by D. K. Hood
Rio nodded. He’d decided, after looking closer at the strange green eyes with black slits for pupils, she had to be wearing contact lenses, or he was talking to an alien from some distant planet. “Do you live alone?”
She pushed her hair from her face, tucking it neatly behind her ears. “Yes, I live alone and right now I’m hoping, when the conference is over, I won’t find my cabin under a ton of snow.” She sighed. “I’ll manage for the winter if I can get back. I hunt for all my food and my meat locker is full.”
Rio cleared his throat. “Before you leave, call for an update on the roads and ask when the access to your property can be cleared by the snowplows. We have many working around the clock. It is what we pay our taxes for, after all.”
“Thanks, I will.” She gave him a curious stare. “I’m sure y’all didn’t haul me up here to ask me about my books. Cut to the chase. I don’t want to miss anything.”
After checking his iPad, Rio smiled. “Sure. You’re out in cabin forty-six. You left here at nine-forty-five last night and returned this morning at nine. You told one of the deputies, you didn’t see or speak to anyone during the time you left and when you returned. I’m just following up on that. The CCTV footage shows a few people leaving around the same time.”
“Well, I may have followed a few people out the door and along the footpath, but when it splits up and I headed to my chalet, I didn’t see a soul. I didn’t even see who delivered my breakfast this morning. It was snowing hard when I left, so I pulled up my hood and ran. I changed in the ladies’ bathroom and my bag is in one of the lockers. I didn’t see anyone.”
After adding a few notes, Rio looked up at her bored expression. “How well do you know Dakota Storm?”
“I pitched my book to Miss Storm.” She made a show of examining her rings, setting each one in the correct position. “I waited, like nine months for an email rejection from her assistant.”
Rio frowned sympathetically, although he’d never experienced professional rejection. In his case, people headhunted him. “And how did that make you feel?”
“Oh, you’re good.” Summer smiled at him. “You want me to say, ‘Like putting her in one of my books and murdering her.’ As much as I’d like to, it just wouldn’t be enough.”
“I see.” Rio nodded. “Did you hear anything unusual last night or this morning?”
“Nope.” September checked her phone. “If that’s all, I have to go. I have an agent pitch in fifteen minutes and I don’t want to miss it.”
“Sure.” Rio stood and offered his hand. “Thank you for your cooperation. Good luck with your pitch.”
Her handshake was more than firm. Her hands were rough and he could make out the outline of a muscular forearm. He sat down and made a note. September March, strong tall mountain woman, more than capable of committing murder. Hunts her own food. Motive: Has a beef with agents. Rejected by Storm.
After moving his brief notes to the file, he glanced up at the next suspect. Having a long-term memory had its advantages, as well as its downfalls, but he recognized the next person as Bexley Grayson, an author out of Lyons Bay, California. Grayson, at forty-two, sported blond highlights in his hair. He was a stocky muscular man. His fake tan had a distinct orange tone and his too white smile could have lit up the room. He’d dressed, as had most of the guests, in ski pants topped with a brightly patterned sweater. Rio stood and walked to greet the man. “Mr. Grayson, thank you for dropping by. We’re following up on the whereabouts of guests staying alone, in an effort to find Miss Storm.”
“You haven’t found her yet?” Grayson raised both eyebrows and gave him a look of incredulity. “I assumed the worse after seeing the medical examiner’s van arrive.”
Rio observed his behavior. He seemed genuinely surprised. “We’re short-staffed and Dr. Wolfe offered to lend a hand. His assistant is a badge-holding deputy. It’s what we do in Black Rock Falls. We help out where we can.”
“Ah, and everyone believes the conference is holding a murder mystery game.” Grayson chuckled. “They often do over these long conferences.” He gave Rio a long considering look. “I’m wondering, if you are all actors, roleplaying for our benefit to make it seem real.” He glanced around the room. “The locals attending the conference mentioned Sheriff Alton and Deputies Kane and Rowley, but they seem to be conspicuous by their absence. Now we’re called mysteriously one by one to answer questions, when we’ve already given the sheriff the information previously.” He leaned back in his chair and smiled. “This is all part of the game, isn’t it?”
