BIG SKY SECRETS 03: End Game

by Roxanne Rustand

  “What about the Swansons—are they still around?”

  “I heard they rarely came up here anymore, so they finally decided to sell out and just spend more time at their beach house. They sold their property through an Internet listing, so they never met the buyer.”

  “I still can’t believe I haven’t run into him until now.”

  “No surprise, really, because he rarely comes to town.”

  Which seemed even more suspicious, the more Megan thought about it.

  What sort of young guy moved up here and turned into a hermit, without visible means of support? Or got edgy and split the moment he found out he was talking to a deputy? He hadn’t seemed particularly antisocial until then, so what was he hiding?

  That flash of wariness in his eyes certainly hadn’t been her imagination.

  Megan’s cell phone vibrated at her hip, and she reached for it. Hal’s private number appeared on the screen. She headed for the privacy of the back of the café and answered it.

  “Hey, Megan.”

  At the ragged note in his voice, her heart rate sped up. “What’s up?”

  “We…just got a 911 call.” He drew in a slow breath. “Another body.”

  “Where?”

  “Some hikers found it, a few yards from a trail going up to Granite Peak. Female, early thirties.”

  “You think it’s the same guy?”

  “I’m at the scene right now.” He rapidly gave her directions. “And there’s something here that you’ll want to see.”

  TWO

  Megan shivered, wishing she’d worn a heavier jacket. The lower elevations would be much warmer by now, but up here, heavy mounds of snow still covered the north-facing slopes and the shaded ground beneath dense stands of pine.

  Though it probably wasn’t the chilly weather that was making her shake. Even after years in law enforcement, approaching a murder scene triggered flashbacks of the night her childhood friend Laura had been murdered.

  She’d never told anyone in the department. She hid the wrenching memories so well behind her mask of cool professionalism on the job, that many of the locals thought it eerie, how she felt so little emotion in the face of death.

  But none of those people had ever followed her home. None could see into her heart.

  And now, seeing Hal’s haggard expression as he stood waiting for her on the trail ahead, that empty and aching place in her chest made it almost hard to breathe.

  She stepped forward. The body, now covered by a plastic sheet, lay a few yards off the trail partially obscured by thick brush, the snowy surroundings as cool as a slab in a morgue.

  “When the call came in, I took it myself.” Hal lifted his clipboard and scanned his notes. “The hikers were two high school kids who saw the body from the trail. They were nearly hysterical when they called 911. They say they didn’t approach the victim, so hopefully the scene wasn’t contaminated.”

  “Was the body covered?”

  “Only clothing, nothing else. And no attempt at burial, far as I can tell. That wouldn’t have worked anyway—the surface is muddy, but the ground beneath is still frozen.”

  She nodded. “And the ground is awfully rocky—even in the summer, it would be tough. Maybe he figured there wouldn’t be any people up here this early in the season. It wouldn’t take long for scavengers to consume most of the evidence. Bears, coyotes, wolves—and in a few weeks, vegetation would hide the bones.”

  “True. And that makes me think the killer is a local, who knows the area well.”

  She crouched, pulled on a pair of vinyl gloves and slowly pulled back the edge of the tarp, dreading her inevitable, initial flash of shock and horror; hiding her emotions with perfect stillness. Anything less than pure professionalism was a sign of weakness she refused to show.

  She murmured a silent prayer for the deceased as she surveyed the battered face, the deep, gaping laceration across the throat. The body was clothed only in a torn, designer label shirt that covered it from neck to midthigh, the gray flesh was streaked with mud and strewn with pine needles. Even so, she could see that the victim had once been a very attractive woman.

  “Have you called the DCI?”

  “They ought to be here any time now.”

  Megan studied the body, thankful for a chance to check out the scene before the state crime investigation team showed up. “I’d guess she’s been dead at least forty-eight hours, though these cold nights make it harder to tell. Given the position of the lividity markings, I’d say the body was moved at least eight hours after the time of death.”

