by DiAnn Mills
She stretched her back and glanced at Sheriff Adams, still involved with his call. One of Carr’s dogs nuzzled at her leg. She pulled off her stinky glove and let the animal sniff the back of her hand before patting his head. Snatching up another bag, she noted this one had come from the barn. What luck.
“Do you think this is going to take all day?” Sheriff Adams said, startling her. She hadn’t seen him approach. From the look on his face, he’d taken her handling of the trash as a personal affront rather than a willingness to help, and she could feel the iciness.
“It could, but it won’t.”
“Glad to hear you’ve decided the Runnels County Sheriff’s Department does know how to handle routine procedures.”
She didn’t need an enemy here. Time to rein in her controlling personality with a generous pinch of Southern charm. “Sheriff, I have no doubt you and your people have followed this investigation to the letter. I’m not second-guessing you or doubting your ability. I’m simply the type who has to see things for herself.” She gestured to the two deputies, who were listening to every word. “And I wanted to help.”
“I understand, ma’am.” He relaxed slightly. “This investigation has all of us edgy. Anything I can do here?”
“Nothing, really.” She pointed to the tagged bags. “Those are finished. I need to know where to place them for disposal.” She didn’t envy the deputies assigned to this mess. “Can you take me to the crime scene?”
“I’m sorry, but there’s been an accident on 277. That and two other emergencies need my attention. Unfortunately, I need a couple of my deputies. One of the perils of the county sheriff’s department. Never enough personnel.”
She masked her irritation with a smile. “That’s a problem everywhere.”
He shifted and glanced toward the house. “What about Carr? Two of my deputies are at the scene if you feel uncomfortable about being alone with him.”
The sooner she got her car back the better. But as much as she detested riding in a truck with a suspected murderer, this would give her time to befriend Carr and see if he spilled any more of his guts. “That’ll be fine, Sheriff.”
“How about first names? We’re going to be spending some time together with this investigation.”
“You’re right, Darren. I’m Bella.”
Once in Carr’s truck, she allowed the air-conditioning to chase away the perspiration trickling down the sides of her face. The leather seats were cool too.
“Brought you a cold water.” He set the bottle in the cup holder between them.
“Thanks. Just what I need.” She wrapped her fingers around the icy wetness, then twisted off the cap, listening for the familiar snap to release the seal. Drop the paranoia. Carr Sullivan, even if he had shot the three men, wouldn’t poison me at a ranch swarming with deputies and another FBI agent.
“How’s the trash detail?”
The sarcasm in his voice annoyed her, but she’d keep her feelings shelved. “Smelly and filled with maggots.”
“You’re not going to find anything, unless the person who stole my rifle planted incriminating evidence.”
“This is part of my job.” She took a long drink. The water, mixed with the air-conditioning, gave her a new spurt of energy.
“Must be why I didn’t choose law enforcement.”
“Real estate, right?”
“Oh, I’m sure you know everything about me, including my blood type and whether I prefer my Mountain Dew in a bottle or can.”
“Bottle.” She laughed. “AB positive.”
“Good job. Where are you from?”
“Houston.” At least right now.
“This dry heat must be a shock to your body.”
More shock than he could imagine. “I think I might get real seasoned out here.”
He pressed his lips into a lopsided grin. “Oh, the relentless sun has softened me up.”
“Wasn’t it hard? I mean leaving Dallas and the good life to go cold turkey in total isolation?”
“I welcomed it, like a deer pants for water.”
Carr Sullivan wasn’t the first murder suspect to quote Scripture—or kill, as if God had sent him as an avenging angel.
“But,” he continued, “there were a few adjustments. I traded using my head for dirtying my hands. Tossed the gym for breaking my back. Swapped my three-figure cologne for sunscreen.”
Witty. She liked that. Kept life interesting. “Any regrets?”
“Only the events over the past few days.”
“You mentioned that before. Have you remembered anything else?”
“Not a thing. I’ve turned my mind inside out, even rethought the phone conversations to see if I missed a clue or detected an attitude. Nothing.”
“If something comes to mind, no matter how insignificant, I want to know right then.”
Carr pulled his pickup alongside a deputy’s car and disengaged the engine. “Here we are.”
Bella peered up at the magnificent stone butte. Amazing. Even when she lived in this area, the structures had captured her attention, as if a giant had taken a sword across the top of a mountain, then used it as a table.
“Gorgeous, aren’t they?” Carr said.
“I wonder what secrets lie there.”
“Centuries of stories, I’m sure. What can I do to help?”
Bella drew herself back to the present. “All I need is for you to wait until I’m finished. I want to check out the crime scene and walk the area.”
“I haven’t done any searching myself. Darren spent most of the day combing the area yesterday, and I steered clear of their investigation.”
She raised a brow, ready to recite the law regarding entering a crime scene, but he raised his palm. “I’m not talking about the taped section but the outlying area. So can I join you once you’re finished there?”
“I think you already know the answer. Darren couldn’t risk your jeopardizing the investigation and neither can I.” When Carr frowned, the banner of whether or not he was guilty marched across her mind.