Not to Dakota Storm it isn’t. Rio tapped his pen on the desk and shook his head. “I’m not aware of any game.” He glanced at his notes. “How well do you know Dakota Storm?”
“I’ve met her a few times at conferences, pitched my stories to her. She is one of the best dealmakers around.” Grayson sighed. “I haven’t been lucky yet, but there’s ten other agents all interested in acquiring crime thrillers here, so I’m still in with a chance.”
Rio twirled the pen in his fingers. “You’re not bothered by her method of rejection?”
“Who isn’t? She’d make the Wicked Witch of the West look like a nun. The emails can be harsh but face to face, she’s blunt… no, darn right offensive.” Grayson sighed. “I gave her my best pitch and she said, ‘Why are you wasting my time with this trash? Go away, forget writing, and get a day job. You’ll never make it in this business.’”
“I see.” Rio made notes and then looked at him. “It seems she has a habit of being rude.”
“More like a reputation.” Grayson chuckled. “She isn’t called the Viper for nothing, but I figure that’s too nice. Maybe the Destroyer of Lives would come close.”
Rio leaned back in his chair, allowing questions to form in his head. “Uh-huh, so, now you’ve had time to think, do you recall seeing anyone last night at all who could verify your whereabouts between midnight and, say, six this morning?” His satellite phone buzzed and he held up one finger. “Just a second. I need to take this.” He stood and walked some distance away. “Rio here.”
“It’s Jenna, we’ve found a body, a male we believe could be Jedidiah Longfellow out at the construction site. It’s a homicide. So you’ll need to ask the suspects where they were this morning as well.”
Rio nodded. “Sure. I’m on it. Do you need any help?”
“No, you’ll have to hold the fort there. Wolfe and his team will be heading our way as inconspicuously as possible. I’m leaving Emily there with you. Webber is bringing the van via a back service road. I’ll bring you up to speed when we get back.” Jenna disconnected.
Rio returned to his seat. “Anyone see you last night?”
“Not that I’m aware. I went straight to bed. I’m sure you’d see me on the CCTV cameras. They’re everywhere.” Grayson stared into space. “This morning, I ate breakfast in my room and then came downstairs to join in the conference. There were people milling around, but I don’t recall anyone in particular.”
“Okay.” Rio looked up from his notes. “And this morning, what have you been doing?”
“Ah… I went to the book signing and then to a reading.” Grayson shrugged. “I spoke to many people. I can’t remember all their names. Let me think. A young woman, blonde hair, oh, what was her name? Ah yes, Julie.” He glanced across the room to where Emily was talking to someone across a desk. “She looked a lot like her. We were in a line to get an autograph from the Black Rock Falls series author and chatted. There was someone else there too I’ve met on social media. He’s a bestselling author. Jedidiah Longfellow. Nice guy.”
Rio’s radar went on alert. “What time was this?”
“In the session before the lunch break.” Grayson sighed. “At least fifty people would have seen me at the book signing and the reading. The halls were packed.” He moved around irritated. “Is that all? I paid good money to enjoy this conference, not to sit around here talking to cops all darn day.”
Rio held up a fin
ger. “What time did you speak with Jedidiah Longfellow?”
“Oh, I don’t know, eleven maybe.” Grayson stood. “He had a few people around him, asking him about his book. He was in the hall when the author was reading her book as well.” He narrowed his gaze. “Is he missing too?”
Rio put down his pen and closed his notebook. “Not that I’m aware.” He stood and offered his hand. “Thank you for your time.”
Grayson seemed reluctant to shake his hand, but when he did his palm was ice-cold against Rio’s flesh. It was like shaking hands with a corpse. After the man’s touch lingered on his skin for an eternity, Rio used the hand sanitizer on the table, suddenly glad he’d had all his shots. He finished up his files and looked to see who was left to interview. He found the room empty apart from Emily, finishing up with Parker Rain, a literary agent out of Twisted Forest, Montana. When she’d finished entering her notes into the files and closed her laptop, he walked over. “Do you want to get out of here for a time?”
“Sure.” Emily stretched like a cat. “I’m stiff from being out so long in the snow this morning. I don’t figure I’ll ever be warm again.”
