by Cindi Myers
“Of course,” he said. “I like Donna. I always have. It’s good to see her so happy.”
She relaxed again. He wasn’t lying. His acceptance and even affection for Donna was one of the reasons she had fallen in love with him. “I hope she does okay tonight. She’s never spent a night away from home before. She’s never wanted to.”
“And it feels strange to you,” he said.
“Yes. But everything about this night is a little strange.”
“You didn’t think I’d be here with you.”
“No. But I’m glad you are.” She took his hand again.
He rolled over to face her and pulled her close once more. “I’m always here for you,” he said. “I’m going to keep saying that until you believe it.”
She believed he meant his words, but she didn’t trust him not to break his own promise. She owed it to herself not to let him break her heart, too.
* * *
NATE LEFT JAMIE’S place after breakfast the next morning. She didn’t come right out and say so, but he sensed she wanted him gone before her sister returned home. He could understand explaining his presence might be awkward, and he was willing to let her ease into the idea of the two of them being together again.
He headed toward the sheriff’s department, and along the way found himself searching driveways and side streets for the dark SUV that had driven past Jamie’s house the night before. Had the driver really been the man in the pirate costume—the murderer? Or had he and Jamie let paranoia and fear get the better of them? In broad daylight, it was easy to think the latter, but he decided to reserve judgment until after he talked to the sheriff.
Travis was at his desk and hard at work. Upcoming wedding or not, the sheriff was going to spend every spare hour on this case.
“Any luck getting an ID from the photo I sent, or the police artist sketches?” Nate asked, after Adelaide had escorted him to Travis’s office.
“No.” Travis passed a sheet of paper to Nate. “Take a look.”
The paper featured side-by-side comparisons of the photograph Nate had taken of the pirate and two sketches of men. “Are these the police artist sketches from the information Henry and Tammy provided?” Nate asked.
“Yes. Do either of them look familiar to you?”
Nate studied the images, comparing each to the photograph of the pirate, and to his mental images of people he knew. “I don’t recognize them,” he said. “And neither of them looks like the pirate to me.”
“The police artist thinks the guy in the pirate costume may have made his nose look larger with makeup, and the gold tooth is probably a fake,” Travis said. “He suggested we look for someone with a theatrical background, so I asked the local theatre group to give me a list of any men who have been involved in their productions.” He passed Nate a second sheet of paper. “I’ve highlighted the names of men who fall into the right age group. There are only half a dozen.”
Nate’s eyebrows rose. “Gage’s name is on here.”
“Yeah. He was in a comedy revue they did a couple of years ago. I left it on there to give him a hard time, but he was with me when several of the murders occurred, so we can safely rule him out.”
Nate tossed the papers back onto the desk and lowered himself into the visitor’s chair. “Last night, I followed Jamie home from the community center,” he said. “I was worried about her being alone. I know she’s a cop, but these two killers seem to have a knack for eluding us.”
“Never a bad idea to be safe,” Travis said.
“Yeah, well, I was saying goodnight to her when a dark-colored SUV passed. It could have been dark gray or black, and I think it was a Toyota. It passed the house very slowly, and it seemed the driver was looking at the house—though it was dark, so I can’t be sure.” He gripped the arms of the chair and leaned toward Travis. “The license plate was obscured—the license plate light was out and it looked as if mud or something else had been smeared over most of the plate.”
“Whoever was driving the car didn’t want the plate read,” Travis said. “What did you do?”
“We decided I should spend the night at her place, in case the guy came back.” He kept his expression blank, letting Travis use his imagination to fill in any details on sleeping arrangements. No way was Nate going to elaborate. Travis was his friend, but he was also Jamie’s boss, and there were some things he didn’t need to know.
“I’ll add your description of the vehicle to the other information we’ve collected,” Travis said.
Nate sat back again, frustration churning his stomach. “What’s your gut tell you on this?” he asked. Travis would have made it his business to know everything there was to know about this case, and he was good at spotting patterns and making connections.
