“More or less. Harris was right about one thing.”
“What?”
“We don’t have the resources for two major missing persons cases.”
“Don’t say that. We can work them simultaneously.”
“As best we can, we will. But the priority right now is Ashley van Auden.” The phone on Nick’s desk buzzed. Quinn answered it, and a few moments later hung up.
“That was Jeanne Price, the assistant clerk from the Clerk and Recorder’s Office. Apparently, Nick spent five hours copying maps and property records yesterday afternoon.”
“What are we waiting for? Let’s go.”
Three hours later, Quinn and Miranda sat at the Clerk and Recorder’s Office staring at the piles of maps and land records Nick had pulled.
Neither Quinn nor Miranda could make any sense of the thousand pages of information. When Miranda asked Jeanne Price what specific copies she’d made for Nick, she was informed that Nick made all his own copies.
“Do you think he had a lead and pursued it? Got into an accident or some sort of trouble?” Miranda stared at Quinn, worried.
“Nick’s too smart to go off without backup,” Quinn said. He frowned.
“What?” she asked.
“He was feeling overwhelmed yesterday. Between the press, and the lack of evidence, and the national media coming in—I don’t know. I can’t see him doing anything on his own, but maybe it was a long shot.”
“Long shot. He should have told somebody where he was going!” She’d always been ready to run off in any direction, but Nick had repeatedly insisted she alert dispatch every time she went into the field. Finally, it had become a habit. Why hadn’t he followed his own established protocol?
She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “I don’t even know where to start.” She stared at the documents in front of her. “Land ownership records going back twenty years . . . maps of the entire county . . . he had to have had some thought, but I can’t make the connection.”
“I don’t know,” Quinn began, when his cell phone rang. “Peterson.” He listened for several minutes, then said, “Great, we’ll meet you there in an hour.”
“Who was that?” Miranda asked when he’d pocketed the phone.
“Olivia. She’s coming down with the state lab director to talk to your professor. The preliminary results from Quantico came back on the red clay. Your professor was right—it’s from the Four Corners states and the analyst is leaning toward Utah. Olivia is hoping he can take a look at the sample and technical data to narrow it down further. Quantico is calling in an expert from the U.S. Geological Survey, but that’s going to take another day.”
“What about these maps and records?” Miranda stared at the overwhelming stack of paper.
Quinn looked both frustrated and angry. “I don’t know what the hell Nick was thinking. We might spend all day on this and still not come up with something. And frankly, without something specific to go on, we can’t waste any more time here.” He stood. “It’s three o’clock and you haven’t stopped to eat.”
“Neither have you,” Miranda countered. She didn’t need to be baby-sat, though in the back of her mind she appreciated that Quinn noticed.
“My stomach isn’t growling as loudly as yours.”
“My stomach does not growl!”
“Wanna bet?”
She almost laughed. “Let’s pick something up on the way to campus.”
“Fast food?” He wrinkled his nose. “If we must.”
“We must,” she teased.
It felt so good, so comfortable, to be back just chatting with Quinn. Though the stress of the Butcher investigation and now Nick’s disappearance should have made them tense, Miranda realized that they had developed an easy camaraderie. Like they used to have.
She didn’t want it to end.
CHAPTER
25
“Liv!” Miranda exclaimed in the courtyard of Traphagen Hall.
Miranda wrapped her arms around Olivia St. Martin, though she kept the hug short. Olivia didn’t like hugs and casual touches, something Miranda had never understood but respected. Olivia had always been a class act.
“You look good,” Olivia said as she tucked her chin-length bob behind her ear. “Considering you haven’t slept much,” she added with concern.
Miranda glanced over at Quinn and frowned. “Don’t believe everything you hear.”
“Quinn didn’t have to say anything. I know you.” She touched Miranda’s arm lightly. “Are you doing okay? I know this is a really bad time for you.”
Miranda took a deep breath and nodded. “I’m okay. Really.” She glanced again at Quinn discreetly, but Olivia still noticed.