Rio smiled at her. “We have some time before Jenna gets back. I figure we deserve hot chocolate in front of the fire and maybe a snack. The diner in the foyer has some delicious cakes and pastries in the window.”
“That sounds wonderful.” She picked up her purse. “Do you have a card to get back in here? I don’t want to leave the door unlocked.”
Rio waved a keycard. “Yeah, we all have one. How did the interview go? Did you find a suspect?”
“I’m not sure.” Emily followed him out the door to the elevator. “I’ve never met people like this before. They’re really obsessed with their books. And they take everything so seriously, like it’s life or death. Honestly, from the stories I’ve heard today, if Dakota Storm had been one of the toxic reviewers they have to deal with, I wouldn’t be surprised if an author or agent murdered her just to get even.”
Sixteen
It was as if a calming breeze came over the murder scene when Wolfe appeared out of the snow. The big hulking figure carrying a forensics kit in one hand wasn’t recognizable, with a scarf over his mouth, sunglasses, and a fur-trimmed hoodie hiding his features. If it weren’t for the medical examiner logo on the front of his jacket, Jenna would have had one hand on her weapon. She stepped out into the snow to greet him. “Emily not coming?”
“No, she’s tied up with the suspect interviews. As you know, my daughters insisted on staying to help out even with a killer on site.” Wolfe removed his sunglasses and rolled his eyes. “Julie arranged for Webber to collect their things. My housekeeper packed bags for them.” He let out a long sigh. “Okay. What have we got?”
Jenna held out an evidence bag containing the victim’s wallet. “Driver’s license says Jedidiah Longfellow out of Wilderness, Wyoming. From the promotional cards we found on him, he’s an author.”
“Oh, this is interesting.” Wolfe’s eyebrows rose as he peered through the door to the chalet. “Just before I left, Rio spoke to a guy on our suspects’ list named Grayson and he mentioned speaking to Jed Longfellow at around eleven this morning.” He glanced at his watch. So what time did Sparks find the body?”
Jenna checked her notes. “He called at three-thirty. We were out hunting down the log that was used on the Dakota Storm homicide, and we found it.” She pointed to a plastic bag resting beside the front door. “We came here directly and the blood around the victim was frozen. Dave’s taken shots of everything. The nail gun appears to be the weapon of choice.”
“It’s pretty hard to kill someone with a nail gun unless you hit them over the head with it.” Wolfe looked skeptical. “On the bright side, the fact we have Grayson as a witness to the last time someone saw Longfellow alive is fortunate, because we can put the time of death between eleven and three-thirty. It’s a small window and better than I can calculate with science, especially in subzero temperatures.” He placed his kit inside the door and scanned the room. “Find anything of interest?”
“Not much. The matching earring to the one we found outside Dakota Storm’s chalet was just outside the door and there’s more blood over there.” Kane waved a hand toward the blood spatter on the wall. “I’d say the victim backed up against the wall to get away from the killer, but the whole scene looks way too amiable to me.”
Jenna nodded. “Yeah, no defense wounds we can see. I figure he knew the killer and could’ve come here to meet them.”
“A lovers’ meeting perhaps?” Wolfe glanced at her and approached the body. “Pointing a nail gun and pushing a woman into a pond doesn’t take much strength, so I’m not ruling out a woman suspect in these cases. Like Kane said, women of average fitness would be quite capable of sliding Dakota on the ice and into the pond.”
Jenna allowed Wolfe’s words to percolate through her mind. “Would an average woman know how to use a nail gun? It’s a noisy thing most women would avoid, I’d imagine.”
“Women work in all trades these days.” Kane raised an eyebrow and smiled at her. “You’d use one, wouldn’t you?”
“It would be easier than swinging a hammer. I’d imagine you’d turn on the compressor and then fire it.” Jenna frowned. “I wouldn’t know how to load it, but we can assume it was loaded. This is beside the point. What if this is a love triangle? We need to find out the connection between Dakota Storm and Longfellow. If they had an affair and caused a breakup, maybe the injured party could’ve done this.” She looked at Kane. “Can you actually shoot the nail gun like a pistol?”
