Halfway to the department, the radio cut through Jolie’s mulling. Setting her coffee mug in the cup holder, she swallowed the last of her breakfast sandwich then returned the hail from Jennings.
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“Sheriff wants to know where you’re at.”
“En route to the station.”
“Reroute and head for 800th Street. Farmer complained about an abandoned vehicle in his field.”
“Ten-four.”
She made a U-turn and headed back out of town. Hopefully the sheriff wouldn’t be too upset with her for being late, since she wasn’t too far from the address. This call should be a fast one: get a statement from the farmer, get a tow truck out there, and haul the vehicle in. Locating the owner would happen at the department. Jolie wanted to get to the station and go through the other boxes in the basement, just to ease her mind that those reports weren’t stuck somewhere else.
Taking the turn onto 800th Street, Jolie spotted a John Deere with a huge mower parked along the side of the road. It was haying season, and with the mild drought conditions, the local farmers were hoping to get as much out of their hayfields as possible. Jolie pulled up behind the farm equipment and parked. The farmer who must have made the call lumbered out of his tractor cab and, with a hitch of his pants, sauntered around his mower to meet her.
“Thanks for coming out quickly, Deputy.”
She gave him a smile. “Happened to be in the neighborhood. What’s up, Mick?”
“Need to get this hay mowed, but there’s a car parked smack in the middle of my lane. If I had the right gear, I would’ve pulled it out of the way.” He beckoned for her to follow. “Nice to see a Murdoch working in the sheriff’s office again. Miss having your pop as the sheriff. Right good man he was.”
Yeah, sure.
They cleared the front end of the tractor and headed for the dirt lane bracketed by a deep ditch.
“Think you’ll be sheriff someday, like your pop?”
Jolie swallowed. Dang it, these good ol’ boys always liked it the way it had been and didn’t want anything to change. She was a bit surprised though that Mick seemed even remotely interested in the idea of a woman sheriff. Most of the older men in the county were still stuck on the idea that women weren’t up to the tasks that had once been male dominated.
“Not sure. Still new to the whole being a full-fledged cop thing.”
“Well, you ever decide to do it, you got my vote.”
Ooo, shocker. Jolie forced another smile and didn’t grace him with a comment. Dad’s influence was starting to grate her raw. In her honest-to-goodness opinion, Hamilton was the best man suited for the position, and she hoped to God he kept going.
Down the lane they hiked, until the back end of the car came into view, and Jolie’s heart seized in her chest. She hurried past Mick to the car, her breathing accelerated to near hyperventilation. The dusty, beige, two-door sedan glinted the morning sun into her eyes.
“Is it locked?” she asked Mick.
“Don’t know, didn’t try.”
With a folded surgical glove, she tried the passenger-side handle, and—miracle!—it was unlocked. Pulling the door open wide, she staggered back at the rancid wall that bowled her over. Behind her, Mick made a lot of disgusted noises and backed away. Mouth and nose covered by her elbow, Jolie squatted down and peered inside the car, blinking back the tears pooling in her eyes.
The source of the smell was smeared all over the passenger seat. Blackened blood had puddled on the floorboard, and maggots wiggled, feasting. Jolie gagged. In her gut, she knew for certain who’s blood painted the vinyl. Rising, she shut the door and headed away from the car.
Grasping her radio, she hailed Jennings. “Dispatch, this is Deputy Murdoch. Relay to the sheriff, I’ve located the missing beige car. Repeat, located missing beige car. Over.”
“Copy.”
She turned to the waiting farmer. “Mick, I’m sorry, but I don’t think you’re getting to this field today or the next few days.”
He scowled. “Why the hell not?”
“It’s just turned into a possible crime scene.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Jolie spent the better portion of her time arguing with Mick while she waited for the sheriff and crew to arrive. The farmer was furious, and justifiably so, but his field could hold evidence in the death of Anthony Maddox and possibly the disappearance of Sarah Kruger.
