“Yes, but we need to find out what your friend knows.”
“He’s not actually what you’d call a friend,” Logan said.
“Why not?”
“He’s a ghost.”
“But he was living, and he must like you— I think he was trying to talk to you yesterday when you were so rude!”
“I wasn’t rude. He wanted to make me look foolish in front of you, and I didn’t appreciate it.”
“Logan, he was trying to speak to you,” she insisted.
“He would’ve told me if he’d known anything,” Logan said again.
“You didn’t learn about this last disappearance until yesterday.”
“That’s true, but if Zachary had seen a woman in distress, he would have mentioned it.”
“Maybe he didn’t realize a woman was in distress.”
Logan thought about the morgue, and how the corpse had opened its eyes. “Tara said she was attacked in the darkness,” he murmured. “She didn’t say she was at the Alamo.”
“I’ve been in the plaza at night, and even with the lights that focus on the chapel, it can be very dark. And the areas surrounding it are dark, too. But we do know that Chelsea’s last conversation with her friend took place at the Alamo. The conversation that was interrupted by what she called ‘a man in costume’—and by that voice we heard on the tape. Logan! What’s the matter with you? We actually have someone who could steer us in the right direction, and you’re hesitating.”
He stood. “Fine. Let’s go to the Alamo.”
* * *
They sat on the same bench and watched as tourists came and went. It wasn’t hot; the sun was bright and the day was beautiful. But Logan was anxious, worrying about the dozen tangible things they could be doing instead.
Mothers pushed infants in strollers, dads walked by holding the hands of toddlers. The citizens of San Antonio, along with the many tourists visiting the Alamo, passed by.
They waited an hour, and there was no sign of Zachary Chase.
“I don’t understand. Why doesn’t he come?” Kelsey asked.
“He’s a ghost. He appears when he chooses to,” Logan said. He hid a smile, looking at her. She was wearing a business suit again, this one a navy pinstripe with an attractive flare to the jacket and a tailored pale blue blouse beneath it. She wore little heels, maybe an inch high. They must look like an odd couple, with her so formally, even severely, dressed and him in jeans and a buckskin jacket. He was never without his service weapon, though. It was hidden by his jacket.
“Isn’t there a way for you to contact him?” she asked, her eyes brilliant as she turned to him.
“What? Call him on his cell phone?”
She grimaced and wagged a finger at him. “We might’ve lost a valuable opportunity yesterday. You have to learn not to be so hostile.”
“I’m not hostile.”
“You just said that with tremendous hostility,” she said.
He started to laugh; despite their circumstances, she could somehow make him feel lighter.
But then his laughter faded.
A black bird suddenly landed in front of his feet. It looked at him, tilting its head.
He thought he heard a flutter of wings, and turned to see that birds had begun to light down around them. He wondered if he was wearing aftershave with bird pheromones and felt an odd sensation of dread.
“The birds again,” Kelsey said in a low voice.
Startled, he looked at her.
“There was a crow at the kitchen window yesterday morning,” she told him. “And then here and, after that, in my dream.”
“The Comanche believe differently from the Apache,” he explained. “They believe all creatures bring power, and we can look to them for the particular energy and power they provide.”
“I have to admit, I feel as though I’m in an Alfred Hitchcock movie,” she said, frowning.
“I thought that, too. At first. Half these guys are crows. Like Jackson Crow,” he muttered.
“You think Jackson Crow is controlling the birds?” she asked skeptically.
“No. I’m thinking along the Comanche line,” he told her. “They’re here for a reason. They’re here to give us power.”
The birds settled around them, but did nothing that was in any way frightening. He remembered the hawk that had taken down its prey in front of him. That had been just yesterday morning. The hawk had almost dared him to try to take its kill.
He hadn’t done so, but he’d held his ground. Which was when he’d seen the mass of crows and myriad other birds.
“We can walk around the Alamo,” he suggested to Kelsey.
She nodded. “All right. Since Zachary doesn’t carry a cell phone.”
She stood and he joined her. He took a step forward, then paused. One of the birds was swooping toward them. Instinctively, he reached out to draw Kelsey against his chest. He thought the bird might be attacking.
