He kept walking. “We believe one person did the damage. One set of rain boots—the same brand everyone in the area wears.”
“The weapon?”
“We’ve narrowed it down—one weapon, not a bat or a log, but wood. Dr. Fromm gave us bits of wood taken from Lars’ head and torso. Thor kept slivers to work on and sent the rest to the lab in Minneapolis. We’re hoping to identify the source.”
“Thanks, Sheriff.” He rarely shared information with me and I appreciated it. “I know you think I’m a broken record, but Matthew Willard was in Spirit Lake on two occasions that I know of. He came to the cabin to convince me that his group had nothing to do with killing Charley, and I’m pretty sure I saw his truck turn the corner by the guys’ garage two days ago. He could have been waiting for his chance to get one of them alone to do this.”
He stopped. “How did he follow Lars in his boat if he was in a truck?”
“It’s not hard to steal a boat around here.”
He pushed out the door. “We’ll check to see if anyone reported a stolen boat.”
He looked skeptical, but if he said he’d check, he would.
***
The next morning Lars was still in the coma. Sarah went to her hotel to sleep while Little stayed with Lars.
I paced the hospital waiting room. I’d already worn out my welcome with the sheriff, but he did tell me he’d spoken with the Willards. Matthew had been working with his dad all day. I’d like to know if the people who provided his alibi were World Church members, but Wilcox would have checked. He was experienced and skilled. The only thing hindering him was that he had to go by the book. But I didn’t.
I called Henry at the casino. “I’m going to see if I can find anything the sheriff’s people might have missed. Do you have a car or truck I can borrow for a few hours? The killer knows my SUV.”
Henry said, “Bad idea.”
“This guy passed up a chance to kill me. The message he left on my desk said, ‘You Can’t Save Him.’ I don’t think he’s after me.”
The tone in Henry’s voice told me he wasn’t happy, but he said to meet him at his grandfather’s place.
Edgar’s garage was open and I pulled in, then walked over to him, waiting in his doorway with his arms crossed. I said, “I suppose you’re going to try to talk me out of this, too.”
He said, “If he goes for you in the woods you’ll be okay, you know it better than most.”
I nodded. I was familiar with the trees and bushes, the underbrush, the rise and fall of the ground, the loamy, soft spots that would wrap around a shoe and suck you down to your knees, where it was good to sleep. I’d spent summer nights camping not far from where I’d found Lars.
Henry arrived shortly in a rusted red Ford truck. I hurried to him with my camera bag over one shoulder, the SIG Sauer tucked in a side pocket. “I really appreciate this, Henry.” No one would pay attention to the old truck rumbling through the reservation’s rehab and diabetes center grounds.
Henry stayed behind the wheel. “I don’t get this. The killer was after Lars?”
I shook my head. “Right now I’m so confused. I don’t know what Lars has to do with Charley, or Rob, or even if there’s a connection.”
I waited, impatient for him to get out of the truck. “Thanks, again, Henry. I’d better get going so I can be back before dark.”
He faced forward, chin up. “I’m going with you. Ben would be mad if I let you go off and get yourself killed.”
The big man would slow me down, but I didn’t want to be disrespectful. I slid into the passenger seat. Now I wasn’t happy.
Chapter 15
The Rehab and Diabetes Center main building looked more like a resort lodge than a medical facility. Henry parked among a dozen cars and trucks. The center ran twelve-step groups and a mostly out-patient medical service.
I tucked a camera into my camo jacket, transferred the gun to my waistband and left the camera bag and other equipment behind. Henry took his rifle from the gun rack and we walked down the narrow trail leading to the island. It was reservation land, a mile across, and there were no houses or businesses on it. As kids, we’d canoe from town and have picnics or camp here. But today it didn’t feel welcoming or safe. It was hard to admit it, but I was grateful for Henry’s solid presence as we entered the dense woods.