  “Agreed.” Hal gestured toward a faint path winding through the trees. “There’s a rough fire road off in that direction, a good half mile away. Someone kicked debris over the trail, but you can still see some marks in the ground where the body was dragged over here.”

  “Whoever did it had to be strong. I’m guessing a fairly big and burly guy.” She surveyed the rugged terrain. “Any footprints?”

  “Nothing clear, but I didn’t want to disturb anything. This isn’t our usual act-of-passion or barroom brawl kind of death. Those aren’t hard to sort out. But this one…” His voice trailed off and he shook his head. “The DCI investigators will go over this area inch by inch, and hopefully between them and their mobile lab, we can make more progress on finding our killer.”

  At that, she forced herself to rise and take a step back.

  He sighed heavily. “I did lift her fingerprints, though. When I get back to the office I’ll start checking missing person’s reports. Her family’s probably worried sick about her, wondering where she is.”

  “They’ve all been brunettes,” Megan whispered. “Attractive. All in the same general age range. Slender. Married, or at least engaged. And there’s an indentation on her ring finger.”

  “Just the things I wanted you to see. The similarities are striking.” He pursed his lips. “The killer took her rings, just like he did with the other two. Yet none of those rings have turned up in any pawnshops so far…or on the major Internet auction sites. At least, far as we can tell.”

  “He’s keeping trophies.”

  “He could be dismantling the rings for the stones—less chance of them being traced. Or he could be waiting to move them until things cool down.”

  Megan shook her head. “It’s not about the money. Did you take a look at the earrings this one was still wearing? They look like eighteen karat, and that sure isn’t a cheap knockoff watch on her wrist. The second victim still wore her diamond tennis bracelet.”

  He stared down at the black plastic sheet. “True.”

  “This has to be the same killer. The body positioning is identical. Faceup, fingers interlaced over the chest. Ankles crossed—as if it mattered that the body was tidy and modestly displayed after a brutal murder. None of these details have been leaked to the press. Once we have an ID on the body, we’ll need to track her activities over the past few months and see if that’s a match, too.”

  There were dozens of popular roadhouses in the county—old-west styled bars offering steaks and burgers, live country music and beer. All of the victims had frequented those places in the months before their attacks.

  Hal lifted his gaze to meet hers and nodded, the quirk of his mouth conveying his approval of her assessment. “What else?”

  “Timing. Full moon, every time—or as close as forensics can get for placing the time of death. If the papers pick up on that, I can just see the headlines…and that sort of notoriety and attention could fuel this guy’s motivation.” She leveled a look at him. “But I’m sure you have all this figured out, anyway. Why do I get the idea that you’re testing me?”

  His silent answer was evident in the deep lines of his face and the weariness in his eyes.

  They’d had this conversation a dozen times. Her answer was always the same, but this time, she felt rising sympathy warring with her resolve. “You know I’m not interested.”

  “Once this case is over, I’m leaving.
You’re the right one for the job. You’d make a good sheriff.”

  “I belong in a patrol car, not behind a desk. I’d go crazy behind a desk.”

  “I’m not just at my desk. I’m out here, aren’t I?”

  “Whenever you can be.” From somewhere in the distance came the faint sound of approaching vehicles at the bottom of the hill, and they both fell silent for a moment, listening. One of the engines sounded like a car, the other like a diesel truck—which could be the DCI’s mobile lab unit. “But it’s just not enough for me. Like this case—there’s nothing I want more than to get this guy, if it takes every last minute, night and day. The politics and management you have to deal with would keep me from making a real difference out on the streets.”

  “You’ve already made a difference. Many times,” he added gently. “Though you’ve already taken too many chances with this case. You need to learn to step back.”

  “I’d never jeopardize the safety of a fellow officer. You know that.”