“You and Quinn patch things up?”
“Not really.” She shrugged. “But it’s a little better. He’s been a rock.” Quinn had always been solid. The realization that she’d started leaning on him again unnerved her. He hadn’t become her crutch by any stretch, but she found herself more comforted by his presence than angered.
When had that happened?
“How are you doing?” Miranda asked.
“I’m okay.”
“When’s the next parole hearing?”
A cloud passed over Olivia’s expression. “Three weeks.”
“That soon? It’s been less than three years since the last one!”
Olivia had testified several times against the parole of her sister’s killer. Wisely, no parole board had released the bastard. But every time she went back to California to face the vicious murderer and tell her story, it drained her. Miranda greatly admired her perseverance and considered her friend a role model.
If Olivia could sit in the same room with the man who raped and murdered her sister, certainly Miranda could face the Butcher when the police arrested him. But the thought of seeing her attacker in person, even behind bars, terrified her.
Quinn had been talking to the state lab director and brought him over. “Miranda, this is Dr. Eric Fields from the State Lab.”
“I’m very pleased to meet you, Ms. Moore. I’ve heard so much about you.” Dr. Fields was a small, wiry guy with silver-rimmed glasses. He looked barely old enough to shave.
Miranda took a half step back and glanced down. She didn’t like being a celebrity, particularly for the reason she was well known.
Olivia broke the awkward silence. “Dr. Fields has been really great in giving me full access, and he definitely has a clean, well-run lab. We’re still analyzing the evidence. I don’t know what will be useful in court yet, but we’re working on a possible fingerprint.”
“We have a partial from a locket of a previous victim,” Quinn said.
“Yes, I have that report to work with as well,” Olivia said. “I can stay as long as you need me. But I think this soil will give you the best lead.”
“Let’s talk to the professor,” Miranda said, and led the way to his office.
After introductions, Professor Austin looked at the soil and the report. Miranda waited, hardly breathing. Certainly this was it. He’d tell them exactly where the dirt, or clay, came from.
“It’s definitely not from Montana,” he said with certainty. “And not New Mexico or Arizona. This clay is too fine. Utah is my educated guess. Possibly western Colorado.”
Miranda bubbled with excitement. “This is great. We just need to match up one of the men from the files with recent travel to Utah or Colorado. Let’s go.”
Miranda was both excited and apprehensive. This was it! They had a real lead. Something tangible from her search for the shack where Rebecca had been held captive. Why was she so nervous?
“Before you go,” Olivia said. “Dr. Fields and I reexamined the trace evidence from the Croft murders. This same red clay was found on the mattress. A small quantity, but preliminary tests indicate an eighty-seven percent match. I’ve sent it to Quantico for further comparison, but that’s at least something solid to tie in with the Douglas homicide.”
“So we’re looking
for someone who was in Utah or Colorado both recently and three years ago?” Miranda asked.
“Exactly,” Quinn said. “We need to get back to the office. If we can narrow the list down quickly, we can start the interviews today.”
Professor Austin rummaged through some papers on his desk. He pulled out a map of the United States. It amazed Miranda what he had at his fingertips—and that he could find anything in the mess.
“Let me mark out the region for you.” He picked up a red pen and outlined an area that included most of Utah and the northwestern portion of Colorado.
“Thank you, Professor,” Quinn said, taking the map.
“Glen. Glen’s my name.”
“Thank you, Glen. This will help immensely.” He folded and pocketed the map, then his cell phone rang. “Excuse me,” he said, and walked several feet away.
Miranda half listened to Olivia and Dr. Fields talking. She watched as Quinn’s face grew hard. He snapped shut his phone and caught her eye.
“Nick’s truck has been found,” he said, holding back emotion.
“And Nick?” But Miranda already knew the answer.
“He’s still missing.”
CHAPTER
26
Dr. Eric Fields offered to help with evidence collection at the crime scene, and he and Olivia followed Quinn and Miranda to the highway where Nick’s truck had been found. By the time they arrived, a dozen Sheriff’s Department vehicles lined the road. Two deputies directed the minimal traffic, and crime scene tape had been posted around Nick’s truck.