But it dropped something at their feet and flew on.
Kelsey straightened, pulling down her jacket and brushing back her hair.
“The little bastard was dive-bombing us!” she said.
“No…no, it wasn’t.”
Logan bent down to see what the bird had dropped. It looked like a small twig, tipped in red paint.
Kelsey gasped as his hand closed around it, and he realized what he was seeing wasn’t paint.
It was nail polish. On the well-manicured nail of a finger.
A human finger.
Chapter 5
“This is what I think it is, isn’t it?” Kelsey asked.
Logan nodded. Kelsey was prepared; she reached into her purse and produced an evidence bag. “We have to bring it right in,” she said.
“I’m going to call Crow.”
“But shouldn’t we—”
“No, I’d rather we took it to someone else I know. Someone not associated with this case.”
“But…Gaylord has to be competent. Otherwise, I’m sure Jackson Crow would’ve brought in a different medical examiner,” Kelsey said. But that didn’t seem to sway his opinion.
“Fine. Your call,” she said, shrugging. He got through to Crow, and when he’d finished, he told her, “We’re going into the office. Crow’s calling someone. Someone I like better than Gaylord.”
As she walked briskly toward his car—his strides were long when he was in a hurry—Kelsey asked him, “Who?”
He glanced her way. “There’s a new, younger woman at the M.E.’s office. I’ve worked with her on a few cases. She’s not as matter-of-fact as Gaylord. Don’t get me wrong, Gaylord is competent, he’s just been at it too long. To him, a body is a body. Kat Sokolov has a greater…I don’t know, investment in her cases.”
Kelsey grinned.
“What?” he asked.
“Strange. When I first met you, I took you for matter-of-fact.”
He smiled slightly, and Kelsey realized she was pleased when she made him smile. And even though she prided herself on her abilities, she’d liked it when he’d protected her from the bird.
Stop thinking that way! she warned herself.
When they returned to the station, Jackson Crow was there with Jake Mallory and a pretty, petite blond woman with large blue eyes. She hugged Logan, then turned to Kelsey with an open smile.
“Logan already knows Katya, Kelsey, so I’ll introduce you two,” Jackson said. “Katya, Marshal Kelsey O’Brien. Kelsey, Dr. Katya Sokolov.”
“Doctor, it’s a pleasure,” Kelsey said. “I—”
“It’s Kat, please!” the other woman interrupted. “I’m not formal with my clients.”
“And I’m just Kelsey.”
“Here it is.” Logan produced the finger in the evidence bag.
Kat lifted the bag first and studied the finger through the plastic. “Some decomp, but not too bad—not like the others,” she said. “The finger wasn’t severed. It was ripped off.”
“Could the birds have done this?” Logan as
ked. “A crow dropped it in front of me.”
“Sure. Birds have very powerful beaks. That probably means the body’s nearby, which should make it easier to find the rest of her,” Kat said. She brought the finger to the small lab area of their assigned space. “I’ll have to send off samples, you know,” she said, turning to Jackson.
He nodded.
Kat placed the finger under the microscope; when Jake hit some buttons on the computer, it appeared before them, larger than life on the screen. “Forefinger,” Kat said. “And it belonged to a young woman. White, I’d say. The polish is a gel—the kind that stays on for two to three weeks.” She looked around, and Kelsey wasn’t sure if she was seeking Jackson’s approval or Logan’s. “We’ll be able to get a good DNA comparison, and that’ll tell you if this belongs to your missing girl. I’ll send out samples today.”
“There’s a chance that…that there is no body, right?” Kelsey asked. “The finger might have been severed before death?”
Kat shook her head. “The way it’s been dislodged, with no blood coagulation, makes me suspect it came from someone who no longer had a beating heart. But, to be fair, I can’t be a hundred percent certain.”
Logan took Kelsey’s arm. “Let’s go,” he said.
“Where are we going now?” she asked.
“To look for crows.”
* * *
They drove for what felt like hours, in every direction around the Alamo. But although they stopped more than a dozen times, digging through garbage pits, trash piles and any other place a body could conceivably be hidden, they found nothing.