Travis drew in a deep breath and waited a long beat before he spoke. “We’re looking for two men—young and strong, from five-nine to, say, six-two,” he said. “They’re working together. One of them can pass as a woman while wearing a wig, and probably acted as a decoy to induce the victim to stop, so that the other man could overpower her. That decoy technique may be a new twist or something they’ve done all along.”
“You know most of the people around here,” Nate said. “Do you have any suspects in mind?”
“There were two men who were on my radar from the very first,” he said. “College students who were here over winter break. My sister invited them to the scavenger hunt at the ranch where Fiona Winslow was killed.”
“I think I remember them,” Nate said. “Cocky young guys. They got in an argument with Fiona and Ken Rutledge.”
“Right. They may have been the last to see Fiona before she left Ken and went looking for a couple of the other women.”
“You said they were on your radar? But no longer?”
“They supposedly left town when the road reopened briefly earlier in the month. At least, I haven’t seen them around, and they moved out of the cabin where they were staying.”
“But they could still be here,” Nate said. “Hiding.”
“They could.”
“I assume you contacted the school they attend?”
“I did. Neither of them reported for classes. But they could have decided to quit school.”
“What about parents? Friends?”
“I don’t have that information,” Travis said. “The aunt who owns the cabin here where they were staying hasn’t heard from them. If the roads were open, I’d send someone to Fort Collins to talk to people. I contacted a local investigator and asked him to do some checking, but we don’t have much of a budget for that kind of thing, and so far he hasn’t come up with anything significant. No one can say for sure these two are in Fort Collins—but no one is sure they aren’t, either.”
“I’ve got lots of time on my hands,” Nate said. “I could drive around the county, do some checking. Tell me who I’m looking for. I sort of remember them from before, but not clearly.”
“I’ll print out their ID photos for you. Their names are Alex Woodruff and Tim Dawson.”
“Alex. That could be the Al who was with Michaela,” Nate said.
“Maybe. Tammy and Henry are coming in this morning to look at some photographs, including the one you took last night. We’ll see if they can pick out Alex and Tim.”
“I have a few ideas of places they might be staying,” Nate said.
“Tell me, and I’ll send a couple of deputies out to check,” Travis said.
Nate shook his head. “I want to look around first before you waste any of your resources. I’ll let you know if I see anything suspicious.”
“If you find these two, call for backup,” Travis said. “After what they did to these women, they won’t think twice about killing you.”
“I’m no hero,” Nate said. “If we find them, we’ll send in our own army to take them. They won’t
know what hit them.”
“The women they killed probably didn’t, either,” Travis said. “I want to make it tougher for them to take anyone by surprise, so I’m holding a press conference at eleven. I’m going to let everyone know about the possible use of a decoy, as well as release the photograph of the pirate and the two police sketches. Maybe we’ll get lucky and someone knows where these two are hiding.”
“What about releasing the photos of Tim and Alex?” Nate asked. “That’s probably your best bet of finding out if anyone around here has seen them lately.”
“I may do that, too.” The printer that sat on the credenza behind Travis whirred and he leaned back and plucked a sheet of paper from the tray. “These are Alex Woodruff and Tim Dawson’s driver’s license photos,” he said as he handed the printout to Nate.
Nate studied the photos of the two young men—one with straight, sandy hair cut short, the other with a mop of brown curls. His eyes widened and his heart beat faster. “I know these guys.” He looked up and met the sheriff’s gaze. “They’re definitely still in the area. I talked to them only four days ago.”
Chapter Thirteen
Donna returned from her stay with the O’Keefes full of descriptions of what she saw, what they ate and everything she had done. Jamie listened to this nonstop narrative as she cleaned up the kitchen, delighted the evening had gone so well—and only a little guilty that she had scarcely missed her sister, focused as she was on Nate. Donna, so caught up in her own happy memories, never asked how Jamie had spent her evening.
