by Unknown
He made a dismissive gesture. “Easily explained if one considers the five centuries of advanced science and technology evolution in the North Pole. It was the Easter Bunny myth that I took aim at. He didn’t even have a sleigh and jet-propelled reindeer. It’s like they didn’t even try with that one.”
Her expression lightened. “I’m not surprised you gave it some thought.”
“I’m always thinking. For instance, right now I’m wondering if you’re going to hoard that comb or share it. Or does my use of it require a borrower fee?”
“A borrower fee. I’m almost afraid to ask.” But she tossed him the comb, which he caught neatly.
“I have a twin sister. Four minutes older, and she never lets me forget it. The borrower fee was her way of supplementing her allowance.” The memory brought a smile as he ran the comb through his hair. “The payment was never reciprocal, as I recall.”
“Something else I missed by being an only child,” Keira responded drily as she went to her phone again. She checked the time before hitting redial. After a moment she spoke, her voice clipped. “This is the Alger County Sheriff. It is imperative that the owner of this phone call my office about a matter of some urgency at this number.” She rattled off her contact information before adding, “This concerns Joseph Atwood.”
When she turned back toward him, he got up to return her comb. “I’m guessing you don’t have any cell phone detection equipment at the office.”
She snorted and crossed to the chair. Sitting, she tucked the items she held beneath it. “Believe me, times like this make me long for the StingRay technology we had in Chicago. No, it’s the old fashioned way for us. If it comes to that, getting a warrant won’t be a problem. Judge Isaacson is pretty cooperative. Waiting for the response from the cell phone provider could take up to twenty-four hours, though.” Keira stretched her feet out in front of her, crossing them at the ankles. “But it probably won’t come to that. We can likely find the girlfriend faster just by checking out Grand Marais and showing Atwood’s picture around.”
Finn tried—and mostly succeeded—at keeping his gaze off that long length of leg. So sue him, he was a legman. And even encased in the dark brown uniform pants, hers would warrant attention from any male with a pulse. The pull in his gut was proof that he was very much alive. “So…” He lassoed his wandering thoughts. “How big is Grand Marais?”
“It’s the only town in Burt Township. Five hundred residents. If Atwood was there, someone will have seen him. We’ll stop on our way back tomorrow. If the roads are passable by then,” she added darkly.
He smiled. She was really harboring a grudge against the hapless meteorologist who had so badly screwed up today’s forecast. “Atwood is—or was—a trapper and hunter, according to Rose. And the EDL found scat tracked into your house by the intruder. We need to check that connection. Maybe that’s how the killer crossed paths with his last victim.”
“Both are popular pastimes on the UP. More people likely have a hunting license than not.” She rubbed at a knot in her shoulder. “But yeah, we can check with DNR. They’d have records of the licenses and permits.”
And then they’d cross-check the names on those lists with the one Keira had compiled on Danny Saxon’s enemies. He needed to get the Atwood DNA test run as soon as possible. They didn’t want to spend too much time on the tenuous hunting and trapping link without validation of their victim’s identity. Putting to rest a mother’s fear about her son’s whereabouts was at least as important as furthering their case. One way or another, the woman would get tentative closure as soon as he could get it to her.
Bouts of tiredness had come and gone all day, but a cloak of exhaustion was settling on him now and he was ready to succumb to it. “I’m turning in.” He looked around the room. “I’d tell you that you watching TV wouldn’t bother me, but…”
“Right.” The only electronics in the room was a digital alarm clock. Keira rose in one lithe movement. “Are you one of those guys with a weird territorial affinity to a specific side of the bed?”
“Well…I wouldn’t call it weird. Or territorial.”
She smirked. “Pick a side then.”
Finn stood to round the bed. It was second nature to put himself between the door and the woman he’d be sleeping with. Not sleeping with in the figurative sense. He hastily amended the thought, because inviting those kinds of mental images would guarantee insomnia. He turned on the lamp on a fancifully carved bedside table before going to the door and double-checking the lock. Switching off the light, he returned to the bed and pulled the covers back to stretch out on it. He couldn’t help wondering how much experience Keira Saxon had with men’s affinity for a certain side of the bed.
