by Janet Dailey
“Are you kidding?” Ted grinned. “She loves it. Getting out there, sniffing for stuff she’s trained to find, and getting treats when she does good. It’s like a game to her.”
Pete, the graying trooper, was in charge. “You, up front with me.” He pointed to John. “You two in the back. Let’s get going.”
They climbed into the vehicle. All three of the troopers were armed. On Pete’s orders John had left his .44 locked in the Jeep. It made sense that the troopers wouldn’t want to be responsible for an armed civilian firing a weapon. Still, John found himself wishing for the heavy pistol. No doubt Philpot had told Boone about the glasses. It would be like Boone to lurk around the area, anticipating that there would be a search. If damning evidence was found—or was about to be found—it was anybody’s guess what he might do.
There wasn’t much small talk on the way. John briefed the others on the location of the site and what he’d found on his previous visit. They’d all seen the photos, including the picture of Bethany Ann. According to the report, the woman had been reported missing by her fellow teachers, who’d been promised letters and photos from Alaska and had heard nothing. At least someone had cared enough about her to be concerned.
It was mid-morning when the van stopped at the edge of the clearing. The blackened frame of the trailer was still there. But even from a distance John could see that the site had been cleaned up. The gasoline cans were gone, as was some of the unburned debris. And he didn’t have to guess that, when they looked under the blackberry thicket, the glasses would be gone. At least he’d taken photos. But for solid evidence, pictures couldn’t compare to an actual object, which could contain invaluable DNA and fingerprints.
John swore. “Looks like the bastard got back here ahead of us.”
“We’ll find what we can,” Pete said. “Sometimes it doesn’t take much. Put on a vest. We’ll do the technical stuff, but you’ll be out there to answer any questions. Stay out of the way and don’t touch anything. Got it?”
“Got it.” John would stay out of the way, but he planned to keep his eyes and ears open for any sign of Boone.
He fastened on his Kevlar vest, along with the rest of the team. There was even a vest for Daisy. The dog stood still, her chocolate eyes bright with anticipation as Ted buckled it on her. Anybody could tell she was a pro.
“I paid for this vest myself after another dog got shot at a crime scene,” Ted said. “It cost me almost a month’s pay. The guys thought I was crazy, but she’s family—besides, she’s worth a lot more money than I am.” He snapped the leash through a ring on her harness.
“Boone’s a hunter,” John said. “There must be plenty of animal remains around here.”
Ted grinned. “Don’t worry. Daisy’s got that covered. Let’s go, girl. Do your thing. Find it.”
When he gave her the command, the dog started sniffing around the edge of the clearing. Pete and Reuben had begun walking an imaginary grid, carrying their kits, their eyes on the ground. Every small thing they found was photographed and bagged for the crime lab. The glasses, as John had feared, were nowhere to be found.
John had expected to find boot prints, but Boone—assuming it was Boone—had wrapped his feet so that the soles would leave no pattern. Reuben took photos of the tracks and did a casting, mostly for size. They were fresh, laid down in the past couple of days. And they were big. John hadn’t realized that Boone had such huge feet.
After circling the trailer, Daisy led Ted off into the woods. John followed them, wishing he’d brought his pistol. He didn’t have a good feeling about this.
Daisy was onto something. She was tugging at her leash, pulling her handler deeper into the trees. John followed a few steps behind, his eyes scanning the forest, seeing nothing. A squirrel scolded from its perch in a tall cedar. Deeper in the forest, a jay squawked a warning. A flock of small, brown birds exploded, twittering, from the crown of the forest.
Through the trees, about thirty yards ahead, lay an open patch of ground, overgrown with skunk cabbage. The dog surged toward it, tugging at the leash. John’s eyes caught a faint movement in the trees on the far side. “Get down—” he shouted, dropping low.
A shot rang out. The dog yelped and fell sideways. Ted crawled past John to cover the dog with his body. Acting on instinct, John grabbed the 9 mm Glock out of the trooper’s hip holster, rose to his knees, and fired two shots after a fleeing figure, barely glimpsed through the shadowy forest. Long hair, hulking shoulders—it wasn’t Boone. It was his older brother, Ezra.