My ears were tuned to every sound and there were plenty of them, but they were familiar ones. If the forest creatures got suddenly quiet, I’d know something was wrong. We walked in silence to the place where I’d found Lars. I shuddered at the memory and once again used the camera eye to record the scene. We fanned out from the spot and spent the next two hours traversing every inch of ground.
Henry stayed apart from me, his eyes scanning back and forth through the terrain as I stumbled through swamp and brambles, poison oak and ivy and the nearly impenetrable rocky shoreline surrounding the island.
From his vantage point a few yards above me, his rifle in one strong arm, Henry pointed to something in the water. A chunk of splintered wood was wedged between two rocks a couple of yards from shore. No more than six inches long, a diagonal sliver of blue ran across it.
I waded out, slipping on the rocky bottom in my gym shoes. Afraid the tide would whisk it away before I could reach it, my gaze stayed riveted on the piece of wood. When I was close enough to grab it if it slipped away, I shot from all angles, and then tugged the wood free of the rocks.
A twig snapped and I swung toward the sound, my hand on the SIG Sauer at my hip. Henry pointed his rifle toward the woods, his body taut. The entire island held its breath.
In a moment, normal sounds started up again and the hairs settled on the back of my neck. It could have been a deer out for an afternoon snack or maybe a creature waddling through the underbrush. My jeans were soaked to the knees and my shoes sloshed as I hurried back to Henry and showed him the piece of wood.
We turned it this way and that. If there was blood on it, all traces had washed away. I said, “Thor will find out if the splinters taken from Lars match.”
Henry nudged me forward. “Let’s get back to the truck. Someone’s out there.”
Wordless, we hurried through the woods the way we’d come. I felt like a sitting duck as we crossed back over the narrow trail to the rehab center parking lot, but we made it safely. Henry secured his rifle and got behind the wheel. I reached inside my camera bag for a plastic envelope, touched wet fur and snatched my hand back. The severed head of a raccoon stared up at me with its bandit eyes. “Oh, shit, Henry, look.”
He took one look, grabbed for his rifle, jumped out of the truck and trotted across the parking lot faster than I’d ever seen him move.
Henry was back shortly, shaking his head and panting. “I have a better idea.”
He called Ray Stevens of the tribal police and asked him to send someone to check out the island. “There might be someone hiding out there who doesn’t belong. He could be armed.”
He got off the phone and pointed at my camera bag. “The sheriff has to see that.”
I hedged. “I doubt our head hunter is anywhere near here by now and Ray might not appreciate the sheriff charging in.”
His eyes narrowed. “You’d better take that thing to Wilcox.”
I wanted to toss the raccoon head into the bushes but Henry was right, it was evidence. “I will.”
He rooted in the glove box for napkins and handed a wad to me. I cleaned my hand, and swallowed to rid myself of the squeamish feeling in my stomach. “What’s with this guy and heads, Henry?”
One thing was clear to me. He wasn’t going to detach my head or Little’s or Lars’ from our bodies if it was the last thing I accomplished. If I could live through some of the things I’d seen and done, I could handle one sicko with a head fetish and a vendetta against anyone connected to Charley. I kicked the side of the red truck and my shoe tore through a rusted spot.
Shocked at what I’d done, I turned to Henry. “I’m sorry!”
He frowned toward the island again. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s get out of here.”
Henry dropped me off at Edgar’s. I apologized again for the hole in the truck. “I’ll have it repaired.”
Henry said, “Don’t worry about the truck, it’s not my good one. I’m just relieved I don’t have to tell Ben your head was in that bag.”
***
I found Wilcox and Thor in her basement lab peering at the computer. The sheriff’s eyes flicked up at me and back at the screen. “We’re busy here.”
Holding the camera bag away from my body, I edged closer. Now was the time to ask questions, before I opened the bag. “I’m curious about what you found out about Neil.”
Wilcox straightened. “We’re holding him, checking his alibi. He said he didn’t see Lars after he left the restaurant. He said he fished a while and then went to a bar in Cooper. So far, no one remembers seeing him at the bar.”
