Murder at Granite Falls

by Roxanne Rustand

  Still, Carrie stood at the window feeling unsettled and anxious, a rising sense of dread curling through her midsection when she heard the sound of an approaching siren.

  An EMT vehicle came into view, then stopped. A heavyset woman and a lean man, both dressed in navy coveralls emblazoned with EMT across their shoulder blades, climbed out and hurried to the rear of the vehicle, grabbed their gear and disappeared into the trees.

  Logan wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Was he back in the woods, directing the EMT to someone who was hurt? Or worse, was he the one who was injured?

  Images of the stranger who’d lurked by her SUV invaded her thoughts, followed by a frightening premonition that gripped her heart like an icy hand.

  Penny had just told her yesterday about an old recluse named Dante, who lived up in the mountains somewhere. What if Dante or Billy had attacked Logan?

  It wasn’t hard to imagine Logan pursuing someone, or standing his ground.

  She’d already let Murphy outside earlier in the morning to do his business, and he’d been blissfully sleeping on the sofa ever since, but now he stood growling at the window, every muscle rigid. “You’ve got to stay here, boy…I’ll be back.”

  The dog didn’t so much as flick an ear. His attention remained riveted on the EMT truck outside.

  Please, Lord, don’t let this mean he senses that something terrible has happened. Please, let Logan be all right.

  Numb, already afraid of what she was going to find, she pulled on a sweatshirt and a pair of jeans, jammed her feet into loafers, and then she jerked open her front door and started to run.

  TEN

  Carrie was halfway across the parking lot when she heard the discordant wail of even more sirens approaching.

  Logan appeared at the edge of the clearing, his shirt covered with blood and his shoulders slumped in an expression of…defeat? He acknowledged her with only a faint nod when she reached his side.

  “What happened?” She resisted the urge to run her hands over his arms and chest, to search for wounds. Someone, or something, had been badly hurt. “Are you all right?”

  “A man was shot,” he said finally, his voice bleak and raw. “I tried to help, but…it was no use. The EMTs say he was probably gone before they even took over. They’re with the body now.”

  “Oh, Logan.”

  He looked so devastated that she stepped forward to wrap her arms around him and offer comfort, but he glanced down at his clothes, still glistening with blood, and held up his hands to keep her at bay. “Don’t.”

  “I’m so sorry. Who was it—do you know?”

  “I…can’t be sure.”

  But from the haunted expression in his eyes, he probably had a good idea. “Could it be that old guy Penny mentioned—Dante?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Fingers of icy horror crawled up the back of her neck. “You don’t think so?”

  “This guy…” he looked at the ground, clearly measuring his words “…isn’t Dante. I know that much.”

  “Didn’t you get a good look at his face?”

  Logan’s mouth flattened to a grim line. “Yes, but it’s…hard to tell. He was wounded badly.”

  She closed her eyes briefly against the sudden image that slammed into her thoughts. “Did a—a bear get to the body?”

  “No. I think it was a shotgun, close range. Probably more than once. The EMTs agree.”

  An uneasy feeling turned her blood to ice. “I need to see him, Logan.”

  “Don’t, Carrie. Just wait for the sheriff…and a positive ID.”

  She started toward the scene, but he gently caught her arm. “This isn’t anything you want to remember, Carrie. Believe me.”

  She shivered at the subtext of his words. “I can’t explain it, but I have a really uneasy feeling about this.”

  “You and me both.” An unreadable expression crossed Logan’s face. “And unfortunately, I have a good idea about how all of this is going to go down.”

  “I need to see him, Logan. Please.”

  He led her back through the trees to where the two EMTs were kneeling by the blanket-covered body. One of them, a middle-aged man with Phil embroidered on his pocket, was talking on a cell phone. Given the medical jargon he was using, he was probably talking to a physician.

  “This is Carrie Randall,” Logan said. “She’s renting the apartment here and has had some problems with prowlers. She’d like to see the victim.”

