Undercover Hunter

by Rachel Lee

  “Another good source if you have any need to delve into local history is Gage’s wife, Emmaline Dalton. Miss Emma, everyone calls her. Anyway, she’s the librarian and she’s got roots here back to the earliest days, plus she’s made gathering local history and lore her avocation. I’m not sure how she could be of use, but you never know.”

  She drained her coffee and stood. “Oh, and if you need horses, my husband raises and trains them. Gideon. I’m sure he could spare a couple of good mounts if you want to go wandering off the roads.”

  She left directly, telling them that she’d probably be the one to bring them any additional information they uncovered. “Less suspicious than the sheriff. Gideon has a business in trail rides I could claim to be trying to promote.” Indeed, she left them with Gideon’s business card. “He always knows how to find me.”

  Then she was gone, and the house filled with silence. Neither Cade nor DeeJay moved for a minute, as they both absorbed everything they’d just been told.

  “Masters General Contracting,” Cade said presently, and pulled out his notebook. “I hope there’s Wi-Fi around here somewhere.”

  “You could always call directory information.”

  He cocked a brow at her. “What, go back to the old days?” Then he shook his head. “Might as well. Maybe I can find out how to get us a decent internet connection while I’m tiptoeing through the Yellow Pages.”

  A laugh actually escaped DeeJay. “You do that. Meanwhile I’m going to take a look at this file.”

  He reached for the wall phone just as she bent the prongs on the envelope and opened it. One way or another, it wasn’t going to be a pleasant day.

  * * *

  Wyoming was a big state, not heavily populated. The state police often relied on satellite radio because there were so many places, especially in the mountains, with cellular dead zones. It was virtually impossible at times to maintain an internet connection. Things were changing, but the change was far from complete.

  By two that afternoon, they were hooked into the local police’s Wi-Fi and able to map out the town and surrounding county. They both saved the maps to files on their computers.

  The envelope contents were another matter altogether. Report after report of horror, accompanied by eight photos of boys who were at once strikingly similar and strikingly different. All had dark hair, all weighed less than a hundred pounds, all were short in stature—a definite type. The heartache arose not only for the terror they must have endured, but from the youth staring back at them from those photos. Lives had been stolen and many other lives had been torn apart.

  “Slow asphyxiation,” Cade read from the last report. He made a sound of angry disgust and swept everything from the table back into the envelope.

  DeeJay simply stared back at him. There were no words for this. None. Her stomach churned, and all the toughness she had donned over the years provided no protection against what she had just read.

  She got up from the table, trying to pace off the anger and horror she felt. “It’s not like anything else,” she said, not sure what she meant, not expecting an answer.

  “No, it’s not,” Cade agreed. “Damn, I need some fresh air. Do you want to walk to the market? It’s only thirteen degrees out there.”

  “I need the walk but I also need my nose. And I don’t want to stiffen up from the cold.” Delayed reaction time could be dangerous, even when you thought you were safe.

  “Agreed. We’ll drive. Damn, there’s no hole in hell hot enough or deep enough for this guy.”

  She didn’t answer. It seemed pointless. After looking at all those young faces, this had become personal. It was no longer an intellectual detective exercise. “Dangerous,” she remarked a few minutes later as they climbed into their car. “Getting involved.”

  “I know. I’ll work it off.”

  “I feel the same way.”

  He looked at her as he turned over the ignition. At least the car didn’t decide it was too cold to run. He needed to remember to plug the damn block heater in tonight. “You, too.”

  “Of course, me, too,” she said hotly. “I’m not made of ice.”

  “Didn’t think you were.”

  “Then what the hell did you mean?”

  “Just trying to make conversation. You’re like a brick wall, Dawkins. Pleasant to strangers when it suits you, but you act like I’m a cow patty you’d like to brush off.”

  “You weren’t exactly glad to have me for a partner,” she retorted.

  He didn’t deny it, and she sat with her arms tightly folded as he drove them to the store. When they found a place to park between two snowdrifts, Cade set the brake but left the car running. The defroster began to lose the battle against their breath.

  “Look,” he said finally, “my reaction had nothing to do with you. It had to do with something from my past. Probably the same as your reaction to me. So how about we call a truce at least until we catch this animal.”

  “That gives animals a bad name.”

  “True.”

  He waited, and she knew she was going to have to answer. She didn’t have to explain, she realized. No heart-to-heart about what life had been like as a female cop. He probably didn’t want to share whatever his problem was, either. So if they could just take all the junk off the table, at least until they finished this job, they’d get by. “Some things matter more than others,” she finally said. This job mattered more than her feelings, certainly. “Truce.”

  “Good enough,” he said. “Now let’s go squabble about what we want to make for dinner. The diner’s steak sandwiches and fries are great, but too many of them and I’ll be rolling down the street like a beach ball.”

  She laughed because she had to. A similar thought had occurred to her. “Are you aware that bicyclists who ride in races can be slowed down by as little three kilograms of added weight?”

  “Interesting. Well, the two of us could be slowed down by the fat. I think I feel my arteries hardening.”

