Dave snapped his fingers. “Then you would have also drawn a map of the McCandless farm.”
I nodded.
“What does all this mean?” Beth asked.
“I don’t know yet.” I lay the bag on the ground and quickly snapped a photo before handing it to Dre. Something was different from the original map I drew, but I couldn’t think of what. “I painted both the McCandless place and the pole barn over there. We’ve found dead women now in both locations, so there’s a connection. And we found raw meat leading to the McCandless place.”
“Raw—” Dre said.
“Yeah,” I said. “As if someone was luring my dog to find Mattie.”
“I see,” Dave said. “Did you recover the meat?”
“It was covered in flies,” Beth said. “Quite disgusting.”
“Plus, I found a dead cat on my doorstep this morning, laying on a piece of paper with a symbol.”
“Okay.” Dave smoothed his mustache. “There seems to be personal and directed actions against you, Gwen. Can you build me a scenario?”
I stared at the burned-out house. “She got away from him and—”
“She? Him?” Dave asked. “What are you talking about?”
“She.” I pointed to the body. “Him. The killer. Look at her wrist. Don’t you see a slight ligature mark? And she looks like Mattie.”
“I don’t understand,” Dr. Hawkins said. “Who’s Mattie? Meat? Killer? Dead Cat? And what’s with the map? This girl was killed by a wolf. Look at all the blood. And the ripped—”
“Yeah, we see.” Dave nodded toward Beth, who’d turned even paler. “Gwen, start over. I think you’re going down the wrong path on this one.”
“I think it’s a perfect place to start. The killer goes to my opening, or just stops by and picks up the handouts. Now he has a handy guide to remote locations. His choice of victims is similar. This girl resembles Mattie, the hair, the build. She’s near an abandoned house and has marks like she might have been restrained. What if she was tied up in the house, managed to get away from her abductor, and was running for her life. She interrupted the wolves and . . . well . . .”
The farmer cleared his throat. “She wasn’t in my house. Couldn’t be. Floor’s gone, burned clean through. Least on the first floor.”
“And she has no sign of charcoal on her,” Dre said. “If she got near that place, she’d have black soot all over.”
“It can’t be a coincidence,” I said.
“Before we run off with a bunch of theories, let’s see what we’ve got here,” Dave said.
“Well,” Dre said. “No identification on her body or that coat. No sign of a purse. Is there enough left of her face that you could draw her?”
“Yes.” I placed my drawing case on the ground. The more I studied the body, the more my conviction grew. She was a victim of the serial killer. She looked like Mattie. A possible signature. “Dave, Dre, is there a chance that she was murdered and the wolves simply . . . uh, chewed on her body?”
“The medical examiner will be able to tell for sure.” Dave folded his arms and stared at me. “You seem to be pretty obsessed with linking her with the serial killer.”
Unless I could prove my theory, Dave wouldn’t believe me.
Before I could frame an answer, Dre spoke. “There’s a whole lotta blood here.” He crouched by her leg. “Dead folks don’t usually bleed.”
No one spoke for a few minutes, the silence filled by the chuckling creek and cheeping ground squirrels.
“She’s not a hiker.” Dre finally spoke again. “Look at her clothes and shoes.”
Her turquoise sandals were missing the heels. Though now covered in flies, I could see matching turquoise polish on her toenails. High-cut shorts exposed what at one time had been shapely legs. The tattered remains of a black leather camisole encircled her chest.
“What was she doing way out here?” Dre’s voice interrupted us.
We gazed at the surrounding mountains. The only answer we heard was the call of a pair of ravens riding a current overhead.
“She must have interrupted the wolves attacking the calf,” Dr. Hawkins said. “Wolves are very territorial about their kills.”
“Okay, Gwen,” Dave finally said to me. “She couldn’t have been in the house, and she isn’t a hiker. Build another scenario.”
“Well,” I said slowly. “She might have been on the road, hence the map. But if that’s the case, where’s her car?”
“Maybe someone dropped her off,” Dre said.
