‘Hang right here, just for a moment.’ Sonora went around the front of the barn, called to Renquist.
He came toward her at a jog, which put him immediately out of breath. ‘Press is coming.’
Sonora looked down the empty drive, wondered how Renquist knew. A car passed by on the two-lane road, switched on its lights. It would be full dark soon.
‘They listen in on us. We return the favor.’
Sonora nodded. ‘I’ll send somebody out to watch the drive. I don’t want them wandering. You I need.’
Renquist followed as she walked back around the barn.
‘Escort Mr Chauncey back to his trailer – evidently this guy’s got two other kids. Stay with him till I can get over there, go through Joelle’s room myself. Let me know if he goes through her stuff, removes anything. Keep watch. In a sympathetic manner.’
‘I got you.’
He understood. Sonora could tell by his tone of voice. He handed her his flashlight, a big black Mag Lite, cop issue.
‘It’ll be dark soon, ma’am. You may need this.’
She took it from him gratefully. Must be looking for promotion. Age discrimination would sink him.
‘Thanks, Renquist. I’ll make sure it’s returned.’
She turned then, feeling the strong pull of the crime scene, and headed for the backfield, and Sam. She heard the murmur of voices over her shoulder as Renquist introduced himself to Chauncey and suggested they head for the trailer. Chauncey went like a lamb. Sonora gave them one backward look. Renquist moved like a marine, maybe he’d been one. Chauncey had a peculiar walk, head down, one foot forward, the other scooting behind in a soft shuffle that whispered low self-esteem.
Sonora glanced back at the trailer. The little girl was gone. The porch light, dim already, flickered once and went out.
Chapter Four
The gate to the paddock had been white some years ago. The bars had rusted through, two of them had separated, and the whole mechanism sagged crookedly, wedged in a mound of dirt. Sonora passed through and stepped into knee-high clumps of sawgrass, ironweed and purple-topped thistles. She was wearing her newest Reeboks and the khakis that made her look skinny. She prayed to the god of detergents that she would not get anything on them that wouldn’t come out.
No body, no smell.
It was a good walk to the end of the backfield, and the sky was going darker. Sonora took a breath. You could almost taste the metallic hum in the air. They’d better get this crime scene processed. It would be raining soon.
Wind ruffled the bright yellow crime scene tape, a loose end flapping. One of the horses took exception to the tape and took off, stampeding them all.
Something had come through the fence, smashing through an entire eight-foot section. Broken slats, the wood raw and splintered, hung on either side like badly broken bones.
A riding boot lay in the grass, maybe eight to ten feet from the broken fence line.
Sonora ducked under the crime scene tape, looked around till she spotted Sam – wearing Levi’s, so he’d already been home. He was studying the edges of a broken fence board. He’d lost weight and she hadn’t even noticed. Must be the jeans.
‘Hey, buns of steel. You got a clue or something?’
He turned, and Sonora realized that it was darker than she had appreciated. Either that or her eyesight was going. Whoever he was, he wasn’t Sam.
The man grinned. ‘Have we met?’
Sonora had lately been in the habit of looking at men and thinking up reasons why she was happy not to be married to them. She was missing romance, though, missing lust even more. And beginning to wonder if her heart had deadened somehow, from one too many extremes.
One look at this guy, and she knew she was all right.
She extended a hand. ‘Detective Blair. I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else. Who are you, anyway?’ And what are you doing in my crime scene?
He had a firm handshake, as well as other things. He was tall and dark-haired, had brown eyes and broad shoulders and a lot of other things Sonora liked.
‘Hal McCarty.’
‘Specialist Blair. Detective Blair. What exactly are you doing, Mr McCarty?’
‘Interfering in your crime scene, Detective. You look annoyed. Or maybe you’re just embarrassed.’
‘Hard to tell, isn’t it?’
‘I’m a neighbor – I lease the barn next door.’ He nodded his head to the right, frowned, voice dropping. ‘Dixon stopped by my house earlier and asked me to help him find Joelle.’
‘What time was that?’