“Thanks, Sheriff.” He hadn’t had to tell me. I steeled myself for what was coming, handed him the chunk of wood and told him where I’d been, leaving Henry out of it. No need for him to suffer through a Wilcox tirade as well.
The sheriff blasted me—I was reckless, the last thing he needed was another murder to deal with, and so on. When he wound down, I swallowed and set the camera bag in the middle of the table. “If you’re upset about that, wait until you see this.” I stepped back.
Wilcox looked inside and reared back. “What the hell?”
The raccoon head set him off again. I was almost sorry I’d brought it back. He was about to march me off to a cell for interfering with a criminal investigation when my cell rang. I checked the caller ID and held up my hands in surrender.
“Excuse me, Sheriff. It’s my brother. Maybe he has news about Lars.”
It wasn’t about Lars. Little wanted me to check on the restaurant. I’d planned to stop there anyway. Chloe had been feeding Rock and Knute and letting them out for brief periods, but I wanted to see them too.
Thankful for Little’s good timing, I left Wilcox still fuming and made a hasty getaway to my car, dodging the rain. My phone rang again as I pulled into the restaurant parking lot. This time it was Marta, my L.A. Times editor and best friend, likely with an update on my Sudan assignment. The trip was still a month and a half away. I let it go to voice mail. My fingers tapped the steering wheel. She never called just to chat.
***
The crew at Little’s moved in slow motion. Chloe had worked double shifts since Lars was hurt and now even her perky ponytail drooped. She’d been with the guys for two years and had assumed the role of temporary manager, a big job for an eighteen-year-old.
Anke and the two students sat at a table drinking coffee. I could feel the tall woman’s eyes following me as I went through the kitchen to the guys’ apartment.
Rock shot out as soon as I opened the back door. Knute creaked to his feet and limped behind him. Rock blasted through puddles like a puppy and Knute even wagged his tail.
Hating to end their fun, but needing to get back to the hospital, I put them back inside and locked up. I toweled them down and added an extra helping of food to their bowls. Rock’s muzzle bumped my hand. He knew something was wrong for his routine to be so disrupted.
On the way to my car, I detoured across the parking lot to the deputy on night duty. “Stay alert, Seth, there are two loved pets inside.” I also reminded him the arsonist at Cooper had killed someone.
His jaw tightened. “I don’t need you to tell me how to do my job. Wilcox rides my ass day and night.”
Another reminder I needed to work on my people skills. Seth was in his thirties, a little cocky the few times I’d seen him, but Wilcox wouldn’t have him here if he didn’t think he could do the job. I went back into the restaurant, poured coffee in an insulated cup and grabbed a bag of cookies.
Outside again, I passed them through his open window. “I know you’re on top of it, Seth.”
He thanked me and reached into the bag. “Don’t worry, Britt. I’m ready for this guy.”
On the drive back to Branson Hospital, I scanned the woods on either side of the road and kept one eye on the rearview mirror.
Little spent the night in Lars’ room. I made myself as comfortable as possible on a waiting room couch and prepared myself for Marta’s voice mail. No doubt she had been juggling twenty things at once, brown bangs hanging in her eyes, big glasses pushed up on her head. I pulled the phone from my pocket and listened to her message.
Her voice came across at warp speed, as usual. “Hey, Sudan is being fast-tracked. Knowing you, I’m sure you’re ready for action, and frankly, I don’t know how you can live in a place with no Peet’s Coffee. Call me. This is time-sensitive.”
Time-sensitive was her way of saying she wanted me there now. A strangled laugh erupted from my throat as if a hyena had control of my vocal cords. How much more messed up could this month get? I flopped back on the hard couch and stared at the ceiling. South Sudan was the biggest challenge of my career. Everything I’d ever done led up to this. I wouldn’t miss it.
***
Sarah hurried through the waiting room in the morning, her dark curls still damp from the shower. “I’m sorry. I slept right through my alarm. I only meant to be gone a couple of hours.” I assured her it was fine. Little never wanted to leave Lars for a second anyway.
Little and I grabbed breakfast in the cafeteria. His fork made circles in his eggs. I sipped my coffee. “You know those eggs are already scrambled, right?”