Logan was frustrated. “We have to find Vanessa Johnston quickly,” he said.
She laid a hand on his arm. “We will find her, but even if there’s a flock of birds up there the size of a 747, I doubt we’d see them anymore. It’s too dark. Time to quit for the night. Besides, we can’t continue the search if we don’t get some rest.”
He sighed. “All right. Where’s your car?”
“At the Longhorn. Or rather, the parking garage across the street. Jackson picked me up this morning.”
“Then I’ll take you back.”
When they reached the inn, Kelsey said, “Why don’t you come in with me? You’re curious about the saloon. You can talk to Sandy, and she can tell you more about what was going on with Sierra Monte and the bloody disappearance in Room 207 a year ago. It’s highly possible that Sierra died by the same hand that’s killed these other girls.”
He looked at her, shaking his head. “The Sierra Monte case is still open. It did occur to me, of course, except that none of the remains match her DNA. Honestly, we’re not inept in Texas.”
“I didn’t mean to imply that.”
“Bodies with no names. And now a name with no body,” he murmured.
“Please, just park. Come in. The food here is good,” Kelsey encouraged him.
He found parking, and they walked into the Longhorn together.
Inside, the saloon was lively. That night, Sandy had a trio—piano player, fiddler and guitarist—playing on stage, and the music was at a pleasant level. Poker games that involved peanuts were going on at a few of the tables, and people seemed to be enjoying themselves.
“Rodeo in town,” Logan said. He set a hand on Kelsey’s shoulder and whispered, “Over there, at three o’clock. The real deal. See how his jeans are worn and his hat’s been folded a million times? And his boots are scuffed to pieces. There…” He turned her slightly. “Ten o’clock. A city slicker down to play cowboy. Shiny new boots. Designer cowboy shirt. Face clean and pure as a newborn babe’s—no nicks, scrapes or scars from a tumble or an argument with a bull or a bronco. Or even a calf.”
“Ouch,” Kelsey said. “Judgmental, aren’t we?”
“Nope. I hope they all come to San Antonio and have a good time—and keep the city prospering.”
“Hey!” Sandy said happily, swinging past them, her fingers twined around a half-dozen beer steins. “Welcome, sit, I’ll be right with you!”
“I can help,” Kelsey called after her.
“Don’t be silly! You’d be like a bull in a china shop. We’ve got it covered,” Sandy called back.
Kelsey gave an offhand shrug as they went to scrub their hands. “She’s remembering the time at camp when I spilled a whole tray of juice glasses—which happened to be full,” she told Logan.
On their way back from the restroom, she noticed that Ricky, one of the bartenders, had come from behind the long saloon bar and was waving to her, gesturing to a small table near the stage. “C’mon,” Kelsey said, and Logan followed her.
They sat, with Ricky promising he’d bring them a couple of beers. Logan looked around, studying all the renovations. “You’re right. Your friend has done a great job. It’s as if you stepped back into the nineteenth century. Very different from when I was last here, which has to be more than three years ago.”
“The rooms are beautiful, too,” Kelsey assured him.
Ricky brought their beers. He was twenty-four, eternally cheerful and he loved working in the saloon. “The special is barbecue beef. And it really is special.”
“Barbecue beef for me,” Kelsey said. “Would you like a menu?” she asked Logan.
“Refuse a special that’s special?” he asked. “Make it two, please, Ricky.”
He’d caught Ricky’s name, although she’d said it only once when he delivered the beers. Kelsey liked that he was cordial to those who waited on him. She glanced away, wondering again what was the matter with her. She was listing his good points as if she was planning to bring him home to her mom, and she had to remind herself that their relationship was professional—they were working together—and that he could be a real hard-ass.
She was startled when someone suddenly swooped down on her, giving her a mammoth hug, then stepping back quickly in acknowledgment of Logan. “Sorry, sir! But this young lady is my heroine. Forgive me if I got too friendly.”
Kelsey turned to Logan, “This is Mr. Corey Simmons, Logan. Corey, Ranger Logan Raintree. Corey is here for the rodeo.”