Quinn doubted Nick was still alive, but he didn’t say that to Miranda.
He wondered what Nick had been after. Had he been following up on a hunch? Why had he gone out without backup? Or at least letting someone know where he was headed. Or, had he simply been at the wrong place at the wrong time?
Sam Harris barked orders to his deputies, then spotted Quinn and Miranda as they got out of the Jeep. “I have everything under control,” the undersheriff said as he approached.
“I’m sure you do,” Quinn acknowledged.
Dr. Fields approached. “Sam, good to see you again.” He extended his hand.
“Dr. Fields. I didn’t know you were down here.” Harris seemed flustered and impressed with the lab director.
“I came down with Dr. St. Martin on another case, and when we heard about Sheriff Thomas’s disappearance, I wanted to see if I could help. We’re heading back to Helena as soon as we’re done here, and I’ll expedite any processing of evidence. Do you think this is connected with the Butcher investigation?”
Quinn didn’t like the way Fields was playing right into Harris’s ego, but then he caught Fields’s eye. The doctor gave him a slight smile and Quinn had to give him credit for diplomacy. Quinn expected Fields was older—and wiser—than he appeared.
“We’re not jumping to any conclusions right now, Dr. Fields,” Harris said. “Sheriff Thomas may have been following a lead in the van Auden disappearance; we’re still piecing together his day.”
“May I take a look at his truck?”
“Absolutely. I have my crime scene technicians processing it right now. I’m sure they would be pleased to have your guidance.” Harris walked Fields over to Nick’s truck.
Quinn couldn’t help but smile. “I didn’t think Fields had it in him to manipulate Harris. He seems so . . . Doogie Hauser.”
Olivia laughed. “Eric has a huge list of credentials, including running the Oklahoma City crime lab. He worked closely with our people after the bombing in 1995 and has been very happy to have our help in his lab. I don’t always get such a warm reception.”
“Harris has been a thorn,” Quinn said.
“I told Nick when he first made him undersheriff that it would be a problem,” Miranda said. “Harris was his opponent in the election.”
“That explains it.”
Miranda’s eyes clouded with unshed tears as she stared down the road at Nick’s truck. “Quinn, Nick’s dead, isn’t he?”
“We don’t know that,” Quinn said, hating to see her hurting. He touched her arm. “We don’t know much of anything at this point. Think positive.”
She looked at him, chewed on her upper lip. “I feel so helpless!”
“You’re not. We have two deputies scouring the files right now based on the information Professor Austin gave us. We’ll have that list narrowed down to a handful. I have two agents coming in tonight. We’ll have answers sooner rather than later. We’re getting close, Miranda. We’re going to get this guy. I can feel it.”
“Before he kills Ashley?”
“God, I hope so.”
Twenty minutes later, Dr. Fields motioned for Quinn. They leaned against Fields’s car.
“Anything?” Quinn asked.
The lab director tapped his bag. “I’m taking custody of the evidence. The interior was wiped clean.”
“No fingerprints?”
“Not Nick’s, not anyone’s, on the steering wheel, dash, or doors. Harris said that he had a witness, a trucker, who called in the abandoned vehicle.”
“Witness?” Quinn fumed. Harris was keeping valuable information from him. Quinn was ready to take over jurisdiction and nail the jerk for obstruction of justice if it continued.
“The witness didn’t see anyone in or around the truck. He drove down this road at one thirty this afternoon, turned south on 191 to eat and gas up at a popular truck stop about three miles down. He logged it all in his book. He left the restaurant at three and the sheriff’s truck was here. He almost hit it coming around the bend. Called it right in.”
“Gives us a time line. Good.” Quinn’s mind grappled with the information. “Someone dumped Nick’s truck. Why? Because he wanted it to be found. There’s a million places it could have been left where no one would find it for days, or longer. He did it to divert attention,” Quinn answered his own question.