  The two EMTs exchanged glances, and then Phil shoved his cell phone into a holster on his belt and shrugged. His partner, a brunette with Maura emblazoned on her uniform, frowned. “Why?”

  “She feels she may know the victim.”

  Maura shook her head slightly. “Why don’t you wait, ma’am. The body will be cleaned up at the funeral home in town. It…won’t be quite as difficult, then.”

  Anxiety roiled through Carrie’s stomach. “Please—I just need to know.”

  Phil lifted back a corner of the blanket.

  She’d somehow guessed, even before this moment. A hint of intuition. A sixth sense. A heavy sensation in her heart. Or perhaps just logic, because of Billy’s arrival in town and his threats.

  Still, disbelief and horror swamped her as she stared down at the remnants of an all-too-familiar face. She could still see the scar traversing what was left of his cheekbone. The thin, cruel twist of the mouth, even in death.

  “Billy,” she whispered with a hand over her mouth. No wonder Logan had tried to protect her from this.

  The world narrowed, the edges of her vision fading to a long, dark tunnel as a loud buzzing sounded in her ears.

  And then everything went black.

  Three patrol cars arrived one after another, lights flashing. Maura sat with her arm around Carrie on a nearby log. Wrapped in a blanket now, Carrie’s head was bowed. She hadn’t said a word since she came to after collapsing at the sight of her ex-husband’s body.

  Logan stood near the body with the EMTs, his arms folded across his chest and his heart heavy as deputies Rick Peterson—as starched and pressed as ever—and Vance Munson climbed out of their vehicles and strode up to the scene.

  A moment later the door of the patrol car emblazoned with County Sheriff swung open. His belly wedged behind the steering wheel, Bryce Tyler awkwardly shifted his bulk out of the car and limped to the crime scene, scowling as he favored his left hip.

  Logan could see it in the officers’ eyes already. The doubt. The judgment. An air of vindication, even. He didn’t have to guess that he’d soon feel the cold, hard clamp of handcuffs on his wrists, or that he’d be shoved roughly into the backseat of one of those patrol cars.

  They thought he’d gotten away with murder once before, and now they’d do everything in their power to see it didn’t happen again. The thick, clotted blood on his hands and shirt would be evidence enough to arrest him.

  Phil stepped aside as the sheriff hunkered down to lift away the blanket to study the victim’s face. “A group of female customers discovered the body,” he murmured. “They arrived early, and were walking through the woods looking for wildflowers.”

  Tyler’s eyes narrowed. “Where are they now?”

  “Up at the office, with Penny. One of them was nearly hysterical.”

  “What did you see when you arrived?”

  Phil canted his head toward Logan. “He was performing chest compressions, but it was too late. The guy was gone.”

  Tyler frowned. “I didn’t think you could pronounce a death.”

  “Not in this county. But we worked on the victim for a good thirty minutes, as well, and maintained communication with the E.R. doctor at Granite Falls Memorial. This guy was shot at least once. Probably a second time after he was on the ground. He sustained significant blood loss. He was turning cool and gray. Since the pupils were fixed and dilated, and there were no respirations or pulse, we received orders to cease our chest compression efforts.” Phil gave him a steady look. “We were also told
to leave him exactly as he lay, as it would be a crime scene. As if we didn’t know.”

  Tyler’s gaze slid sharply toward Logan, then back to the EMTs. “So the other witnesses have been in the office together, all this time. Was Logan ever up there with them?”

  Phil’s eyebrows drew together. “No. He was here with Maura and me. Why?”

  The sheriff angled a quick glance at Logan—checking for guilt or fear, no doubt.

  Logan gave him a steady look in return. “I was doing what I could, hoping to save this guy.”

  “Right. Vance—I want you to get up to the office. Each one of those tourists needs to be questioned thoroughly, before they have any more time to talk with each other.”

  “Absolutely, boss.” Vance loosened the top button of his rumpled uniform shirt. “I’ll get right on it.”

  “And I want them separated—especially from Penny.”