The shots John fired had missed, as he’d expected they would. Ezra was already out of sight hidden by thick stands of spruce, cedar, and hemlock. Moments later the distant rumble of a vehicle confirmed that Ezra was gone—leaving a question that made John’s blood run cold.
If Ezra was here, where was Boone?
* * *
Dressed for work, Emma checked her appearance in the mirror before leaving her room. Not that it mattered. In her baggy dress and sneakers, with her hair pulled back and no makeup, she didn’t exactly look like a movie star. But as long as she showed up and did her job, what did it matter?
Although her hourly wage barely covered room and food, she was making good money in tips. Another week and she’d have enough for a cheap flight home—wherever home was these days. Her heart’s desire was to stay here with John. But if there was anything life had taught her, it was that things tended not to work out—and having a Plan B was never a bad idea.
But she was getting tired. When she’d taken the job, she’d agreed to work double shifts, seven days a week. Desperate for money, she’d figured she could stand anything for two weeks. But the heavy work schedule, along with being cooped up in the hotel, was getting to her. Right now, for two cents and a day outside with John, she would bag the whole arrangement.
Through the walls, she could hear the work crew getting ready to update the next room with new paint, carpet, and bath fixtures. Her room would be next, so she would soon have to switch. Not that she minded. She’d grown used to the noise. And the workers were nice men, friendly and courteous. It was almost like having neighbors.
She’d slipped John’s pistol into her pocket and was about to leave the room when she heard a knock. John had warned her not to answer to anyone, but the work crew was right next door. It was probably one of them, needing to tell her when she’d have to move her things. And she was about to leave anyway.
Without a second thought, she unfastened the three locks and opened the door. Boone’s looming figure filled the frame. Before Emma could react, he shoved his way inside and closed the door behind him. He was dressed like the workmen, in paint-spattered coveralls and a baseball cap, which was probably how he’d gotten into the hotel and past the desk.
Emma had backed away from the door. As she shrank against the dresser, a slow smile spread across his face. “Well, how about that,” he said. “Just you and me.”
She drew the pistol and clicked off the safety, holding it with both hands the way John had taught her. “Don’t come a step closer,” she said. “The gun’s loaded and I know how to use it.”
For an instant he looked surprised. Then he smiled, that charming old Boone smile that didn’t work with her anymore. The burns on the side of his face were beginning to heal but he would never lose the scar.
“I’m not here to hurt you, honey,” he said. “I just want to talk.”
“Don’t call me that,” she said. “I’ve heard enough of your talk. If you want me to listen, you can give me back my money.” Emma’s hands were cramping around the pistol grip. Could she really shoot him?
He laughed. “That money was a wedding present, from you to me. It’s mine now.”
“That wasn’t even a real wedding. Neither was the last one, with that other woman, was it? What happened to her, Boone?”
He shrugged. “She got mad, packed her bags, and left. At least, since it wasn’t a real wedding, we didn’t have to get a divorce.”
What was she saying? Even if Boone hadn’t come here to kill her, he was probably thinking about it now. If he came at her, could she shoot him? What if she wasn’t fast enough? What if she missed?
Through the wall she could hear the sound of the machine that sprayed paint. It was loud enough to drown out a scream, but maybe not a gunshot.
His hands came up in a “calm down” gesture. “All right. I know she’s dead. But it wasn’t me who killed her. I swear to God. It was Ezra. He came by the trailer when I wasn’t there. He wanted to share his brother’s woman, and she wouldn’t cooperate. Ezra’s not all right in the head. That’s all it took.”
“Why did you come here, Boone?” She willed herself to hold the gun steady.
“To see you. To talk to you.”
Liar, she thought.
“You’ve seen me. You’ve talked to me. Now get out of here before I pull this trigger.” Summoning her courage she took a step toward him. “On the count of three,” she said. “One . . . two . . .”