  But last month she’d put a dark rinse in her hair, piled on some makeup, and had gone undercover in some of the roadhouses in parts of the county where she wasn’t well-known. Places the victims had visited within a week of their deaths, just to see if anyone suspicious would approach her.

  She’d rationalized those visits with the logic that she had the right to a taste of social life during her free time, and hadn’t mentioned her off-duty ruse to Hal since he’d already denied her proposal to pursue an undercover operation.

  His written reprimand was now a part of her file.

  “I ran into a stranger at the café today. I’m going to run his name through the system, then go check him out.”

  “A tourist?”

  “He bought the Swanson place. The place sold last November, yet he supposedly has only been here since some time in January. Interesting parallel with the killer’s activities.”

  “Haven’t met this new guy, either.” Hal shrugged. “But it isn’t surprising. Outsiders don’t usually stay year-round unless they’re into winter sports.”

  “True. He came in January, so maybe he’s a skier—though there aren’t any big resorts around here. He turned edgy when I mentioned being a deputy, and lit out of that café like a cougar after a lame deer.”

  Hal’s gaze sharpened, locked on hers. “Be sure you have backup nearby when you go out there.”

  “I will.” She suppressed a flash of frustration. Even after her nine years on the force, she still caught occasional hints of a faint, paternal tone in his voice. “But if it were Jim or Wes going out there, you wouldn’t say that.”

  “If I was sending either one of them to interview a suspect at an isolated place? It’s policy, Megan.”

  “You can ride along if you want to.”

  He must’ve caught the edge in her own voice, because his mouth flattened to a grim line. “I get the feeling this case is way too personal for you, and it worries me. How many hours of your own time have you put in? Way, way too much.”

  “It’s my job.” She glanced down at the plastic tarp and couldn’t quite suppress her inward shudder as a pervading sense of looming danger slid through her. “I don’t want this killer to claim another victim.”

  “And I don’t want to lose a good officer. You’ll be off this case entirely if you don’t watch your step.”

  The criminal records database yielded nothing on Scott Anders. Neither did the sex offender registry. The only hits Megan found were a couple of speeding tickets in Chicago from several years back, and as she pulled to a stop in front of his cabin, she wished once again that she’d nabbed his coffee cup at the café so she could run his prints through the national AFIS fingerprint database.

  If Sue Ann hadn’t abruptly turned to clear away his dishes, Megan would’ve done it…but she could only imagine the woman’s questions and the potential for rumors, if she’d asked to borrow it for an hour or two.

  These days, with CSI reruns scheduled almost nightly on television, Sue Ann would’ve latched on to the reason for her request in a split second.

  After ten miles of nearly deserted two-lane highway, a turnoff led to five miles of gravel road that twisted up into the foothills. Here and there, pine forest gave way to glimpses to the west—sweeping panoramas of a deep valley, with a backdrop of the soaring peaks of the Rockies.

  The lane leading to Anders’s cabin had been even steeper, more narrow, the loose sand and rocks providing intermittent traction.

  Now, Megan made a quick call to another deputy to let him know she’d arrived, and then she stood at the door of her patrol car and surveyed Anders’s property. He must have had a great job, an inheritance or had won a lottery to buy a place like this one. Or maybe he’d found another less upstanding way to accumulate a great deal of cash.

  The cabin itself was a sprawling, one-story log home with large windows facing the mountains. Behind it, several buildings were tucked among the pines. An unseen door slammed, and soon a black lab came loping around the side of the house, its tail wagging and tongue lolling.

  “You must be the infamous Jasper,” she said, laughing as the dog wound around her legs, its body wiggling with pure delight. “What a watchdog you are.”

  Anders followed a minute later, his businesslike stride and grim expression showing no sign of welcome. He gave the patrol car a disparaging glance, then took off his sunglasses and pinned her with a steely look. “Is there something I can do for you, Officer?”

  Her second impression echoed her first.