  Vance ambled away in the direction of the rafting office. “Sure enough.”

  “Penny?” Logan straightened. “She’s been nothing but helpful. She’s the one who made the 911 call, and—”

  “And she’s your sister, cowboy,” Tyler shot back, flipping open his cell phone and hitting a single digit. He spoke rapidly into the phone, then snapped it shut and shoved it into his breast pocket.

  Rick’s cold gaze darted between Logan and Carrie, who was still leaning over her folded arms. “Was that the BCI on the phone?”

  The sheriff nodded. “They’ve got a crime unit wrapping up a murder scene just over the county line. They’ll have a couple men here within an hour, and the rest of the team and a mobile lab will be here within two. We’ll process the scene while we wait, then let them have at it.”

  Logan sighed under his breath. The arrival of the Montana Bureau of Criminal Investigation meant the investigation would be handled right…unless the local department managed to destroy the evidence first through sheer incompetence, if not intent. They’d probably already decided he was involved and were just waiting to find proof.

  The sheriff turned back to the body and slowly pulled back the blanket, revealing a tangled, blood-soaked shirt. A silver rodeo belt buckle. Faded, muddied jeans.

  He lumbered back to his feet, pulled a digital camera from the bag at his side and began snapping off dozens of shots from every angle. “I’ve never seen this guy before. Did you find any ID? Was his wallet stolen?”

  “It wasn’t in any of his pockets.” Phil peeled off his vinyl gloves and folded them into each other in one swift motion.

  “Well, the BCI’s got the lab, ballistics and manpower to cover more ground than we can. From the looks of him, he must have been running through the brush, so maybe his billfold is somewhere in the woods.” Tyler pinned Logan with a searching look. “So what do you want to tell us about all of this, Bradley?”

  “Maybe the shooter stole it,” Logan said slowly. “That would make sense.”

  “Would it, now. Did you know the victim?”

  “I think I saw him briefly for the first time Wednesday night, though it was too dark and things happened too fast for a positive ID.”

  Tyler gave a derisive snort. “Then how would you recognize him now?”

  “I’m almost sure.” Logan hesitated, regretting the need to involve Carrie, but there was no way out of it. He sent her an apologetic glance. “Carrie says she can positively identify the body, though. She lives out here, and rents the second-floor apartment of the rafting office.”

  “Carrie?”

  “Carrie Randall.”

  The sheriff shifted his gaze to her. “Why didn’t you speak up in the first place? So who is this?”

  Carrie lifted her head, the expression in her eyes still shell-shocked, her voice faint. “B-Billy Danvers. My ex-husband.”

  Rick drew in a sharp breath. “She already told both Vance and me that this guy was a bad one, clear back when she first moved to Granite Falls. She was afraid of him following her here. She’d even filed a restraining order against him.”

  Tyler’s eyes narrowed on her. “You don’t say.”

  “Vance said he responded to a call in town Wednesday night, though it was dark and Danvers melted into the shadows when he arrived,” Rick added. “Vance didn’t get a look at his face. Ms. Randall, Logan and Danvers were involved in some sort of verbal altercation.”

  “Now isn’t that interesting,” the sheriff drawled. “So there’s some troubled history, then.”

  Carrie’s eyes widened at the implication. “I had no reason to do him harm, Sheriff.”

  Rick flipped through the notebook in his hand. “I was out here the second of June on a 911 call because Ms. Randall reported a prowler. She does have a shotgun—I saw it myself. She told me that she’d owned it for years and that she knew how to use it.”

  So they were already figuring she had both motive and means…and out in the dark pine forest, they’d assume that there would have been plenty of opportunity. But there wouldn’t be evidence. There couldn’t be. “It—it’s hardly uncommon to own a weapon if you’ve grown up on a ranch.”

  She appeared so pale and fragile. No wonder, after what she’d just seen, and now the two officers seemed as intent as terriers after a rabbit. As if they thought they could close the case in the next few hours and get back home for a good night’s sleep.