Sheriff Hamilton was able to ease Mick’s mind and get him to relocate to another field in need of tending. Jolie sighed with relief after the farmer drove off in his John Deere. God knew farmers didn’t always like to have their best-laid plans altered by things like murder and such.
“I’m glad he didn’t move it,” Hamilton said, joining Jolie as she watched Nash and Jennings search the car—masks over their faces to ease the smell. “Had he mowed the field, we could have lost evidence out there.”
“How far of a sweep should we do from the car?”
“For now, at least three to four hundred yards, all the way around. Damn it”—Hamilton swung about and glared at the parked vehicles—“I don’t know if I can wait on the K-9 unit. We’ve got to get this thing searched. We’re too many days out since Sarah went missing.”
“Sir, we don’t even know if she was here.”
“No, but if she was in that car like Xavier thought, her scent could be in there.”
“Would a dog be able to detect that with all the rotting blood?”
“You’d be surprised what they can do.”
Another—recognizable—vehicle approached. The dark-green truck parked at the mouth of the lane, and Con vacated, his retired MWD, Cadno, hot on his heels. The German shepherd held his head high, sniffing the air.
“Cadno? Is he even trained for cadaver search?”
“He’s not searching for a cadaver. He’s searching for a live missing girl.”
Con joined them, Cadno pressed to his side. “Do you have something of Sarah’s?”
Hamilton nodded at his truck. “Be right back.”
While Con studied Nash and Jennings, Cadno inched around his owner’s legs and cocked his head to look at Jolie. She didn’t normally spend time around the dog, so he didn’t know her as well as he did Hamilton. The black eyebrows slashed over the dog’s eyes bobbed up and down as he contemplated her.
“He’s waiting for you to give him permission to come sniff your hand,” Con said.
“Shouldn’t he be focused on going to work?”
“Don’t worry about his need for focus. This dog can switch it off and on.”
“Here.” Hamilton returned, holding out a hairbrush tangled with dark-blond hairs. “Probably has enough scent markers on it for him to pick something up. Wendi couldn’t be sure that she had any clothing of Sarah’s that had been worn and not washed.”
Con took the brush. “It’ll be enough for him.” He made a gesture with his hand that snagged Cadno’s attention. “Deputy Murdoch, be ready to move.” He said something that sounded like German, and coming out of the Irishman’s mouth, it hit her weird.
Con lowered the brush, and Cadno began sniffing, taking his time. When he finished, Con led him to the car. Jolie watched in stunned silence as the dog somehow navigated the gruesome mess to sniff around. His head swept back and forth inches from the ground, then up along the sedan, scenting the air. He stopped and laid down, body pointing in the direction of the hayfield.
“I think we’ve got a hit,” Con said. “Let’s go, Murdoch.” He gave a command, and Cadno bolted onto his feet and darted into the hay.
Jolie followed Con. It was easy to track Cadno’s movements as his body snaked through the grass. He made a sudden stop; Con held up his hand, and Jolie stopped, too. Slowly, Con inched closer to his dog. There was a sharp bark, and then Cadno took off again, shooting right. Together, Jolie and Con pursued.
Twenty yards or so later, Cadno stopped again, and this time more of the grass flattened. Jolie a
nd Con moved closer to find the dog lying down, his attention directed on the ground in front of him. Pushing the tangle of grass aside, Con revealed the item Cadno had found.
“Shite.”
Jolie yanked out a fresh glove and handed it to Con. He picked up the bloodied knife.
“I think we just found a possible murder weapon,” he said, holding it out toward her and the open bag she held.
“How does it have Sarah’s scent on it?” She sealed the bag after Con slipped the knife in.
“That”—Con hoisted his tall body upright—“we’ll have to find out.”
Cadno’s nose tilted upward, and then he lunged to his feet and took off again.
“More?” she asked.
With a shrug, Con sprinted after his dog, Jolie right with him. Weaving back and forth, Cadno circled around the point where the car was parked, barreled through the edge of the grass into the lane, then bolted into the brush on the other side. Jolie’s chest tightened from the exertion. Two days of jogging weren’t enough time to get her in full running shape, and this tall grass was doing a number on her speed.