He was out the door, striding down the long hallway toward the stairs. Shaking, Emma locked the door, laid the gun on the bed, and called the police—even though she knew it would be useless. By the time they got here, Boone would be gone.
* * *
At the sound of shots, Pete and Reuben came pounding through the trees with their pistols drawn. When they saw John standing with Ted’s pistol, and Ted crouched over the dog, they lowered their weapons.
Ted pulled back the vest to check Daisy for injuries. The gunshot, from a small-caliber weapon, had given her a nasty welt, but the vest had saved her life. She licked his hand, thumped her tail, and struggled to her feet, eager to finish the job she’d been trained for since puppyhood.
John returned the Glock to Ted’s holster and gave the others a quick rundown on what had happened. Pete responded with a nod and a few choice curses, a subtle sign that there’d likely be no inquiry into the gunplay. Right now they had more important concerns.
Daisy was straining toward the patch of open ground. Ted gave her the lead. Moving with some pain, she reached the patch of skunk cabbage, sat down on her haunches, and gave three sharp barks.
“Good girl.” Ted praised her and gave her a treat. “You heard the lady. She says there’s something here.”
John, Pete, and Reuben went back to the van and returned with a plastic tarp, picks and shovels, coveralls, gloves, boot covers, disposable filter masks, and a body bag, as well as Daisy’s crate and water bowl. Ted had removed Daisy’s vest to make her more comfortable. When the open crate was placed in the shade, she walked into it, drank some water, and lay down to rest.
John had done some digging in his time, but never like this. Every new cut of the pick or shovel was done with care, and every shovelful of earth was checked before being piled on the tarp. The fall weather was cool, but the direct sun on the open ground was hot. John’s clothes were soaked with sweat under the protective coveralls. The men dug in teams of two, one pair working, the other pair guzzling water and Gatorade as they helped check the growing pile of earth.
About an hour into the dig, Reuben said, “There’s something down here.”
The digging became more careful. The sickly odor of decomposition rose from the soil as they dug around the buried mass. Slowly they uncovered bones, hooves, and a hide.
“Oh, hell,” Pete swore. “It’s a damn deer!”
Amid curses, the digging paused. Had this whole outing been a waste of time?
“No! Hang on!” Ted said as Pete and Reuben started to climb out of the hole. “I’ve never known Daisy to be wrong. Besides, why would anybody bury a deer out here in the woods except to hide something else? We’ve got to keep digging.”
Pete nodded. Working together, they managed to lift the deer carcass out of the hole and lay it to one side. Under another two feet of earth, their probing shovels encountered a long, slender form bundled in a stained quilt.
Knowing what it was from the shape, they photographed it where it lay, then spread out the body bag. Gently they eased the bundle out of the earth and laid it, quilt and all, in the open bag. Before closing the zipper, Pete peeled back a fold of the quilt for a final photo. Looking down, John saw brutally smashed bones, dark hair, and the tiny gold locket he remembered from the missing persons file photo.
He couldn’t hold back the moisture that blurred his eyes. “Hello at last, Bethany Ann,” he said.
CHAPTER 14
By the time they’d shed their gear and finished reloading the van, everyone on the team was sweaty, smelly, and exhausted. They’d brought sandwiches in the cooler, but nobody felt like eating.
Ted and Reuben promptly fell asleep in the backseat, leaving Pete and John awake in the front. It was slow going over the network of rutted logging roads. They drove with the windows down, the cool, fresh air flowing into the cab.
“So what’s next?” John asked, though he pretty much knew.
“We’ll process the evidence here. The body will go to the lab in Juneau to establish the official cause of death.”
“You saw the skull. Wouldn’t you assume blunt force trauma?”
“Probably,” Pete said. “But at this point, we can’t rule out anything.”
“So how soon can you arrest Boone for murder?”
As soon as the words were out of John’s mouth, he knew he’d asked a useless question. The team had found Bethany Ann’s body, but it had yet to be determined how she’d died, let alone that Boone had killed her. They’d found no fingerprints and no murder weapon at the scene. He checked the urge to grind his teeth in frustration. All he wanted was for this to be over so that he and Emma could get on with their lives.