“Hardly a main highway out here, but let’s assume she was walking on the road. If she saw the wolves chewing on that calf, she’d run for the farmhouse. If they caught up to her, her body would have been over there.” I indicated the direction.
Beth pulled out a lavender-colored notebook and started writing.
“If, on the other hand, she was coming from the woods,” I continued, “with the wolves pursuing her, that structure would look safe. You can’t tell there was a fire from this side. Wires are still attached to power poles, like people live there. And she’s facing that direction.”
They all nodded.
“What’s over there?” I asked the farmer, pointing at the steep hillside in front of us.
“Nothin’ much. You’re looking north. The other side of that ridge is the Copper Creek drainage. I know that a few years ago they did some logging, so I’d expect you’d maybe find some overgrown logging roads, skid trails, that kind of thing.”
I slid the sketchbook into my case and moved toward the stream, examining the ground before placing my foot.
“Don’t believe we have any snakes out here,” the farmer said.
“I’m not watching for snakes. I’m making sure I don’t disturb any clues.” Reaching the creek, I squatted and stared at the ground. The churned-up mud showed numerous recent cow tracks. “If she ran through here, the cattle stomped the evidence into oblivion.” I turned and looked at Hawkins and the farmer. “I would guess that both of you have been tromping around this field as well.”
Hawkins shrugged and the farmer gave a sheepish grin.
Returning to the men by the same route, I tugged my camera out of my bag. “Her coat is about halfway toward the calf, as if they were dragging it, and the calf is partially eaten.”
The farmer glanced at the calf, then down at his shoes.
I jerked my chin at the fence. “Assuming she’s running from the woods, she had to slow down to crawl through that barbed wire. Simple enough if it’s daylight, but if it were night, she’d run right into it. That would slow her down quite a bit. I’d suggest someone walk the fence line. Look for fabric or hair caught in the barbs.”
“Without identification, how do you find out who she is?” Beth asked.
“You start with who’s missing, then how she’s dressed, until my sketch is done. The ‘who’s missing’ works if someone reported her. As for how she’s dressed, as Dre said, we should start with her shoes and clothing.”
“Oh, sure,” Beth said.
“You know . . .?” I asked with a suggestive nod toward the body.
Hawkins and the farmer apparently didn’t have a clue.
“Okay, what I’m trying to say is her choice of clothing might make her a prostitute.” Dave and Dre nodded.
“But that’s another reason I think it’s the same predator who tortured Mattie Banks. I think he picked her up and drove her up one of those logging roads. I think she escaped and was running for freedom.”
Dave carefully closed his notebook. “Then indirectly, she was killed by a different type of predator.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I LIFTED MY CAMERA AND STARTED PHOTOGRAPHING the girl.
Wes sauntered up wearing pressed jeans, a maroon plaid shirt, and tan oxfords. This time he hadn’t bothered to slip on blue nitrile gloves. I didn’t know if that irritated me more or less.
“What are you doing here?” Dave frowned at the man.
Wes moved
to where he could clearly see the woman. “Investigating.” I waited for him to blanch and vomit, but he seemed frozen, staring at the body. Interesting. I was pretty sure this was his first ripe-smelling death scene beyond the bodies in the grave, which had only been bones.
“Investigating?” I asked him.
He didn’t respond. A sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead, and he shuffled closer to the corpse.
“Wes?”
He blinked as if waking up. “Huh?”
“I’m curious,” I said. “Investigating isn’t usually the role of a forensic artist.”
“Missoula police and the state crime lab see me in a larger role.”
I winced. Why didn’t I ask for a contract to do their forensic art when I had the chance?
Dave caught my reaction. “I think the Mattie Banks case has given you a serious dose of Superman Syndrome.”
The old farmer’s forehead crinkled. “What’s that?”
Beth answered, “A contumelious appellation epitomizing a forensic artist overstepping their function. Wow. I didn’t think I’d get three words of the week into one sentence.”
“Huh?” The old man took off his John Deere baseball hat and scratched his head.