The mattress gave slightly under her weight and he reached up to snap off the lamp. The room was enveloped in darkness. He silently thanked the owners who had paired the frilly curtains with room darkening shades. He and Keira laid there in silence for several minutes. Long enough for unconsciousness to begin to creep in.
“The selection of victims doesn’t make sense to me.” Her voice was pitched low. Quiet enough that it might not have wakened him had he been completely asleep.
“You mean a high profile kill followed by one with much less visibility?”
“Yeah.” She shifted positions slightly in the bed. “Is it just opportunity? Because that doesn’t seem to match with our suspicion for why he reached out to me. It means we’re wrong about his game and motive. It would suggest a killer who’s striking out somewhat randomly. And that doesn’t seem to be our guy.”
Fluidly he fell into her line of thought. “We still don’t have enough to base a profile on, but I agree, choosing Atwood—if that’s who the second victim turns out to be—doesn’t mesh with the motivation we’ve settled on. Unless he was a pawn, chosen only for one purpose. To engage you. Up the ante.”
She released a long breath. “That scenario works, but it sure doesn’t make me feel any better.”
“No.” Finn tucked his hands behind his head, contemplating the darkness. “Was your father’s death supposed to be his end game? And then something changed and he decided to take it further? He’d gotten away the murder.” And that fact was sure to be one that burned for Keira. “He could have exulted in that, but after nine months it didn’t prove to be enough for him. And that resonates with a serial offender. They can’t stop, even if they want to. He has to let people know he’s there and how he outwitted the investigators. That implies ego, and it might be what trips him up in the end.”
“But he didn’t choose to rub it in the face of the investigators, he chose me.” He alerted to the underlying huskiness in her tone. With her studied dispassion, she made it easy to forget sometimes that the first victim they spoke about so often was her dad. But Finn had caught glimpses of the pain in her eyes a couple times before she’d looked away to compose herself. And he wondered at what price that dispassion came.
“Maybe because that’s what offenders like him do. Exploit the suffering of others. Or perhaps whatever game he was playing started with my father and he wants it to continue.”
“So let’s start there. Did he challenge Danny? Seems to me if this is a contest for him, he may have. We should check unclosed cases in the county.” And Finn kicked himself for not thinking of it before. “Maybe scrutinize any recently solved homicides, too.”
“Alger County isn’t exactly a hotbed of homicidal maniacs.” Her voice was wry. “Up until now we’ve had a total of two murders in the last five years. The UP averages five annually.”
“Which brings us full circle to victims that no one would miss.” Because it just wasn’t possible that Danny Saxon was the offender’s first victim. Killers weren’t that lucky, especially their first time. The terrain of the crime scene definitely had contributed to the erroneous cause of death, but he still wondered what the sheriff had been doing in the wilderness area to begin with, so far from his truck and fishing spot.
H
e had a sudden thought and it nearly brought him upright in bed. “Accidents. You mentioned something once about a fisherman going through the ice. Has that happened recently?”
“That’s some memory you have, Carstens. Yeah, it was just last winter. His parka was found washed up on the shoreline about fifty miles from Munising, but his body…” Her voice trailed off. “Son of a bitch.”
“It’s a possibility,” he cautioned, but there was a surge of excitement in his veins. “You’d have to go further back in your missing persons list. Maybe even five years or so.”
“And not concentrate just on Alger.” She moved again and, this time, her foot grazed his. She drew hers back as though she’d been scalded. “If he’s hunting for victims he wouldn’t necessarily be constrained by county lines.”
Warmth lingered from where her flesh had touched his. It wouldn’t do to concentrate on that now. Not with the cocoon of intimacy enveloping them as they spoke quietly in the darkness. It would be all too easy to forget that circumstances had forced them here, two people bound by a common cause who barely knew each other. He’d do well to remember that.