Taking two ground-eating strides, Cadno skid to a stop and dropped to the ground under a large oak tree. As Jolie closed the gap, she noticed the freshly churned dirt at the base of the tree. Cadno pawed at the spot like he was playing with something. Con gave a new command, and the dog stilled, but his gaze never left the scratches he put in the dirt.
Jolie skirted around the German shepherd and squatted down on the other side of him. Something twinkled between the small clods.
“What’s he got?” Hamilton asked upon joining them.
Jolie beckoned for another glove and was rewarded with one slapped in her hand. Using the flimsy thing, she brushed aside the dirt, revealing a silver chain.
“I thought German shepherds were air-scenters?” Hamilton said.
“Apparently he’s got some bloodhound in him,” Con replied.
Jolie brushed the rest of the dirt away, exposing a long chain with a silver cross. Flecks of dirt seemed glued in a pattern at the center of the cross. Slipping on the glove, Jolie dug out the chain with a finger and held up the necklace. They all stared at the swinging cross.
“Sir, wasn’t Sarah reported to have been wearing a necklace like this the day she went missing?” Jolie’s gut twisted in knots as she realized what that pattern looked like. “I think we have a fingerprint.”
“With all that dirt on it, it’s going to be tough to get anything worth using out of it,” Con said.
“Hey, ya’ll!” Nash called out.
They returned to the car with Cadno in tow.
“What is it?” Hamilton asked.
“You’re not going to believe what I found under the driver’s seat.” Nash held up a plastic evidence bag. Inside was a glossy black business card. The only thing on the card was one word scrolled in white.
“What’s it say?” Jolie asked.
“It’s Latin: amasiunculus,” Jennings said, holding up his cell phone. “Roughly translated, it means lover.”
“What the hell?” Hamilton muttered.
“That’s not all.” Nash turned the bag around and revealed the back of the card, where the word P-Man was handwritten in blue ink.
“That name ring a bell, Detective O’Hanlon?” Jennings asked.
“You’ve got to be bloody effin’ me. I thought P-Man was The Priest.”
“I think we were wrong.”
Jolie’s head swiveled back and forth between the men. “What are you talking about?”
“During The Priest investigation, a witness claimed that one of the victims referred to a man as the ‘P-Man.’ We all assumed she meant The Priest.”
“Do you think the card might have been under there for two years?” Nash asked.
Con shook his head. “We never found anything like that in The Priest’s belongings. And by the looks of that thing, it’s new. There’s no dust or dirt stains. I’m surprised there’s nothing on it with all the blood in that car.”
“It was tucked in that little dip near the door.”
Hamilton’s phone rang, and he excused himself.
“We can all assume the blood belongs to Anthony Maddox, but DCI’s blood analyst will need to make that final call,” Con said.
“What about the knife?” Jolie asked. “Do you think it’s the weapon used on Anthony?”
Con shrugged. “It could have been the one used on Clint Kruger. Once again, we need tests run on it to be sure. Does anyone know if Xavier knew about this place or not?”
Twinges of dread curled through Jolie. Where was Con going with this? When the man’s attention suddenly focused on her, her entire nervous system short-circuited.
“Thoughts, Murdoch?” he asked.
“I have no idea.”
Hamilton ended his call and came back. “DCI is en route. I asked them to bring a cadaver dog.”
“Why?” Jolie asked.
“I’ve got a bad feeling about why this place was used to dump the car and toss those items. Someone knew this is not a frequented place. And they’ve probably used it before.”
• • •
Xavier managed to avoid his sister and brother when he got home, so there was no need to explain his absence overnight. After a fast shower and fresh clothes, he hurried off to work. To make up for leaving Farran in the lurch yesterday, he arrived at The Killdeer early. As he cleaned glasses and restocked the bar, his mind kept drifting to Jolie.