  He was tall—maybe six foot two, two-hundred pounds. Well muscled, without an obvious ounce of fat on him, and good-looking in a rough-hewn sort of way. A strong jaw darkened with a five o’clock shadow. Sweeping eyebrows. A shock of unruly, near-black hair tumbling over his forehead.

  He looked liked someone who might model a Rolex or a black leather blazer on the pages of GQ magazine.

  Handsome enough to attract a pretty woman.

  Big enough to overpower her if she resisted his unwelcome advances.

  In this isolated place, there’d be no one around to observe any suspicious activities. And he definitely didn’t seem to appreciate the arrival of someone in uniform.

  His dog ambled over to him and sat at his feet.

  “Beautiful place you have here.”

  “It is.”

  “Great place to raise a family.”

  “I suppose it could be.”

  “You’re here alone?”

  “I like peace and quiet.”

  She glanced at the cabin, and the meadow surrounding it, where a few early wildflowers were peeking through the dried grass. “Will you be here year-round?”

  “Yep. Why?”

  “Most folks are just here seasonally, so if properties are going to be vacant, it’s good for us to know. When did you say you moved in?”

  His gaze sharpened on hers. “Are these questions leading anywhere in particular?”

  “Out here, people tend to rely on each other—especially when there’s trouble. It’s good to meet new neighbors.”

  A corner of his mouth curled. “You’re saying you’re a neighbor?”

  “Not exactly. But I work this part of the county, so I make it my business to get to know as many residents as I can.” She tipped her head in a faint shrug. “And you left the café awfully fast.”

  He stood, silently waiting. She looked right back at him and smiled until he finally heaved a sigh. “I get the feeling that you’ve already checked me out, even before coming here. Maybe you can tell me what this is about, because otherwise I have nothing more to say.”

  She hesitated. He’d radiated a lazy sort of impatience before, but now she sensed his irritation. “There’s been some intermittent trouble in the county, and I’m checking out possible leads.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “The investigation is…ongoing. Were you in Montana during December? Just looking the place over, maybe?”

  “No.”
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  “What about when you bought the place?”

  “All online. Look, Ms. Deputy, I do read the papers. I know about the two women who were killed.” His expression was matter-of-fact, his voice cold. “I looked at this place last fall, bought it in November, and moved here the beginning of February. Hold on a minute.”

  He stalked back to the cabin and returned a few minutes later with a manila folder. “I know I don’t have to answer your questions, and I don’t have to show you this. But I just want to be left alone, and hope this will be the end of it.” He handed her the folder. “I’ve got toll-way, credit card and hotel receipts from my trip between Chicago and here. A receipt for the rental van. If this isn’t enough, I can get copies of credit card statements that show transactions made in Chicago dated clear up through February 1.”

  Her heart sank as she thumbed through the folder and felt her chances at a quick resolution to the case slipping away. She handed it back to him. “I guess you’re covered.”

  “I wasn’t anywhere near here when those women were murdered. So unless you have something else, I think we’re done with this conversation. Right?”

  “What sort of work do you do, Mr. Anders?”

  “I’m in the process of…changing gears.” The sardonic lift of his eyebrow telegraphed his disdain. “I’ll let you know.”

  Whistling to his dog, he turned on his heel.

  She watched him go, taking in his almost military stride, and the rigid set of his shoulders.

  She’d come here hoping to find a solid lead that would finally tie the assaults and murders to a single suspect. Beyond just that folder of receipts, a gut-deep feeling told her that he wasn’t the one she was looking for.

  But there was something else about him that wasn’t quite right—and she was definitely going to find out what Scott Anders was hiding.

  THREE

  The regular staff meeting in the sheriff’s office fell on the second Monday of the month, which was usually a time for coffee, caramel rolls and camaraderie between the sheriff and the seven full-time deputies. Twelve-hour shifts, a budget too tight to hire extra personnel, and the county-wide area they all covered generally precluded the chance to gather at any other time.