“Nice, Beth. Translation: it’s not a good thing.” I looked at Wes, who’d been ignoring the whole exchange. “In other words, Wes, you are out of your jurisdiction and as far as I’m concerned, out of your league.” I concentrated on photographing the body.
“Oh, I’m not here on this case,” Wes said, seemingly unaffected by my sarcasm. “I’m still working the Banks case. I was trying to get ahold of you, but you’re not getting cell reception here.”
“You could have used the police radio,” I said.
Wes rubbed his nose and cleared his throat, “You’re wondering why I didn’t use the police radio?”
“Don’t bother to answer.” I shook my head. “You’re going to lie.”
“No, no, no. I wanted to ask you a question. The vic is awake, but unresponsive to my attempts to draw a composite. She refuses to see anyone.”
“Vic?” Beth asked.
“Victim.” I turned to Wes. “You are referring to Mattie Banks, I assume. Are you asking me to do the sketch?”
Wes’s eyes opened wide and his head jerked back. “No! I mean, no. I just wondered if you had a technique that worked on noncooperative vics.”
“Yes, I do, and it starts by thinking of them as people with names, not labels.”
Beth gave me a startled look.
“Wes, there’s a chance,” I said, “a really good chance, that Mattie will not talk to you. You’re male. You represent what another man did to her. Why don’t you just let me do the composite?” And save me from having to sneak in to do it.
“Sorry. My case.” Wes pulled out his phone and snapped a photo of the girl.
I grabbed for his cell and missed. “Well, this is my case, and you’re not part of it. Stop taking photos and leave.”
Wes shrugged and wandered toward the dead calf.
I was struck by a thought. “Dave, did anyone find fingerprints on your cell phone?”
“Just mine. What made you ask?”
I thought about Wes and the blue nitrile gloves. Was he enough of a snake to grab Dave’s phone and toss it into the bushes to get us thrown off the case? “Did you get statements from everyone regarding your cell phone? I’d like to work some more on the statement analysis.”
“Pretty much,” Dave said.
“What about the press? That reporter lady.”
“I forgot about that. I’ll give her a call. Otherwise, I’ve heard from everyone but Wes over there,” Dave said.
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” I muttered.
A cloud blocked the sun and the temperature dropped. Dave tugged his jacket tighter and stared at the body. “Jezebel.” He didn’t realize he’d spoken aloud until he felt everyone’s gaze.
“Harsh, Dave,” Gwen said.
Beth shook her head. “Not nice at all.”
“Oh, no.” Dave’s face burned. “I wasn’t referring to her profession. The biblical Jezebel’s body was eaten by dogs. The narrative always stuck in my mind.” He waved his hand at the girl. “Unfortunately, now I have a vivid picture to go with the story.”
Another sheriff’s vehicle pulled into what now looked like a used car lot, followed by a black, first-call minivan with Duncan’s Funeral Services stenciled in white letters on the side.
Dave looked at each person in turn. “I’m going to have the deputy coroner transport her body to the medical examiner in Missoula for an autopsy. Dre, until we have some kind of final word on cause of death, I want you to cordon off the area and process the scene as if it’s a homicide. Check out that fence line like Gwen said. Also, didn’t you tell me you were doing some logging on the weekends?”
Dre nodded. “Mostly just working with small cuts, making firewood from slash piles, that kind of thing.”
“Good,” Dave said. “See what you can find out about any logging or Forest Service roads north of here. Gwen, can you sketch the woman’s face here?”
“I could, but it’s far more accurate to work off a tracing of the face. For example, the lips are missing . . .”
Beth’s face was turning a strange shade of green.
“I’ll get you the drawing the second I’m done,” I quickly finished.
Dave shook hands with the farmer and Dr. Hawkins.
Dre started tying yellow crime-scene tape to the nearest fence. Dave hiked over to the calf carcass. Wes stood near the head and was scrawling notes on a small, spiral pad of paper.
“See something interesting?” Dave asked.
“Maybe.” The man didn’t look up.