“The protocol here stinks.”
“I don’t make the rules, Carr. I simply do my job.”
He gave her an obligatory nod and stepped out of the truck. She opened her door and slid out of the seat into a boiling temperature that felt about as welcome as the rattlesnakes and scorpions lurking under the rocks. Carr waited for her near the hood; then the two walked together toward the deputies.
Carr shook each one’s hand. “Mornin’, Sam, Wesley. I’d like for you to meet Special Agent Bella Jordan from Houston.”
She chose to keep her creds tucked in her purse and flashed a smile instead.
The older deputy shook her hand. The younger man greeted her. “I’m Wesley Adams. Welcome to West Texas.”
Bella made the same small talk with them, just as she had at the ranch house.
“Her car met with a little accident this morning,” Carr said. “And I’m being her chauffeur.”
“A good one, too,” she said, adding as much friendliness as possible. “I’m going to look around. Don’t mind me.” She hoisted her heavy bag onto her shoulder, remembering she’d added a camera and handheld voice recorder. While the men talked, she made her way to the yellow-taped area. Kneeling to the side of where each body had lain, she checked to see if anything caught her eye. Nothing. If there had been anything, it was gone now. She snapped a few pictures to go over later, even if they were over two days old.
The report stated each man had been shot in the head execution-style. That seemed more like Richardson’s mode or that of someone he would hire. Whoever had done this had to be a crack shot. Just like the one who had destroyed her tires.
“Ma’am,” Deputy Myers said. “I’ll show you where we found the horse tracks.”
She followed him west of the crime scene.
“The footprints you see here are the deputies’. Out there is where I think the killer dismounted.” He pointed, and she followed.
; The fading horse prints were a disappointment, but he informed her that the area had been swept for any traces of hair follicles. She snapped a few more pictures and wrote a quick note to see if horseshoes could be traced. As Darren stated earlier, the shooter had brushed away any traces of where he’d walked across the dry earth. A mesquite branch lay near the horse’s tracks, probably the one used to conceal the evidence. But the shooter had to have slipped up somewhere. She stood. Wide-open spaces in every direction, except for the butte. According to Deputy Myers, the horse’s tracks led beyond the High Butte to a county road where tire treads indicated the killer had parked a truck and trailer. That was the sheriff’s department’s theory. All before six in the morning. Why didn’t the killer walk from the road? She spoke into her handheld recorder and wrote the question on her notepad.
Bella turned to take in a 180-degree view. The killer had to know the layout of the land and exactly where the victims were digging. But there were no signs of a dig. For that matter, did the three find what they were looking for? If Carr didn’t kill them for trespassing, then they must have uncovered something of value—valuable enough to pay for in blood. As much as she wanted to believe the business executive–turned–rancher hadn’t killed them, the suspicions continued to mount.
Off to her right, several feet away, a figure moved, and she swung her attention in that direction. Carr walked slowly northwest from where she’d planted her feet.
“What are you doing?” Annoyance sent a memo to her logic. Was he looking to cover up his own tracks? “Are you destroying evidence before anyone finds it?”
Carr stopped and motioned for her. “If I wanted to look innocent, I certainly wouldn’t be out here. I’d be home talking to a fancy attorney about my rights. Anyway, I’ve found something.”
She hurried toward him while biting back a caustic remark. “What is it?”
“A candy bar wrapper.” He pointed to the ground. “I’m not picking it up and putting my fingerprints all over it.”
She stood beside him. Her mind spun, and she reached inside her shoulder bag for her gloves and a plastic bag. “Thanks. It’ll be interesting to see the prints on this one.” She picked up the wrapper and sealed it in the bag.
“Hope so.” He studied her every move, making her uncomfortable. “You see, Jasper is diabetic, and even if it came from Ciro, his favorite is Snickers, not Godiva, like this one. This brand costs a few more pesos.”
They were at least eight hundred feet from where the authorities believed the shooter had killed the men. With the wrapper secure in her bag, her gaze followed a straight path to the road. Could it be the sheriff’s department had not looked this far?
Carr joined her, which set in the uneasiness again. Just because he’d found a shred of evidence didn’t mean he’d been cleared.
“Not a law written says I can’t walk across my own land.”
“True, but if you try to obstruct my investigation, you’re out of here.”
He chuckled. “Yes, ma’am. And for the record, I’m not a candy connoisseur.”
She’d like to cram his humor back down his throat. Her gaze swept around them. Trodden underbrush indicated someone had passed through en route to the road.
“The likelihood of one of my men or even me using that road is slim.” Twice he bent to examine the brush but then moved on without a remark.
They continued to make their way along the edge of his property where the deputies had scoured yesterday.
“Let’s walk north and see what we find,” Carr said. “Darren told me this morning they didn’t search much farther from here.”
“As if the killer looked for his best advantage.” She questioned why the deputies had been satisfied with what they’d found and not extended their search.
Bella was the first to see a heel print dug into dry earth. She reached into her shoulder bag and pulled out her camera. Several more prints took form until tire treads revealed the man had driven away. She snapped a few more photos.