She had floored him with her openness. She hadn’t turned from him in disgust when he showed her his wounds. The walls he’d built to protect himself from further harm had crumbled, and in the wake of their destruction, a new sense of freedom had formed around him. He hadn’t realized how badly he’d been shackled to his depression and the need to hide who he truly was from the world.
That all changed. Now.
Jolie might have done what he thought impossible, but she’d also put a wrench in his best-laid plans. Would he leave Eider? He snorted. If that was even still an option. It had been days with no word from either law enforcement department on whether Xavier was still a suspect in Clint Kruger’s death. Could it be a sign? Had Jolie’s firm belief he wasn’t responsible been a good omen? Had Lady Luck finally given her blessing?
All of it could be too much to hope for.
Lugging a crate of beer bottles from the storage room, he reentered the main dining area, freezing when he spotted the figure standing near the middle of the bar.
Shit. He wasn’t ready for this part of the change in his life.
Though wearing civilian clothing—a light-blue dress shirt under a dark-blue suit jacket and sharply pressed khaki slacks—William Rivers’s bearing was still that of a high-ranking officer, erect and disciplined. He turned slightly, stalling when he saw Xavier.
Regaining his composure, Xavier continued on behind the bar, setting the crate on the counter. “If you’re looking for Farran or Maura, they’re not here.”
“I’m aware, but I did not come in here for them.”
Avoiding eye contact with the man, he proceeded to put the bottles in the cooler.
“Son, could you stop for a moment?”
That word. That single, damnable word, made Xavier’s muscles seize. He nearly crushed a bottleneck as his hand spasmed. Carefully placing the beer on the rack, he closed the cooler lid and rested his hands on the top.
They stared at each other for what felt like eternity. Then William did the one thing Xavier never saw coming.
“I’m sorry. That wasn’t my place. It’s a habit I picked up in dealing with my marines.”
Unclenching his jaw, Xavier gave him a curt nod. More awkward silence followed. With Nic and Cassy, there had never been this strangling lack of conversation. Guess that was because they were women and had this undeniable urge to fill the space with talk, even Nic.
The lockdown on Xavier’s vocal cords released. “Why are you here?”
“To do
what I was never given the opportunity to do in all the years you’ve been alive: get to know you.”
“Now? I’m a bit busy.”
“I understand. I figured this was probably the most neutral ground to have this discussion.”
Scratching the back of his head, Xavier shuffled to the other end of the bar, putting a comfortable distance between them.
“Your sister—”
Xavier whipped around, his eyes boring holes into the man.
“Nicolette,” William corrected, “explained that you lost your leg. An IED?”
What did he expect Xavier to say to that? Why, yes, I bloody well lost my leg stepping on an IED while all of my men were being slaughtered. But I made bloody sure I took out as many of those damn terrorists as I could. Sir!
“Xavier, I’m trying my best to get through this. Please, help me out.”
“Did it ever occur to you that maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t interested in getting to know you? That I liked my life as it was before my mum decided to drop her secret on my head like an A-bomb?”
William’s eyes narrowed. “Then explain why you moved to the States, joined our Marine Corps, and fought our battles?”
“Because I’ve got that damned Yankee blood flowing through me, and I got bit in the arse by the patriotic bug.”
“And coming to Eider?”
This he had no good excuse for, no lie that would make sense. Shoulders slumping, Xavier sank onto his barstool.
“How did you learn about my daughters?”
“News article on Nic after she survived that Priest ordeal. Cassy was a stroke of luck when I moved to town.”
William eased his way down the bar, careful to make his movements slow and noticeable. A sign the bloke had been dealing with Nic’s PTSD in the proper manner. “How is Marianne?”
William remembered his mum’s name. For the second time in less than a twenty-four-hour period, Xavier was floored. William remembered his mum’s name. “She’s good. At least, that’s what my sister told me.”
“You don’t know this for yourself?”
“I was upset with her for hiding my birth father from me for twenty years.”
William nodded, taking a seat on a barstool. “I can understand that. Nic was furious with me for about as long.” He picked up a stray napkin lying on the bar top. “I’m mostly to blame for that.”
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