“It’s difficult to accept that he almost got away with it.” The words were uttered so quietly that he almost missed them. “My dad’s death would have always been deemed an accident if the killer hadn’t left that cooler on my porch. I had my doubts, but ultimately I have him to thank for not going to my grave believing Danny was eaten alive by wild animals. And knowing I owe him that is like taking a knife to the gut.”
And here, finally was a sliver of herself that Keira hid from her fellow investigators. From pretty much everyone, from what Finn could tell. “There aren’t many who could immerse themselves the way you have into the details of the death of a family member and stay objective.” There were, as a matter of fact, plenty of excellent reasons for law enforcement entities precluding personnel from doing just that. But the emotional toll it might exact from her troubled Finn the most. He and Raiker had discussed the matter at length, and their concerns had been reflected in the service contract outlining his involvement.
As if echoing the line of his thoughts she said, “Phil was vehemently opposed to my bringing in an outside investigator. But I can’t get over the fact that the cause of dad’s death was missed, and the investigators responsible were MSP and my own office. I hate that I doubt them. I trust Phil and Hank as much as I did any partner I ever worked with in homicide. There are plenty of outstanding MSP agents. But…that agency had their chance. This isn’t about me fearing being sidelined in the case…it’s about wanting the best. Dad deserves that much.”
She fell silent again. There was nothing more to say. Keira wasn’t looking for platitudes about finding justice, and she wasn’t seeking comfort. But his hand still went in search of hers on top of the covers. He felt her initial shock at the contact. Then slowly her fingers interlaced with his. And this time, when sleep crept in it took him under.
_______
That stupid bitch. Boone slammed the kitchen door, fury nearly choking him. All the steps he’d taken recently had been with one goal in mind—getting the MSP called in to investigate Danny Saxon’s death. He’d be matched with the best the state had to offer. Now Saxon’s cunt daughter had ruined everything. He wanted to slice her up for the sheer pleasure of it and drop pieces of her on her fucking father’s grave.
Boone wasn’t a patient man, but he’d had to wait far longer than he’d wanted to start this contest. He’d been lucky not to bleed to death after Danny Saxon had shot him last summer. It wasn’t like he could have sought traditional medical help for his wound. Recovery had been slow and painful. The only thing that had gotten him through was devising this plan. Dreaming of it.
And now Keira Saxon had just blown it to hell.
He wiped his boots on the rug in front of the kitchen door before crossing to pull a chair out from the table and sat. Taking the phone out of his pocket he started a search on the outfit Saxon had hired. It should have been the Michigan State Police. He’d counted on that. They were considered the premiere law enforcement agency in the state. Boone had counted on them being called in.
Leave it to a fucking woman to screw things up.
He ought to be getting to work. He had stuff to do today, and he liked to check his traplines daily. Instead, Boone spent the next hour reading stories on the web about Raiker Forensics. With each article his ire faded a bit. Finally, he pushed away from the table to pack his lunch, all the while contemplating what he had learned. Maybe Saxon hadn’t fucked things up after all. Could be she’d done him a favor.
He took out venison tenderloin and then some bread to make himself a sandwich. The online stories had made this Raiker sound like some sort of hot shit, and there was plenty on there about cases solved by his agents. After taking out some mayo, he slathered the meat before topping it with another slice of bread and slipping the entire thing into a baggie. Perhaps the people in Raiker’s company were better investigators than the MSP. Maybe…just maybe…whomever the Saxon bitch had hired was exactly what he was looking for.
Didn’t matter how great a cop was, though. The UP was different. The terrain made it unique.
Which gave him the advantage.
He shoved the sandwich in his pocket and headed back to his truck. Michigan hosted contests yearly for bragging rights for the best hunter or trapper. Those events were for suckers. Animals could be cunning, but they couldn’t come close to the challenge of trailing the most highly evolved creatures on earth.
