t trust reporters?”
Damn, Kyle thought as he remembered that she was a reporter with a small paper in Denver. “No, no, it’s just that I—”
“Look,” she said wearily, “I’ve had enough dealings with the justice system lately, and to tell you the truth, I don’t trust you either. Instead of worrying about what some reporter has to say to me, why don’t you go find who killed my grandparents?”
She turned and marched away, leaving him to stand alone at the front of the church. Now he felt like a complete asshole.
The final insult came as he started back down the aisle toward the door. When he stuffed his hands in his coat pockets, he found he had forgotten to return her pen.
CHAPTER 30
As Kyle walked down the aisle toward the exit, a shrill chirping emanated from inside his coat. It sounded unnaturally loud and horribly out of place in the sanctuary. He scrambled to pull his cell phone from his pocket. He had forgotten he had left it on. He was just glad it hadn’t gone off during the service.
He looked at the display. It was Lewis. “Hey, what’s up?” he answered.
“Where are you?”
“At the church. Why?”
Lewis spoke to someone in the background. There was a muffled reply in a deep voice that sounded like the sheriff’s.
“Okay,” Lewis said into the phone. “Stay there. Meet us out front. We’re on our way.”
“All right, what’s up?”
“We’re on our way back to Tucker’s place. I’ll explain the rest on the way.” Lewis hung up without waiting for a reply, but Kyle knew from the sound of his voice that something big had come up.
Hardly two minutes later, a pair of county Yukons roared up in front of the church, lights flashing. The back door was flung open, revealing Agent Marasco on the far side. Kyle suppressed a smile as he noticed that Lewis was in the front passenger seat while Deputy Johnson drove. Kyle hurried over and climbed in. They took off as he slammed the door behind him.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
Lewis tossed Kyle’s overnight bag to him. “You’ll probably want to change.” Inside were his jeans, a long-sleeved blue T-shirt with the FBI logo on the breast, and his hiking boots. As he began shucking out of his clothes, Lewis filled him in.
“The forensic report came back from the Joneses’ place,” he said. “The lab was able to positively identify two different blood types at the crime scene. Both the blood on the floor and on the stairs matched that of Bill and Audrey, who are both type O, but blood on the log that was thrown through the window was type B, which is found in only about 10 percent of the population.”
“So we’ve got a sample of the killer’s blood,” Kyle said excitedly.
“Looks like,” Lewis said. “But it gets better. The lab checked it against Carrie’s and her ex-boyfriend’s type for a match, and it turned up negative. Carrie’s type A, and her ex is type O. But guess who is type B.”
“Tucker?”
“You got it, cowboy.”
“Are we sure it’s his?” Kyle asked as he pulled the T-shirt over his head.
“Not positive yet. We know his type from his medical records. Since there was no type-B blood found at the first murder scene and since we didn’t identify any at his place, there wasn’t sufficient evidence for a blood sample the first time we took him in. But the fact that he’s type B and we’ve got type B on the log narrows it down a hell of a lot. We’ve got enough now to take him in and get a sample of his blood for DNA testing.”
Kyle nodded. It was the most telling piece of evidence they had been able to gather so far, but along with it came the possibility that it might be Tucker’s. They had had him in custody and let him go because of insufficient evidence, and by doing so, they may have set him free to kill the Joneses. Kyle knew that if that turned out to be the case, the media would crucify them in spite of the fact that they had been acting within the limits of the law. But worse than that was the thought of facing Carrie Daniels and trying to explain to her how they had let her grandparents’ killer go free.
*
Hazy light filtered into the shack as Kyle and Lewis stepped inside. To the left beneath the window was the small, rusting sink. A metal plate and a fork sat in a couple of inches of water that had frozen solid. The rickety table and chairs still sat in the middle of the room. Behind it in the fireplace were the charred remains of a log gone cold. On the rack above the mantle, the M16 with the bayonet was missing.
“Looks like he bolted,” said Marasco.
“Shit,” Lewis muttered.
Across the small room, Clayton pushed the door to the curing shed open.
Zzzhing!
Everyone jumped as a thick chain that had been hanging from the ceiling slipped over a beam and rattled to the floor. As he looked into the room Kyle noticed that one of the carcasses hanging from the rafters when they had searched the place the first time was gone.
They searched the room again. The disgusting array of steel traps, rusted cans, chains, hooks, and hacksaws remained as before, as well as the large, finely honed knife with bleached bone handle that had been left on the workbench.
Kyle looked at the rafters where the chain had fallen. Something about the missing carcass bothered him. With the truck still parked beside the cabin, it appeared Tucker had fled on foot. It seemed crazy, but Tucker was, if nothing else, a mountain man and a survivor. But if he had fled into the mountains, what had he done with the carcass hanging in the shed? It didn’t seem likely that he would have taken the thing with him, even if he had a sled. Wouldn’t he have just cut the meat from the bones to reduce the weight? Then he remembered the garbage pit out back and decided to check it out.
The sheriff was just stepping into the shack as Kyle left the curing shed. The sheriff had to duck his head as he entered, and the room seemed suddenly cramped. Kyle squeezed past and told Lewis he was going to look around back.
Outside, Davidson and one of his assistants were making their way toward the cabin, the assistant lugging the heavy forensics case.
Around back, Kyle found the garbage pit—or what was left of it—covered with patches of snow and dirty ice. It had been scattered during their search when they had collected the charred bones. He picked up a small stick and poked around at the pit but saw nothing that appeared to be new amid the
garbage and certainly nothing as large as the remains of the carcass he had seen hanging from the ceiling of the shed.
Kyle tossed the stick away and started back around to the front of the cabin. He was just coming around the corner when he was once again struck by the unnatural quiet of the forest. As he stopped to listen, he noticed that Sheriff Greyhawk had stepped back outside and was standing in front of the cabin. He stood there motionless, his head tilted forward slightly, staring into the woods with a look reminiscent of the one he had had at the Joneses’ cabin.
Something at the edge of the porch had caught the sheriff’s attention. He knelt down and picked up a clump of matted dog fur that had caught on a nail and was fluttering in the breeze. Curious, Kyle stepped back and peered around the edge of the shack. The sheriff was standing with his eyes closed, the clump of fur held to his nose like a bloodhound trying to pick up the scent, or was it more like someone savoring the scent of his lover’s perfume?
Kyle watched, curious of the enigma that was George Greyhawk. Most of the time, he seemed like an ordinary man, strong and quiet, but nothing too far out of the norm. But then at other times, he seemed unlike any man Kyle had ever known. It was as if he could hear and see and sense things that others couldn’t. Kyle couldn’t help but wonder what was going on with him. Did he know something more than he was letting on, or was he just as confused as they were?
“You find anything?” Lewis asked, breaking the eerie silence as he stepped out front.
The sheriff shook his head. “No,” he said, letting the fur drift away on the breeze.
“It looks as if he may have taken off on foot, assuming someone else didn’t come and pick him up,” Lewis said. “How long before we can have a party of search dogs here?”
“It will have to wait until morning,” the sheriff replied without taking his eyes off the trees. “It will be dark soon. It is not safe to be in these woods after dark.”
CHAPTER 31
Shadow Dragon Page 13