‘A little before six.’
She heard the swish of footsteps and turned. Sam. Still wearing the wrinkled khakis and sports coat he’d had on when they parted no more than two hours ago.
‘Mr McCarty, if you’ll stand to the side over there, I’d like to ask you a few more questions, once I’ve come up to speed.’
‘Look, Detective—’
But she was turning away. She saw, out of the corner of her eye, that he did not look happy to be dismissed, but he moved away, turning once and giving her a second look over his shoulder to see if she was still watching.
She was.
‘About time you got here.’ Sam ran a hand through his hair, which blew every which way in the wind. He had loosened his tie.
‘That’s mine,’ she said, pointing to said tie.
‘You gave it to me.’
‘I did not.’
He took her elbow, pulled her toward a knot of technicians – two she recognized.
‘What are you eating?’ Sonora asked.
‘Starbursts.’
‘Give me a pink one.’
‘I ate the pink ones. I’ve got red ones. Cherry okay? Want to see the blood?’
She nodded. ‘Yes I want to see the blood, and yes I want a red one.’
He handed her a Starburst. ‘Over here.’
She unwrapped the candy, thinking that as bloodstains went she’d seen better. But this one belonged to a fifteen-year-old girl, and Sonora sighed deeply and stepped closer. She bent down, squinted. Blood had pooled thickly, soaking up loose dirt and making a puddle like black-red gelatin in an area about the size of a football. A worn black riding boot, knee-high, English, lay sideways about four feet away.
‘More here, on the fence. We figure she fell off her horse, hit her head good, and went down.’
Sonora stepped sideways and looked at the top of the fence line. The wood had an indentation, and the top was soaked with blood and clotted with bits of tissue and long brown hair.
‘Just to confirm, but Joelle Chauncey is a brunette?’
Sam jerked a finger toward McCarty. ‘He says so.’
‘What does the father say?’
‘He was in the office with the shakes and McCarty was handy, okay?’
‘Fine. Okay. He just seems to be wandering pretty freely around my crime scene.’
‘It’s my crime scene too.’
‘Yeah, Sam, but it ain’t no party. He ID the boot?’
‘Not definite. You notice shoes?’
‘Sure.’
‘Yeah, but you’re female.’
Sonora looked over her shoulder at Mickey, strong, squat, working moulage impressions of something about a hundred yards away. Tire tracks? She flicked a finger at the fence line, the clots of hair, blood and tissue. ‘CSU get samples of this?’
‘Gosh, no, Sonora, nobody does any work till you get here.’
‘Fine, but we got a track, Sam, and I don’t see Shepherds. You call Canine?’
Sam put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Please don’t be hurt when I tell you I took care of that already.’
‘How long till they get here?’
‘Not coming. The Shepherds look for broken grass, anything to tell them where the trail goes. This place is full of tracks – horses heading every which way. Impossible for the Shepherds. We do have a chopper on the way. Infrared heat sensors and NVGs. They might spot something.’
‘And they might not.’ Sonora looked up at the sky, thinking about rain. A lot of acres here and it was coming dark. The child could be anywhere.
She heard the horn of a train, the background roar of wheels on tracks. It sounded a long way away.
‘We need Bella, Sam.’
‘That’s a hell of an idea. Doesn’t Mickey have an in with her handler?’
‘Related, I think.’ Sonora looked at the downed section of fence, trying to imagine the scene. A young girl on horseback. Something had crashed through the wood. Spooked the horse, maybe, causing the fall. She looked at Sam, inclined her head. ‘What caused that, do you think?’
Sam shrugged. ‘Big enough for a pickup to go through. The ground’s pretty soft from the rain we had over the weekend. Mickey’s got tire tracks.’
‘Any chance the horse kicked it through? I bet a horse could break a fence down, if it really wanted to. If it was scared.’
Sam looked at her. ‘If a horse could break a fence through, then why are all these horses still penned up?’
‘I think a horse could kick a fence down if it was really scared, Sam.’