Humans.
And what happened when you pitted a highly trained manhunter against a hunter of men?
Satisfaction filled him as he got in the truck. Started it. It had become the burning goal in his life to discover that answer.
He gave his next step serious thought as he drove. Boone was up early, but the plows had been earlier, leaving the roads slick in spots. A car was in the ditch ahead, but he didn’t slow to see if the driver was still in it. If dumbasses couldn’t handle snowy roads, they shouldn’t be in Michigan.
It wasn’t until he pulled into the Hiawatha Forest entrance that a plan began to form. He would have liked to see Saxon’s face when she opened that little present he’d left in her refrigerator. No doubt it had gotten her attention. Boone wondered what the hotshot investigator she’d hired had had to say about it.
It was time to raise the stakes. He considered another minute and then a smile spread wide over his face when he settled on his next move.
The forest was still and deserted when he pulled the pickup over to the side of the road. He flipped on the light of the miner’s hat and fit it over his stocking cap before getting out. Lowering the tailgate, he took out his cross country skis, the large backpack, and the sled. All the equipment would be needed to haul his catch back to the truck.
His favorite sports had a lot in common. Didn’t matter if it was fishing, trapping or the hunt, to land the biggest prize you had to use the right bait.
And he had just the bait in mind.
_______
Grand Marais, Michigan wasn’t much more than a blip on the map although even draped in snow its surroundings were picturesque. It boasted a Chamber of Commerce, a K-12 school, a bustling convenience gas station, three restaurants, one bar and oddly enough a pickle barrel house. Keira pulled into the gas station, parked and they both got out of the car. Nature was atoning for yesterday’s storm with balmy mid-thirties temperatures.
The girl behind the register boasted four piercings in her ear, a stud in her brow and a hoop in her nose. Finn had always wondered if the metal transferred cold to flesh. Decided not to ask.
They stood at the end of a line of six people paying for gas, breakfast food or doughnuts. Since their hosts had offered light breakfast fare, Finn had no trouble turning his back on the other culinary treats in the bakery. He could feel the impatience emanating from the woman beside him, but Keira remained silent. She’d had little to say this morning, both over
breakfast and on the way here. He wondered what she regretted more: opening up to him, or allowing that slight human contact. Keira Saxon seemed to be practiced at suppressing her emotions. Finn had the feeling that seeking comfort was foreign to her.
When they’d finally made their way up to the checkout, there were another five people behind them. Without looking up, the cashier inquired, “Gas at pump four?”
“No. Alger County Sheriff.” Keira tapped her badge. “Wondering if you’ve seen this individual around.” She took the photos Rose Atwood had given them yesterday and held out the most recent of them.
The girl squinted at it. “Um, yeah, maybe. I think. I don’t know him or nothing, but he might have been in here before.”
Keira turned around, holding the picture high and asking the others in line, “How about any of you? Have you ever seen this man?”
They all shook their heads. Someone came out of the bathroom at the back of the store and headed toward the door. Keira called out to him, “Sir. Please look at this photo and tell me if you’ve seen this man before.”
With alacrity the older gentleman approached and squinted at the image. “Not that I recall. Sorry.”
Because he was scanning the store, Finn’s attention zeroed in on the one man who wasn’t in line. He’d been there since they came in, loitering in the aisles, pretending interest in several items but never picking anything up. Finn detached himself from Keira’s side and ambled toward the man. “Sir?”
The guy exploded into action. He dodged around the aisle and bolted toward the kitchen. Finn followed him through the narrow area, an outraged, “Hey! You can’t be back here!” trailing after him as he chased the man through an exit toward a rusted burgundy pickup parked next to one of the pumps. Seeing the truck locks were secured, Finn slid to a stop in front of the truck’s grill and then dove away when the driver revved the engine and the vehicle lurched toward him. His sore ribs furiously protested the sudden movement.
“In here!”