“Most of them have a safety mechanism to avoid unintentional discharge, but it can be overridden, and that’s an old model.” Kane examined the nail gun. “This is a framing nail gun, so it fires three-and-a-half-inch nails, which I believe is code for structural framing. Most nail guns must be pressed onto a surface before they work. On this one, holding both triggers down together allows it to shoot nails, but it becomes less effective over distance. I’d say probably twenty percent effective as a twenty-two-caliber pistol, at best.” He turned his attention back to Jenna. “There are easier ways to kill someone if that had been the intention. This indicates this method of murder means something to the killer. Finding a nail gun wouldn’t be easy, so the killer must have scouted out the place before they lured the victim here.”
“I think it’s staring us in the face, Dave.” Jenna stared at the evidence bag in her hand. “Longfellow’s book is called Nailed It. It seems too much of a coincidence not to be part of the killer’s plan.”
“I guess we’ll need to read it for ourselves.” Kane rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh boy, if the killer is murdering authors because of fictional crimes they created, it hits the dog barking messages to the Son of Sam out of the ballpark.”
Jenna swallowed hard at the implications. “So, a deliberate act and lack of empathy would indicate psychopathic behavior. It would be classed as an organized psychopath, right?”
“Yeah, especially if the killer encouraged the victim to come here in the middle of a blizzard. They do have charm in spades.” Kane indicated to the floor. “From the evidence in front of us, it’s clear the victim didn’t try to fight back. Look, not so much as a scuff mark from a shoe. The place would’ve been in a shamble if someone I didn’t know had come at me with a nail gun.” He pointed to a hammer on the floor. “There are weapons everywhere and look down here. The victim was an arm’s reach away from the electric cord running to the compressor. He’d only have to pull it out and his killer couldn’t shoot again. It seems to me there was a lot of discussion going on before this went down.”
The crime scene didn’t make any sense. Who just stands there and allows someone to shoot nails into them? Jenna watched Wolfe roll the body over and bent to take a closer look. “I’m seeing chest and leg wounds, none on his arms. From what you’re saying, Dave, to make the nails penetrate, the killer must have been close, and it’s as if this guy
just stood there and took it. Anyone being attacked usually has marks on their hands. I’d expect him to be shielding his face at least.”
“Maybe he didn’t believe his friend would kill him?” Kane stared down at the body. “Disbelief, shock maybe. What do you think, Shane?”
“Yeah, both shock and disbelief can render a person almost paralytic.” Wolfe frowned. “His eyes are closed as well. That’s unusual. It’s as if he’d given up.”
Jenna looked at Wolfe. “You’ve seen violence in all its forms. Why didn’t Longfellow defend himself?”
“From my experience, some men wouldn’t try to defend themselves against a woman they knew.” Wolfe shrugged. “Maybe they’d start out by trying to talk them down and reason with them. I know spousal abuse happens, but thank God it’s not the norm.”
“That makes sense.” Kane narrowed his gaze. “Although, the pain would’ve been unbearable—those nail guns hit with force and everyone has their limit—and yet he just stood there and took it, rather than disarming his attacker.” He shot a look at Jenna. “What kind of idiot does that?”
Jenna shrugged. “A devoted idiot or a very close friend, maybe?”
“It’s not easy to kill someone with a nail gun, as Kane explained, it doesn’t shoot nails at the same velocity of a bullet.” Wolfe lifted his gaze to Jenna. “Most people could survive random shots, but whoever did this had some knowledge of anatomy. I see nails concentrated around his femoral artery, his carotid artery, and abdominal aorta. This would have caused the major blood loss needed to bring him down. The kill shot, if you like, was well placed, and I’d say when I open him up, I’ll discover the shots to the base of the skull severed his brain stem.”
Amazed by the lengths people would go to to kill, Jenna straightened. “He must have suffered.”
“Yeah, but not for very long.” Wolfe used a probe to take the body temperature, removed the victim’s glove, and scanned his prints. “The aim of the killer was to inflict pain rather than kill. No head shots, at first, all legs and torso. I’d say from the amount of blood, the time between the body shots and the kill shots would have been a few minutes at most. This was torture and I’d say time restraints rather than choice forced the killer to cut it short. I figure we have a link. This murderer gained gratification, same as in the strangulation of Dakota Storm. Up close and personal.”