“Sounds right to me,” Fields said. “One more thing. Though the car was wiped down, I collected a sample of dirt in the grooves of the brake pedal. At first glance, it looks like the same dark red clay we found in the Douglas murder. It’s a very small sample, less than a gram. I can’t say for sure it’s identical until I run tests, but I think for caution’s sake you should assume it’s from the same source.”
“Meaning, the Butcher has Nick.”
Olivia and Dr. Fields left directly from the scene to return to Helena. Quinn and Miranda headed back to the Sheriff’s Department and upon their arrival, Deputy Booker called them over.
“We have four possibles,” he said, his pale eyes darting back and forth with excitement. “I can’t believe out of all those files, we could narrow it down so fast.”
“Follow the evidence,” Quinn said. “Every detail helps.” He took the list from Booker, mindful that Miranda was looking over his shoulder.
“The first guy,” Booker said, “is still on campus. Mitch Groggins. He’s a cook at the cafeteria. Been there for seventeen years. Forty years old. His mother lives in Green River, Utah.”
Quinn nodded, his entire body humming with anticipation. This was it. The killer was on this list. He felt it.
“Have you talked to his mother? Found out if he visited recently?”
Booker shook his head. “We’ve been busy narrowing down the list, we haven’t had time, I’m sorry—”
Quinn put up his hand. “You did the right thing.” He made a note in his pad.
“The next guy graduated the year after Penny Thompson went missing. He only had one class with her, an advanced biology class, and he didn’t live on campus. David Larsen. He left town after he graduated and got his master’s in wildlife biology at the University of Denver. I checked their records and he’s on staff there.”
Denver—that was in the middle of Colorado . Quinn consulted the map Professor Austin had outlined. Denver was out of the region. Still, a wildlife biologist would probably work outdoors. It warranted follow-up to find out if the guy worked in the fi
eld. “How old is he?” Quinn asked as he flipped to the fact sheet in the file Booker had put together.
“Thirty-seven.”
“Okay. Next?”
“Bryce Younger. Thirty-five. Freshman at the time of Penny’s disappearance. He was in the same dorm as her—North Hedges. MSU has co-ed dorms, you know, guys on one floor, girls on another.”
“I know,” Quinn said.
“So, he was on the floor directly beneath hers. They knew each other, had one class together. And get this—he’s from St. George, Utah. He went back there when he graduated and is in construction. Never married, no kids.”
Construction—probably physically fit, capable of subduing a woman.
“Any reason to believe he’s come up to Montana recently?”
“His construction company is pretty big, they have projects all over the western U.S.—including building the new science wing at Missoula.”
The University of Montana in Missoula was about two hours northwest of Bozeman.
“The last guy is forty-five, a little older than the others. Brad Palmer. He was a teaching assistant in one of Penny’s classes and left shortly after her disappearance. They’d been involved. He’s this big ex–football type. Apparently, he had a football scholarship and played at Stanford, then busted out his knee. Graduated, coached high school, came up here to get a degree in mechanical engineering. He was interviewed several times about her disappearance, according to the records. Nothing stuck.
“But get this,” Booker added. “He lives in Grand Junction, Colorado.”
Quinn looked at his map. There it was, Grand Junction. Right over the line on Professor Austin’s map.
Miranda listened to Quinn take charge. She had to admit, he did it well.
She stared at the photographs of the four men—any one of them could be the Butcher. Goosebumps rose on her skin.
She sat in the corner and absorbed Quinn’s orders more than listened. He’d called the two agents expected this evening and directed them to Colorado. First to Grand Junction to check on Penny’s ex-boyfriend, then to Denver to investigate the wildlife biologist.
He called the St. George Police Department, filled them in on the investigation, and asked them to check on Bryce Younger. He sent Booker and Zachary to Missoula to investigate the construction company owner and see if Younger had been around in the last three weeks. He was on the phone, dispatching deputies, and massaging Sam Harris’s ego all at once.
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