  The tension had seeped away, and they both climbed out of the car, walking through the cutting wind toward the grocery entrance.

  “What kind of cook are you?” she asked.

  “Passable. I’d starve otherwise. You?”

  “Not so good. Too many chow hall meals. Lately I’ve been trying my hand at it. How brave are you?”

  He laughed. “I’ll cook. As long as you don’t expect high cuisine.”

  Chapter 4

  Fifty miles away, on his remote ranch, Calvin sat at the plank table that was as old as everything else here and tried to battle down his need to act. Every time he thought he’d won, it would steadily rise again.

  He wondered if this was like some kind of acid trip. Colors became brighter, things almost seemed outlined in light. Except he hadn’t taken any acid, so it must be the power flowing through him, the power he had gleaned from the lives of all those young boys. The power he had taken, the power over life and death. The blazing purity he had given them.

  Regardless, it was bugging him much too soon. He absolutely had to be patient. He was certain they’d already figured out he was active in the area again. Three boys would be enough to tell them he’d returned. Caution had to be the order of the day, and he couldn’t afford to take another boy so soon.

  There were plenty of books out there about people like him, and while he was away he’d read some of them. It had seemed important to discover where they had gone wrong, what had brought them to an end. Some had just disappeared, but some had been caught. In the case of Bundy, caught more than once.

  It wouldn’t do to get cocky. It wouldn’t do to let the impulse and urge control him, because almost without fail, that’s where others like him had made their big mistakes. Not all, but enough to act as a warning.

  Maybe what he needed
to do was break his routine. Find a different type of victim. It wouldn’t be as satisfying, but he wondered how long he’d be able to hold out against the need that made his nerves burn like fire. Maybe he could quench it temporarily with a killing that would confuse them.

  He pushed that to the back burner for now and clenched and unclenched his fists. Confusing the trail would be good, but it might not quiet his need.

  “You’re a bad boy, Calvin.”

  He jerked, then realized he was still alone. He often heard his mother’s voice in his head, reminding him that he should be punished. She’d punished him quite freely and quite often. His approaching puberty had seemed to set her off. She thought he was dirty and needed cleansing. Maybe so. He admitted he’d had naughty thoughts and had done naughty things, and when she caught him she punished him.

  Those boys he took were undoubtedly guilty of the same naughtiness. They were all about the age. So he was saving them from the filth his mother had never quite managed to expunge from him.

  He was keeping them pure.

  A sense of righteousness visited him, easing the need to hunt, at least a little. He was continuing the good work. Taking a different kind of victim would not serve that goal.

  But it might be useful.

  At last the familiar aura receded and the world returned to its normal dull colors. He was powerful enough to control it. Strength seemed to infuse him.

  He glanced at the clock and saw that it was nearly time for him to head to work at the crisis center. More good work to do until he found his next opportunity for a cleansing.

  Dory was a good woman, and friendly when time allowed. He enjoyed her company, and had decided to forgive her for never guessing the humiliation and pain his mother had inflicted on him. Why blame her when everyone else had been just as blind?

  But thoughts of taking a woman again, as he had twice before, danced around the edges of his thoughts. Finally, he made a silent agreement with himself. If he saw a woman and she brightened as if she glowed, he would know that she was chosen. If that happened, he’d find a way to take her.

  * * *

  “A snorkel hood would be best for this weather,” DeeJay remarked to Cade as they walked down the main street of town in the late afternoon.

  “Undoubtedly,” he answered. “You willing to sacrifice that much peripheral vision?”

  “Never.”

  He chuckled. “Time for a ski mask. Then all we can freeze is our eyeballs.”

  He pointed out the mercantile and they wandered inside. Still pretending to be travel writers. A middle-aged woman came up to them and asked if she could help.

  “Ski masks,” Cade said. “I swear the temperature has dropped twenty degrees since noon.”

  “You wouldn’t be wrong,” the woman answered. “Are you the travel writers?”

  “The same,” DeeJay answered, looking around. Only another cop would recognize how she was casing the place, not simply staring with pleasure. “I love your store. How old is it? Oh, by the way, I’m DeeJay and this is my husband, Cade.”

  “Mary Carliss,” the woman answered, smiling. “This is a fun place to rummage around in. It’s nearly as old as the town. We have a little bit of everything, although that’s probably going to change when the resort opens.”

  DeeJay immediately became sympathetic. “Why should it change? I’m a visitor and I love it. I think stores like this were gone about the time I was born. Wooden floors! That alone is a charm worth saving.”

  Mary evidently agreed, warming to her. “I get that things have to change. The resort will be good for a lot of people. But it would be a shame to sacrifice our whole way of life to it. And this place is a landmark around here.”

  “I can certainly see why,” Cade remarked. “If it’s not available here, it doesn’t exist.”

  Mary laughed. “Not quite. But we have what our customers need. I suppose people who come to ski will need something else altogether.”

  “They’ll probably have ski shops and things like that at the resort, won’t they? Did they say they were going to change the town?”