“If we had a reliable witness come forward, like maybe a family member, we could issue an arrest warrant,” Pete said. “Otherwise, we’ll have to sift through the evidence, which may or may not tell us anything.”
“Hell, he married her in that fake ceremony. He took her to the trailer and probably took all her money. He was there—and as far as we know, he was the only one there.”
“It’s all circumstantial. Not enough for a conviction.” Pete braked the van as two deer bounded across the road. “Traverton said you knew the family. What about the brother, the one who shot the dog? He was hanging around today, like he knew where the grave was and was trying to keep Daisy from finding it. He’s the one we need to talk to.”
“You could try. I could show you the family homestead on a map. But Ezra was born mentally disabled. Talking to him is like talking to a nine-year-old.”
“Probably not a great bet on the witness stand. But we need to interview him all the same.” Pete swung the van onto the asphalt highway and hit the gas pedal. The van shot ahead at a speed that would guarantee a record time back to the station.
* * *
John called Emma from the Jeep, parked next to the trooper station. He knew she’d be working, but he was about to head home to the cabin and would soon lose cell service.
“John?” She sounded shaken.
“Are you all right?” he asked. “Can you talk now?”
“Yes to both. The place isn’t busy now. Let me step back into the hall.” There was a pause. He could hear her ragged breathing. Something was wrong. “Did you find anything?” she asked.
“We found what was left of Boone’s other bride. But not enough evidence to charge Boone. Not yet, at least. What is it, Emma? What’s the matter?”
There was another pause. Maybe she was checking to make sure she wasn’t needed in the restaurant. “Boone came into my room,” she said. “He was dressed like one of the workmen, pushed his way in. I held him off with the pistol.”
John’s pulse lurched. “Did he hurt you?”
“No. He didn’t touch me. I made him leave. But here’s the thing. I to
ld him I knew he’d murdered that woman. He swore he didn’t do it. He said it was Ezra who killed her because she tried to fight him off.” She took a deep breath, like someone gasping for air. “I called the police as soon as he left. Detective Traverton was there. I told him.”
“But they didn’t catch Boone?”
“I don’t think so. Otherwise I’d have heard. I’m not sure anybody can catch Boone. He’s like a ghost.”
“That’s what he wants you to believe. Don’t let him reel you in.”
After warning her to switch rooms, and promising to see her soon, John ended the call. For what seemed like a long time, he sat staring out the window of the Jeep, watching the play of low sunlight through the trees.
Ezra.
That didn’t make sense. Boone’s brother was strong enough to kill with his bare hands. But John had been around him enough to know that he had the simple mind of a child. True, he’d been raised as a hunter, and might shoot a dog, especially if someone told him to. But the idea that he would come on to a woman and bash her head in when she resisted didn’t fit the picture.
Tired, sore, and just wanting to go home, he hesitated. Maybe he should leave well enough alone. But no, he knew what he had to do. With a weary sigh, he climbed out of the Jeep, and went into the station. Pete and Reuben would be in the garage, unloading the van and getting ready to go off duty. Ted would be headed for the airport and his flight back to Juneau with Daisy and the remains. But Sergeant Packard was still in his office. He looked up when John tapped on the open door.
“Come in and sit down,” he said, pushing aside some papers on his desk. “I hear you hit pay dirt.”
“We did, so to speak.” John took the chair that faced the desk. “But I wanted to bring up something else. Did Traverton call you about Ezra Swenson?”
“He did. Evidently Boone named Ezra as the woman’s killer. Besides that, Pete just told me that Ezra showed up at the crime scene, tried to shoot the dog, and ran off. It looks like we’ve got our man.”
“That’s why I’m here,” John said. “I know how it looks. But I also know the family. They were my in-laws back in the day. Ezra’s a scary-looking man. But he’s mentally handicapped. And he’s shy, especially around women. I can’t imagine him killing one, not even if somebody like Boone told him to. Something here doesn’t feel right.”