  The sheriff and his deputy exchanged looks. “Where is that shotgun now?”

  “It’s in my a-apartment. But I haven’t used it for a good six months or more.”

  “So you’d have it handy in case your ex-husband showed up, I take it. Did he threaten you, Ms. Randall?”

  “I had put it in the back of my SUV when I moved to Granite Falls. When Deputy Peterson was out here, he insisted that I bring it up to the apartment so I’d have some protection. It’s on the top shelf of my bedroom closet.”

  “Rick—go get it and tag it as evidence. The BCI can run the ballistics.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “But it hasn’t been loaded in months,” Carrie protested, her face pale.

  “Right.”

  “But—”

  “We’ll check it out, ma’am.”

  “You won’t find any connection—I can promise you that.”

  Tyler arrowed an impatient look back at Rick. “Go.”

  Rick hesitated. “Another thing you should know…Ranger went crazy inside the cruiser the night I was here on the prowler call.”

  “Did you let him work the area?”

  “I got called out to that fatal accident on the highway. I had to leave.”

  “So something might’ve been going on out here even then.” The sheriff ground out his words, his eyes narrowed on Carrie, then he swept Logan with a satisfied look, a faint smile curled the edges of his lips. “My men and I need to process this scene, but after that, the three of us are going to have a long, long talk. So don’t even think about going anywhere. Understood?”

  “Are you saying we’re under arrest?” Logan stared at the man.

  Not one thing could prove he’d had anything to do with the victim’s death, yet the sheriff immediately assumed the worst. Small-town law enforcement in Granite Falls—the easy way out, every single time.

  “Let’s just say that you are both ‘persons of interest’ and that I’m guessing you two might have some valuable information to share.” Sheriff Tyler tipped his head toward Rick. “Go get that shotgun and tag it, then come back and settle these two in the backseats of separate patrol cars so there’s no more time for any collaboration on details. I’m really looking forward to what each of them has to say.”

  Rick jogged over to the raft company office, climbed the outside staircase, and went into Carrie’s apartment. Ten interminable minutes later he returned with a grim expression.

  “I know she owns a shotgun. She admitted it was hers, and I saw it myself. But I just searched every corner of that place and only found an empty box of shells.”

  Sheriff Tyler turned to stare at her, his
eyes cold and suspicious. “Where’s that shotgun, Ms. Randall?”

  “On my shelf. Like always.”

  “Well, I’ve got an officer who says it isn’t, and now we have to wonder. What was it used for, and where is it now?”

  Still numb with shock and horror, Carrie stepped out of the sheriff’s office four hours later. Billy was dead.

  Any love between them had dissolved long before the divorce. It had then descended to outright animosity on his part, though she’d felt only a cold, empty place in her heart that grew every time he turned up again to rail at her about the settlement and how she “owed” him.

  But still…there had been love, once. She’d been excited about becoming his bride. Happy about their future together. And now, he was dead, and she couldn’t erase the image of his mangled, bloodied face from her mind.

  Having to wait alone, trapped in the backseat of that patrol car until the sheriff was ready to head for town, had escalated her fear until she’d been shaking.

  Now, she stood on the sidewalk, too dazed to even think through how she could get home.

  “Carrie—over here.” Penny stood in front of the Wolf River Rafting Company pickup, just a few parking spaces down. “Need a lift?”

  It took a moment for the words to register, then Carrie blinked back tears of relief at seeing a friendly, understanding face after hours of rapid-fire questioning.

  Bryce Tyler was a small-town sheriff, but he was no laid-back Andy of Mayberry. He’d acted like a pit bull, sure he could trip her up if he hammered the questions at her long enough, refusing to give up, his face changing to a deeper shade of red as the minutes ticked by.

  “What a terrible day.” Penny gave her a quick hug. “I’ll bet you can’t wait to just go home and pull the covers over your head. And for what it’s worth, I’m really sorry about your loss. I know it had to be terrible seeing Billy like that…even if you two did have a world of trouble between you.”