  Mary shook her head. “Not exactly. I hear we’re going to get brick sidewalks and new streetlights. A face-lift is what they’re saying, but they claim they don’t want to change the character of the town.” She lowered her voice a bit. “I don’t quite believe it. I’ve been to a couple of ski towns.”

  DeeJay nodded. “So have I. But some of them were built just for skiers, weren’t they? This place has a real history. Maybe they can find a way to take advantage of it without making you all miserable.”

  Mary brightened a hair. “Well, if you say good things about us the way we are, I’m sure that’ll help.”

  Cade felt pretty bad just then about their deception. But it was necessary, he reminded himself, and they had a killer to find.

  “Let me take you to the ski masks,” Mary said. “Then you can wander around and if you have any questions, just ask.” She hesitated. “You’re not writing about those boys who disappeared, are you?”

  “Purely travel,” DeeJay answered. “I know everyone’s worried, but surely they’ll solve this soon.”

  “They didn’t solve it last time,” Mary said darkly. “I can’t believe it started up again. Everyone’s angry and a whole lot are afraid. People with kids are terrified. Can’t blame them.”

  “But you have a good sheriff,” Cade said.

  “Good enough. But it seems to some of us like he ought to bring the old sheriff in on this. When that man was in office, we had things happen like any place else, but nothing like this.”

  DeeJay spoke quietly. “You can hardly blame the sheriff for what a crazy man does.”

  Mary seemed almost to shake herself. “No, of course not. Just upset that they haven’t solved this.”

  Left to their own devices in front of stacks of knitted watch caps and ski masks, they each selected one of both. Anything that blocked vision or hearing was off the table, so they skipped the earmuffs even though Cade thought DeeJay eyed them with longing. Then she did something that made absolutely no sense to him.

  She bought a touristy bright blue hoodie with the outline of mountains stamped on it and the words Where The Mountains Never End on the back.

  He didn’t say a word, though, until they’d paid and were outside.

  “A hoodie? What good will that do you?” he asked while he pawed in his bag for the ski mask he’d just bought. Mary had been kind enough to clip the tags off.

  “That house gets drafty,” she answered. “Besides, Mary was nice and I wanted to make her feel as if we enjoyed the visit to the store.”

  “Didn’t we?”

  “Not by half,” she said, pulling her own ski mask on and tugging her jacket hood up. “So people are bad-mouthing Gage Dalton.”

  “Don’t they always when the cops haven’t solved the crime yet?”

  “Do they? Probably. Maybe they just never said it to my face.”

  “A lot of people wouldn’t want to say anything critical to your face,” he remarked with amusement. He was sure he hadn’t been the only one treated to her thorns.

  She faced him. “You got something to say to me, Bankston?”

  He sighed. His breath came out in a white cloud. “I was joshing.” Partly. But damned if he was going to argue with her on the street. “I thought we had a truce. Remind me that one of the terms of armistice is to tiptoe.”

  She looked away from him for a moment, then said, “Sorry. This whole situation is...well, it’s not what I’m used to. I seem to need a whole new set of coping skills.”

  “You’re not the only one,” he admitted. “I’ve never dealt with a serial killer before. Wyoming doesn’t seem to be the most popular destination for them.”

  “Given this cold? I wonde
r anyone comes here.”

  “You want to look around more or head back? If you’re getting hungry, then we should head back. Baking potatoes takes a while.”

  She turned in a slow circle, surveying the storefronts, the sheriff’s office just down the darkened street, the courthouse, the church even farther down. The town appeared dead. “Things like this shouldn’t happen in a place like this. And if you tell anyone I said something that stupid, you’ll pay.”

  Truth was, though, he kind of knew what she meant. “Big cities, sprawling suburbs,” he agreed. “Although there was that guy in Appalachia...”

  “Don’t remind me,” she said, but sounded down.

  “Time for food,” he judged. “This cold sucks the energy right out.”

  “It just plain sucks,” she said bluntly.

  He laughed for the next half block until they reached their car.

  * * *

  The potatoes were in the oven, the steaks sitting on a platter in the fridge. He had promised to broil them rather than fry them, but DeeJay didn’t know how she was going to eat a baked potato without a lot of sour cream or butter. Maybe the diner wasn’t that bad at all. Sitting in one of those booths, they’d at least have had their ears to the ground.

  She stared at the envelope on the table, the one that Sarah Ironheart had left with them. She ran her fingers lightly over it, wondering if she should make herself read it once more. She didn’t know if she could stomach it. She’d seen plenty of horrible stuff in the army, but kids? This was in a class of its own.

  A chill snaked down her back and she went to get her new hoodie from the bag in the living room. She pulled it on as she walked back to the kitchen, where she found Cade as mesmerized by that envelope as she had been.

  “Did we miss something?” he muttered as she took her seat.

  “I don’t know. He’s got to be doing something that someone’s noticed. Nobody is that good.”

  “But if he blends into the local scenery...” He left the thought incomplete. “Maybe we should talk to the old sheriff. You heard what Ironheart said. Nobody sneezes without him knowing.”