Carr measured the boot print with his own foot. “This is about a size twelve. I’m an eleven.”
Bella sensed a catch in her chest. Control. She peered around him. Jasper and Ciro most likely had small feet with their Hispanic ethnicity. “Could be one of the deputies.”
“Possibly. But it’s the best we have so far.”
We? And she didn’t need a reminder of her lack of evidence. “Mr. Sullivan, you are not a consultant on this case.”
“You’re right. I’m a suspect determined to prove my innocence.”
Bella snapped a picture of the boot print. Recognition software would provide some answers. She climbed over the fence and walked a few feet down the dirt road away from where it looked like the killer had parked. Her father wore a size twelve. So did Brandt. Two details she remembered about these men.
Her father. She hadn’t wanted to consider him involved in this, but he very well could be. Fourteen years ago, he’d been obsessed with finding the Spider Rock treasure. The entire family had suffered when he either spent household money to purchase treasure-digging tools or gambled it away. He and Brandt were partners back then, both men determined to get rich by finding the buried cache of sixty-four million dollars in gold on their dirt-poor ranch. But as much as she detested her father and what he’d done, would he resort to murder? She took in the surroundings, keeping her emotions deep inside. Of course he would.
If she had cell phone access, she’d have called Pete at Houston FIG to request a full report on Stanton Warick. Bella rubbed her finger across her forehead. She’d see if a text to Pete would go through and at least get him started on the process. Three men dead, all looking for the Spider Rock treasure. Brandt Richardson was wanted for murder-for-hire. Carr Sullivan had a record of violence and evidence against him, and her own father could be knee-deep in the whole mess.
Chapter 7
Carr sensed his anger festering like a boil. Special Agent Bella Jordan believed he’d killed those men, and no matter what he did or said, she continued on the same dead-end road. Bad pun. His stomach churned with what the future might hold. The charges. A trial. The weeks and months of waiting. He eased the truck into reverse, turned around, and drove through the pasture back toward the house. Three hours in the blazing sun while she talked to deputies and snapped pictures. When she wasn’t speaking into her little handheld recorder, she made notes.
Bella looked at him with a half smile, as if he were nothing more than a cockroach. What happened to a man being innocent until proven guilty?
“I want to know why you think I’m guilty.” He stopped the truck and hung his left arm over the steering wheel. Angus grazed peacefully on both sides. Two mares and their foals added to a picturesque memento of how he’d viewed his life until Monday.
She tossed him a curious look. “Who said I did?”
“You. Every word spoken or unspoken. I read people well enough to tell when hostility rules the moment. Is this another rung in your ladder toward a fat FBI promotion?”
She winced for a fraction of a second, and he caught it.
“Be careful, lady; your fangs are showing.”
Anger peaked in her green eyes. “I resent your unfounded accusations.”
“And I resent your assumption that I murdered those men.” His voice had risen with each word. “Seems to me you’re looking for ways to pin this on me instead of looking for evidence leading to the real murderer.”
“I really don’t care what you think. I have a job to do.”
“I bet the sooner you get back to your air-conditioned office in Houston, the sooner you’ll be sitting in a new office.” He looked away. Losing his temper didn’t prove a thing but his lack of control—and lack of control was what killed three men. His outburst would do nothing but move him higher on her list of suspects. He took a deep breath and then another. Putting his truck into drive, he drove on.
Once at the house, he saw Darren had not returned. Two deputies lingered with Vic
on his back porch drinking his bottled water. Carr exited his truck and made deliberate steps to the back door, forcing himself to greet the three men. Anger jutted from the pores of his skin like barbed wire. He paid taxes and obeyed the law. He followed Christ and studied His Word. What more could he do?
Swinging open the door, he ushered Bella inside like a proper gentleman. But his thoughts were not conducive to attributes of a godly man.
Lydia met them in the kitchen. She blinked but said nothing about his apparent dissatisfaction with what had transpired. “Sheriff Adams said he’d be back around four.”
Not soon enough, in his opinion. “I’ll be upstairs.”
“I have more questions for you,” Bella said.
“I’ll be upstairs.”
Silence drummed on between them.
“I’m being a jerk,” he said. “Sorry.”
“I’ve been known to have better people skills.” She blew out a sigh. “I’m sure there are more bags of trash for me to sort through. There’s an outhouse behind the barn that better fits my attitude.”
He lifted a brow. Comic relief he could use. “And what would you find?”
“More of the same. I’m sure.”
“Excuse me?” Lydia’s voice seldom took a high note, but it rang with a tone of authority. “Are you two squabbling or trying to get along?”
“We’re attempting civility.” Bella took the bottle of water that Lydia offered. “Neither of us has any answers. If we did, the killer would be in custody.”
“I’m innocent. How do I prove that to you?” The bickering had to stop. Hurling words at Bella made him look immature . . . and guilty. Again he took another deep breath and asked God—no, begged Him—to muzzle his mouth. This time he began with control. “I apologize for my lack of manners. This whole thing has me upset, out of focus.”