He made a face and set the fork on his plate. “I should get back to Lars.”
“Do you mind if I take off for a while to run a few errands? I want to find out what Wilcox is doing to find this guy.”
“Don’t worry, Wilcox will get him.” Little didn’t sound as though he was a hundred percent sure.
“If he doesn’t, I will.” The familiar heat between my brows meant reason had taken a back seat. Revenge and the need for speed drove me now.
He leaned forward. “Can’t you just stay with me and let Wilcox’s people handle this? I need you.”
I reached across and squeezed his hand until he yelped. “I need you too, little brother, and that’s why I’m not letting anybody take you away from me.”
I called Wilcox on my way out the door. “Why isn’t Matthew Willard behind bars?”
“Good morning to you, too. We can’t place him at Charley’s murder or Lars’ beating or the arson and murder in Cooper. We have no motive and no evidence.”
“Why, because his dad says he was scavenging junk with him?”
“Watch it now.”
“Sorry, Sheriff.”
He spit out the words. “At the time Lars was beat up, every place where they said they stopped on their route checked out. We got the autopsy report from Minneapolis with Charley’s time of death. They were not in the area when he was killed, and we have no evidence they had anything to do with the arson and Rob’s death.”
He hadn’t seen the deranged look in Matthew’s eye, though. “Have you questioned all the World Church members? Maybe one of them is the killer.”
He waited a beat, likely getting his temper under control. “We’ve questioned them.” The phone went dead.
Pleased I’d gotten Matthew to give me his number, I called and asked him to meet me at the Country Kitchen on the outskirts of Branson. He put me on hold, most likely to check with his father. He came back on and half-heartedly agreed to meet me in half an hour.
Camera around my neck and gun in the glove compartment, I set out determined to get some answers from the kid Wilcox said had alibis. I wanted to see if the diabolical look on his face had been a trick of the light, and find out if he’d really meant it when he said he wanted to get away from the World Church people and his parents. I could have had it all wrong. I cringed. That had happened before.
Matthew was already seated at a booth when I walked in. I checked the restaurant for the rest of his posse
, didn’t recognize anyone and slid in across from him.
A young waitress came to take our order, smiling at Matthew. I ordered a BLT. He asked for a Coke, and his gaze followed her back to the kitchen.
I said, “I’m wondering why you agreed to meet me.”
Too busy ripping up his napkin and shoving the shreds to the floor to make eye contact, he said, “The sheriff’s been asking us a lot of questions. Like what I was doing in Spirit Lake that time I went to your house. I had a hard time explaining that so my dad wouldn’t get mad.”
He hadn’t answered my question. “He tell you about our poor friend, Lars, who might not live after he was brutally attacked?”
“It wasn’t me. The sheriff hasn’t taken me in so I’m in the clear on that.”
“What about your father?”
The right side of his mouth twisted. “He’s more like a general who sends the troops to battle.”
Was the son tired of doing Daddy’s bidding?
The waitress set Matthew’s Coke in front of him with another smile and water for me, no smile.
I asked again. “Why did you agree to meet me here?”
“My dad’s group doesn’t want the police nosing around and thinking we’re responsible for everything bad that happens.”
“So you’re on a good-will mission?”
He darted a sly look at me. “More or less. For one thing, you can’t blame me for anything when I’m sitting right here in front of you.”
I crossed my arms. “Okay, you’re a good guy, who no longer wants to be associated with an organization that beats up gay people and you insist it wasn’t you or the World Church. So do you have any idea who did it?”
He shrugged.
I leaned in, dead serious. “Lars is a great guy. My brother loves him. They’ve been partners for years. I will find out who hurt him.”
He slammed his glass on the table and I jumped. The mean look was back in his eyes, his helter-skelter teeth bared in a snarl. “This is bullshit. I can’t sit here and listen to you talk about how your homo brother and this guy Lars love each other. That purely makes me sick. He deserved what he got.”
Close Up on Murder Page 13