At nine forty-five, she and Donna loaded all three dogs into the car for their annual checkups. Darcy Marsh was the newest veterinarian in town, a pleasant young woman who had a real rapport with animals. She greeted Donna, Jamie and the three dogs enthusiastically. “I saw you at the masquerade last night but never made my way around to you,” she said, as she washed her hands before examining the dogs.
“I’m sorry I missed you,” Jamie said.
“What was your costume?” Donna asked. “I was a cat.”
“You were a very cute cat,” Darcy said. “Ryder and I went as Roy Rogers and Dale Evans—complete with stick horses.” She laughed. “At least they raised a lot of money to help people who have been hurt by the road closures. And we had a lot of fun.”
“How is Ryder?” Jamie asked. Darcy’s fiancé, Ryder Stewart, was a Colorado State Highway Patrol trooper.
“He’s great.” Darcy put her stethoscope to Targa’s chest and for a few moments, the only sound in the room was the dogs panting loudly. “She sounds good,” Darcy pronounced at last. “Now let’s hear the rest of them.”
Some fifteen minutes later, after Darcy had examined ears, teeth and every other accessible part of the three dogs, she pronounced all the canines in good health. While Jamie paid the bill, Donna and a vet tech took the dogs out to Jamie’s SUV. “At the party last night, did either of you notice a guy dressed as a pirate?” Jamie asked Darcy and her receptionist, Stacy. “He had long dreadlocks, a beard and mustache and an eye patch, and he spoke with a cheesy French accent.”
“I didn’t see anybody like that,” Stacy said as she accepted Jamie’s credit card.
“Me, either.” Darcy leaned toward Jamie. “Why do you ask?”
Jamie shook her head. “I was just wondering.”
But Darcy wasn’t going to be put off so easily. “Are you working on this Ice Cold Killer case?” she asked.
“I think it’s safe to say every law enforcement officer in the county is working on this case,” Jamie hedged.
“Yeah. But the sheriff’s department would know more than anyone.” Darcy rubbed her arms, as if she was chilled. “I just wondered if you’re any closer to finding out who is killing all these women. I’m still trying to wrap my head around Kelly being gone.”
Kelly Farrow had been Darcy’s partner in the veterinary business—and the Ice Cold Killer’s first victim. Had that really been less than a month ago?
“We have some leads,” Jamie said. “I can’t say anything more, but it feels like we’re making progress.”
“Thanks,” Darcy said. “That helps a little, I guess.”
It didn’t really help, Jamie knew. Nothing would until the killings stopped. Even she, with all her law enforcement training, didn’t feel safe alone anymore. She signed the credit card slip, said goodbye, then headed across the parking lot to where Donna and the dogs waited in the SUV. Jamie stopped short, her hand on the door handle, as a dark SUV pulled out of the lot. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as she tried to read the vehicle’s license plate and realized it was obscured.
Heart racing, she yanked open her car door and slid into the driver’s seat. She started the engine with one hand and fastened her seat belt with the other, then took off out of the parking lot, tires squealing.
“Why are you driving so fast?” Donna asked, steadying herself with one hand on the dashboard.
“I thought I saw someone I know and I want to catch up with him,” Jamie said. She scanned the road ahead and the driveways they passed, but there was no sign of the SUV.
“Who are you trying to find?” Donna asked.
“A man I met at the party last night.”
“The pirate? Henry and I saw you talking to him.” Donna shook her head. “He didn’t look very nice to me.”
For all her innocence and tendency to be too trusting, Donna sometimes had very good instincts about people. “I don’t think he is very nice,” Jamie said. “If you see him again, don’t say anything to him, just come find me. If you’re at work, you can call me.”
“Is he a bad man?” Donna sank down in her seat, her face creased with worry.
“I don’t know,” Jamie said. “But you remember we talked about this before. It’s good to be careful around people you don’t know.”