‘Okay, girl, come see for yourself.’ He headed for the fence and she followed. He handed her another Starburst. Lemon.
‘You got tire tracks leading up to the break here – looks like the tread of a Dually pickup, there’s two tire prints side by side there.’ He touched a splinter of wood. ‘Streaks of green paint, Sonora, which horses rarely leave. Plus, the wood is splintered on both ends.’ He held up a board that had been torn away. ‘The break is symmetrical. Similar lines of breakage on both sides, so the force of the impact is pretty evenly divided. A horse is going to break the wood on one side. And if you look closer here, there’s no sign of mane or tail hairs, like a horse smashed a slat, then squeezed through, breaking the board off.’
Sonora bent over, studying the wood. ‘And the break goes inward, toward the field. So somebody just drove up and crashed on through.’ Sonora looked at Sam. He was chewing. She smelled oranges.
She straightened up, touched the small of her back. ‘Did you notice McCarty?’
‘I notice you did.’
‘His sleeve, Sam. Looks like blood to me. A few hours fresh. Go check and see what you think. I’m going to talk to Mickey.’
‘About the tracks?’
‘About Bella.’
Mickey was on his knees with a tape measure, inspecting a tire track. ‘Shoulda done this one. Would have come out crisper.’ He saw Sonora, got up. ‘What?’
‘What do you mean “what”?’ Sonora asked.
‘Don’t mess with me, kid, I had a cavity filled this morning and the Novocaine is wearing off.’
‘Talk to me, Mickey.’
He tilted his head to one side. ‘Big old Dually pickup. Four tires in the back, two in the front. And what looks like a new patch on the left front tire. Might check the repair places in the vicinity. And Sonora, pay attention. From the depth of the tracks, back ones in particular, I’d say the truck was pulling a load.’
Sonora looked at him. ‘Load. As in … horse trailer?’
Mickey shrugged. ‘What better way to get rid of a horse?’
‘So what you’re saying is a truck and trailer ran through that fence.’
‘I’ll get you the make, year and model by tomorrow.’
‘You work miracles. Get it by tonight.’
‘Tomorrow at the latest. Looks like there’s at least two sets of tracks here, both trucks. And I got paint traces. Teal green. Paint can narrow the make down to two years, at the worst. And, clearly, the truck that went through that fence is damaged.’
‘You’re good, baby, I got to say it.’
‘If I had a dollar for every time a woman has told me that.’ He gave her a second look. ‘Wait a minute. That’s the same tone of voice my ex-wife uses when she wants an advance on the child support.’
‘Do you give it to her?’
‘Always.’
‘Did you know that you look down and then sideways to the right when you lie?’
‘No kidding? I got to fix that. Usually I look to the left.’
‘You know Officer Murty, don’t you? Isn’t she a cousin of yours?’
‘Daughter-in-law.’
‘She still working Bella?’
‘Uh huh.’ Mickey rubbed his chin. Looked out over the back paddock. ‘You know they got a chopper coming?’
‘I heard that, yeah.’
‘But you want Bella?’
‘I need her tonight. I can call Crick if you want, I don’t mind going through channels. But you could get to her faster. If there’s any chance this kid is still alive—’
He checked his watch. ‘Lucy will know where she is. Give me five.’
She wanted to be sassy and say ‘five what?’ but part of the detective’s art was knowing when to shut up.
Chapter Five
Sam had McCarty cornered by the fence and was waving Sonora over.
She went slowly, hands in her pockets. Looked pointedly at McCarty’s rolled-up sleeve. Some killers can’t resist being part of the investigation, she thought.
‘Mr McCarty able to explain the bloodstain on his sleeve to your satisfaction?’
‘Doctor McCarty,’ Sam told her. ‘Guy’s a vet.’
‘That makes it all better.’
McCarty was unrolling the sleeve, holding it away from his arm so they could all take a look. ‘It’s blood.’
‘Cut yourself shaving this morning?’