Dave thought about Gwen’s comments. When Wes arrived, he had walked past Dave’s sedan at the McCandless place. The cell was lying in plain sight on the seat and the windows were down. A quick grab and toss and, presto, Dave and Gwen would have to surrender the case to Missoula. Time to put a bit of pressure on the Missoula police.
Gwen, Dr. Hawkins, and Beth joined them.
“Poor creature,” Beth said. “Wolves are such vicious predators.”
Wes cleared his throat. “Not really. Wolves are nature’s balance.”
“That doesn’t look too balanced to me.” Gwen nodded at the calf.
“Wolves prevent overpopulation of wildlife,” Wes continued. “They often kill the weak and sickly.”
Dr. Hawkins nodded. “You’re saying survival of the fittest? That would apply to this calf. I had been treating it for a bad case of scours. I got worried when I didn’t hear from the owner, decided to swing by. Was a seemingly well-bred calf but obviously the immune system wasn’t functioning like it should. And as for that.” He jerked his thumb at the carcass. “Wolves don’t kill and eat. They eat. See the gouge marks on the ground from the calf’s hoofs? This calf was eaten alive.”
Beth turned and vomited again.
“Are you okay?” Dave asked.
“You promised not to puke,” Gwen said to her. Beth shook her head.
Gwen looked at Dr. Hawkins. “How long do you think this wolf pack—”
“I don’t think it’s a wolf pack,” Dr. Hawkins said. “I think it’s a single wolf doing all the killing. Possibly two at the most.”
Dave patted Beth on the back and continued to his car. If he had wolves killing people, he had a nightmare on his hands. But if this were somehow connected to Mattie Banks and the bodies they’d found at the McCandless farm . . . the nightmare was just starting.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
IT WAS IMPOSSIBLE TO TURN AROUND WITH ALL the vehicles parked next to the field, so I drove past the burned-out farmhouse to where the road widened. A barn nestled against the hillside, its wood siding weathered to a deep umber.
“That’s the barn you painted, isn’t it?” Beth asked.
“Yeah.” The wind had blown a few more cedar shakes off the roof, and old hay formed
a brown rug in front of the door. “Did you know Wes said he was at my show? I bet he was trying to steal compositions. He’s never had an original idea.”
My friend looked at me strangely. “Did you know that your expression changed just now? You didn’t even look like yourself.”
I tried to laugh it off. “So what did I look like?”
Beth was silent for a moment. “I don’t know. Not very attractive.”
I gripped the steering wheel harder. “I earned the right to be angry. Wes stole my job.” I explained about the gloves and my theory on Wes’s involvement.
“But that’s criminal. He should be arrested,” Beth said.
“No proof. Yet. But I told Dave. And I think Dave agrees with me.”
“So what are you going to do about it?”
“Me? Nothing. I leave heads-on-a-platter to Dave. I just need to get him my analysis. More importantly, I need to help identify this killer before he can murder someone else.”
I turned the car around. As we drove past, neither of us looked toward the body in the field.
“I’m not sure when Robert’s arriving tomorrow,” I said.
“Don’t worry. How about I keep your offspring overnight after the movie? That will give you plenty of time with your husband.” She gave me a sideways glance.
“Ex-husband. Forget it, Beth. There’s no way I’m getting back together with Robert.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of forgiveness.”
“Ha! That’s a laugh. There’s no way I’ll ever forgive Robert. Not after all he’s done to me.”
“Forgiveness isn’t for Robert’s sake,” Beth said quietly. “It’s for yours.”
The hot flash left me breathless for a moment. “That’s easy for you to say, Beth. You’ve never been betrayed by your best friend. You’ve never sat in your living room, unable to get out of the chair, seeing your life in tatters. We were supposed to grow old together. I poured out my life to him . . . told him everything . . . my whole past.” I made an effort to relax my death grip on the steering wheel. “I didn’t mean to say all that. Sorry.”
Neither of us spoke for a while. Finally Beth turned to me. “I’m sorry too. Maybe someday you’ll share your past with me.”
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