“Nice to meet you,” Logan said, rising to accept Corey’s outstretched hand.
“Pleasure is mine. Hey, now, we’re not in any trouble for rabble-rousing, are we, Ranger?” Corey asked, his grin wide.
“I’m just here for the barbecue,” Logan told him, taking his seat again.
Corey dragged over an unused chair, and set it, facing backward, in front of the table. He straddled it, resting his elbows on the chair back.
“Guess I’m being a little nosy, but I happen to know that the lady is a U.S. Marshal,” Corey said. “And glad of it, I am. She’s a brave soul, and I had to beg her not to let the world know that I’m willing to ride any bull—but afraid of my own shadow.”
She’d wondered if Logan was going to be irritated by the cowboy joining them; he wasn’t. He gave Corey a broad smile. “Any one of us can be spooked, Simmons,” Logan said. “So, you’re taking part in next week’s rodeo?”
Corey nodded. “I’m going to stay on the bull longest, I swear it! And I ride a fine barrel race, too.”
“Good luck to you,” Logan said. “Tell me about your experience in Room 207.”
Corey Simmons had the grace to blush. “Well, of course, now I’m thinking I let my imagination run away with me, you know? What with that awful story about the room… Well, there’s the older story, too, but it’s the new one that scares the bejesus outta me!”
“But you didn’t really see anything?” Logan asked him.
“It was like I opened my eyes and saw a sea of blood everywhere! Dripping down the walls, on the floor…well, I’m just glad to be outta there. I would’ve left the inn if it wasn’t for the Marshal here!”
Logan looked at her with some amusement. Kelsey shrugged.
“We all get carried away now and then,” she murmured.
They were close to the bar. As she spoke, she saw that a man sitting on one of the wooden stools
at the end had turned toward them. He didn’t look like a cowboy. He was tall and thin and wearing jeans, but with a tailored shirt and loafers. His hair was cut stylishly short, and there was nothing weathered about him. He saw her looking at him, and slid off his bar stool, coming toward them.
“Oh, Lord help us,” Logan groaned.
“Who is it?” she whispered.
She didn’t have to wait to find out. Corey grinned broadly. “It’s the newspaper man!” he said, apparently pleased that they’d drawn his attention.
But when the man approached and said, “Why, Mr. Simmons, did I hear that correctly? You were scared out of your room by a vision of blood on the walls?” Corey wasn’t so pleased anymore.
“No, you didn’t hear anything correctly, Murphy,” he said. “Listening in on other people’s conversations is rude, and if you write about a conversation you think you heard, I’ll denounce you as a liar!”
Kelsey noticed that Logan didn’t stand. “You’re interrupting a private conversation, Ted,” he told the man. “You’re not welcome here,” he added.
No one seemed to want the man around. It didn’t stop him.
“So, word is out that you spent the day at the morgue, Ranger Raintree. What’s going on? Is there a serial killer loose in the city, and you’re not alerting the public?”
Kelsey watched Logan’s fingers clench his beer stein. It was made of heavy glass, but she was afraid it would shatter. He managed to look up at the man. “Actually, I’m not with the Rangers right now, Murphy, and if there’s something to be said, you’ll hear it from a law-enforcement spokesperson. I’m here for dinner with a friend, and I’d appreciate it if you let us enjoy that dinner in peace.”
Murphy was persistent. “Friend?” Murphy’s eyes snapped to Kelsey. “What kind of slacker do you think I am, Raintree? Friend? This is Marshal Kelsey O’Brien, in from Florida. So, what is it? Drug running? Murder? Or murders, plural?”
Logan stood at last, towering over Murphy. “If you don’t leave, we will. Kelsey, I’m sorry, but…”
She stood, too.
“I’ll take care of this creep, if you want,” Corey Simmons said, grinning. “You can’t touch him. That would be Ranger or Marshal brutality. But I’m just an old cowboy, and I can take him out. It’d be worth the night in jail.”
Krewe of Hunters, Volume 2: The Unseen ; The Unholy ; The Unspoken ; The Uninvited Page 8