McCarty gave her a look. ‘And you looked so bright. This is Joelle’s blood. I was the first one on the scene, remember?’ He looked from Sonora to Sam. ‘You have a problem with this? Let’s put your mind at rest. Search my house and barn. Feel free, I’ve got nothing to hide.’
Sonora waited for him to say ‘Trust me’ but he didn’t. She smiled at him. ‘The last guy who told me he had nothing to hide kept a frozen torso in his Sears deep-freeze. So, thanks very much, we will search your house and barn.’
‘You talking about that district attorney?’
Sonora nodded. She almost felt like they were talking shop.
‘In the meantime, you might want to put out an APB, or even set up roadblocks, to stop every horse van between here.’ – McCarty stopped to look at his watch – ‘and about a two-hundred-mile radius.’
‘That’s a hell of a radius.’ Sonora cocked her head sideways. ‘What makes you think a horse van went through here?’
‘It’s a possibility, don’t you think? With a horse missing? You got a guy looking at tracks, what does he think?’
‘I want your shirt,’ Sonora said.
‘Fine. If you wind up stopping vans, ask for a Coggins test. Anyone transporting horses is supposed to carry one. Very possible that whoever came through here won’t have one.’
‘Thanks for your help,’ Sam said.
Sonora gave McCarty a hard stare. ‘We’ll take the shirt, for now. And take you up on your offer to show us around. Your house and barn.’
He held out his wrists. Smiled at Sonora. ‘You can handcuff me if you want.’
‘Some other time.’
Chapter Six
McCarty paused outside a small and dingy cinderblock house that sat no more than fifty yards from a small concrete barn trimmed in red, about a third the size of Delaney’s barn.
‘It’s not locked.’ McCarty waved a hand toward the front door of his house.
Sonora motioned the two uniforms she had grabbed to step back off the porch. ‘Take him on in,’ she told Sam.
McCarty nodded at her, and walked in ahead of Sam without looking back.
Something about him.
Sonora turned to the uniforms. Both young, male, short haircuts and on testosterone overload. She wished she hadn’t sent Renquist off with Dixon Chauncey. She could use two or three of that man.
She started with their names, making them introduce themselves since she didn’t know them. Majors was the black
one. Hill was white.
‘Officer Majors. Officer Hill. Let’s start with what you already know. Female, fifteen years old, brown hair. You saw the blood. Likely severe head injury and God knows what else. Dr McCarty is “assisting” us in our investigations. That’s information you will keep to yourselves.’
Both of them nodded. Brows knit and on their toes.
‘We have the owner’s permission and we have probable cause. What we don’t have is a warrant, so don’t take an ax to the place, you got me? But you make sure that there is no chance that a fifteen-year-old girl is in there listening to you walk through the halls, praying that you’ll have the imagination to open the right door, or check under the cellar stairs. That make sense?’
They nodded, heads synchronized, like puppets on a string.
‘Go. And Hill?’
‘Yes, ma’am?’
‘Holster your weapon.’
The house disappointed her. It was not the kind of house she would have pictured for McCarty.
The kitchen was small and would have been state-of-the-art in the early sixties. The cabinets were yellow enamel over metal, and there was actually a dusty red-checked curtain over the small window over the sink, which was full of dishes. The counter tops were clear, and there was an old-fashioned mixer that gave Sonora a pang. It was a big Bobbie, white enamel, with black trim. Her mom had one just like it when she was growing up.
McCarty waited for them on the front porch, leaning against the rust-stained cinder block, arms folded. He had surrendered the denim shirt, and now wore a sweatshirt that said Hawley-Cooke Booksellers on the front. He waited with no sign of impatience while they went through the depressing bathroom, rust stains around the drain, and the small bedroom, which was dusty, and held nothing more than a double bed, walnut frame, white chenille bedspread, a small dresser and a red braided throw rug over the battered wood floor.
He did not seem concerned at the number of times the uniforms tramped up and down the short hallway and went back through rooms, cabinets and hallways they had been through minutes before. He waited with infinite patience until the uniforms were satisfied. Raised an eyebrow at Sonora when she followed the uniforms back out on to the porch.
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