“I know.”
Jamie pulled into the parking lot of the history museum and turned the SUV around. “Let’s go home,” she said. “We both need to get ready for work.” She would tell the sheriff about the dark SUV with the obscured plate. They’d have a better chance of finding it if everyone in the department was looking. The killer had been able to hide from them so far, but as long as the roads stayed closed, he wouldn’t be able to run far.
* * *
“I MET THESE two while I was on patrol Tuesday.” Nate tapped the photos Travis had given him. “They were ice climbing that exposed rock face by Snowberry campground. I’m sure it was the same two, though they introduced themselves as Lex and Ty. I even thought they looked familiar, but I didn’t connect them to the scavenger hunt at your ranch.”
“Did they say anything to indicate where they were staying?” Travis grabbed a notepad and prepared to take notes.
“No. But they did tell me they were college graduates. They shut down my attempts to get any more information.” Nate grimaced. “I stopped to ask them if they’d seen a woman with long blond hair in the area. They said no, but they mentioned the Ice Cold Killer. They seemed eager to talk about it, in fact.”
“Oh? What did they say?”
“Mainly, they talked about how good the killer was at eluding you. Their exact words were that the killer was making you look like an idiot.”
Travis nodded. “That fits with the suggestion we’ve had that the killer likes taunting law enforcement. He wants to prove he’s smarter than the people who are pursuing him.” He pushed his chair back. “I’m going to put out an APB on these guys, and I’ll mention them at my press conference this morning. If they’re in the area, someone will see them and we’ll find them.”
“Let me know if I can do anything to help,” Nate said.
He left the sheriff’s department, but instead of going home, he headed to the national forest, to the campground where he had encountered Alex and Tim. He parked at the entrance to the closed campground and walked over
to the rock wall where the two had been climbing. A cold wind buffeted him as he got out of the truck. A low, gray sky promised more snow soon. The drifts at the foot of the wall lay undisturbed. Leaning heavily on his crutch, Nate scanned the area for any trace the two might have left behind. They had been meticulous about cleaning up their crime scenes, but they might not have been so careful here.
But any evidence they might have left had been buried by four inches of fresh snow. Nate returned to his truck and sat, thinking. The two young men had abandoned their aunt’s cabin, perhaps because they sensed the sheriff was closing in on them. Though they had had a chance to leave town when the road opened briefly, they had elected to stick around and continue the killings. Three women had been murdered since the road had closed again. Alex and Tim had to be living somewhere. Somewhere without neighbors who might get suspicious and report them to the sheriff’s department. Somewhere near here—the area where the murder of Michaela Underwood and the attack on Tammy Patterson had occurred.
Of course! He slapped the steering wheel, then started the truck. Why hadn’t he seen it before? The squatters in the summer cabin—the ones who had set those animal traps around the hideout—they had to be Alex and Tim.
He drove to the cabin and parked past the cabins, at a trailhead that was little used this time of year, then hiked back to the cabins. At the chain across the road, he unholstered his weapon and took a firmer grip on his cane. He didn’t intend to confront anyone who might be here, but he wanted to be prepared in case they spotted him first.
The snow on the road leading to the cabins had been packed down by the sheriff’s department vehicles, making walking less arduous than the last time Nate was here. He paused halfway up to take in the scattering of cabins, each a short distance from its neighbor, with its own picnic table and outbuildings. In summer, these cabins would form a thriving community. The same families had owned these little getaways for generations, and each summer would be a reunion of old friends. Grandparents and grandchildren, parents who had come here as children themselves and new people who had married into the families would gather for barbecue and picnics, volleyball games and horseshoe competitions. With no cell phone or television service, and little space inside the small dwellings, they looked to each other and the outdoors for entertainment. Cherished memories and soul-deep relationships kept families returning year after year, and made them guard jealously what was, for many, a little piece of heaven.