Against the Wild (21 page)

After the scene at the Grizzly Café, Dylan changed his plans. He'd intended to go to the police, tell them about the man who had been watching the lodge. Trouble was there was a good chance the police would think Caleb was that man.

Since Caleb lived in one of the cabins by himself and hadn't been there the night Lane had seen a man on the deck, there was no way to prove it wasn't him.

Deciding, at least for the moment, to try handling the problem himself, after they finished their pizza, Dylan rounded up his small group of travelers and headed back to the plane.

He wanted to be sure the lodge was locked up tight before dark, and he planned another night of lying in wait for the watcher. With Caleb and Paddy's help, maybe they'd get lucky and catch the son of a bitch. If not, he'd talk to Payuk again, see if he had made any progress.

Tomorrow, he'd return to Waterside and start digging. He wanted to talk to the employees at Mad Jack's Saloon, speak to some of Holly's friends, and take a look at the crime scene.

There had to be something, some piece of evidence that would send them in the right direction—and clear Caleb's name. Dylan was determined to find it.

It was a long night, but with Dylan, Paddy, and Caleb all taking shifts, the men got at least a few hours of sleep. The bad news was—or maybe it was good news—the watcher never appeared.

Or at least they never spotted him.

It took less effort than she had imagined for Lane to convince Dylan to take her with him to Waterside the next morning. She figured he could use all the help he could get. They left right after breakfast, making the short flight north along the coast to the small Alaskan town. Dylan had called ahead and had a rental car waiting in the parking lot near the float dock—though the faded, powder-blue Toyota with the dented front fender hardly looked like it was part of the Avis fleet.

“Runs better than it looks,” Dylan said. “And it's got front-wheel drive so you can get around town in the winter. You can find a decent rental at the airport, but it's a little tough to get out there. Johnnie Mellon, the mechanic down at Pete's Garage, keeps this one for the guys who fly into the float dock.”

“At least it's clean.”

“There should be a key hidden under the bumper.” Dylan groped beneath the front, found the key, and opened the door for her. The interior of the little car was clean and smelled like the pine-scented deodorizer Johnnie must have used.

“So where are we headed first?” Lane asked as she buckled the seat belt across her lap.

“Let's take a look at the crime scene, see what the cops might have missed. Let's hope the yellow tape is gone. We don't need any more trouble.”

“If the tape's gone, how will we find the spot?”

“It happened fifty yards from the bar. The cops will have tromped all over the area around it. I'll find it.”

Lane didn't doubt that. The man seemed able to do anything he set his mind to. She hoped he could find something that would clear Caleb of murder.

She wondered why she was so certain he was innocent. Maybe it was Dylan's unshakable belief in him. But Lane thought it was something else, a gentleness of spirit, a kindness she had sensed in Caleb the moment she had met him.

Dylan started the engine and headed out of the parking lot, pulling onto one of the few paved roads in the area. The little blue banger carried them out to Mad Jack's Saloon at the edge of town, a distance they could have walked if they'd had time. But they had other stops to make, and every minute counted.

He parked the car in the gravel lot across from the bar and they both got out. The wooden building was rustic, the kind of place where you'd expect to see Harley motorcycles sitting out front. A gleaming black one with a lot of chrome, and a metallic blue with flames on the side rested there now, though it was only ten in the morning.

“This way.” Dylan took her hand and led her toward the forest east of the parking lot.

He was right. The trail into the forest was obvious. State Troopers, EMTs, the medical examiner, and God knew how many other people had been tramping back and forth to the murder scene. Lane shivered as she thought of Holly's body lying lifeless in the woods.

“You cold?”

“No. I just . . . I feel sorry for her. She was too young to die, and in such a brutal manner.”

He stopped on the trail and turned back to her. “You can wait here if you'd rather. This isn't your problem. You don't have to put yourself through this.”

She felt an unexpected pang. Caleb was Dylan's best friend, but he was her friend, too. On top of that, she wanted to help Dylan. She'd thought he understood that. Thought he knew that at some point during her time in Alaska, his problems had become her problems, too.

“I might see something you miss. I don't believe Caleb killed her. I want to help any way I can.”

Dylan bent his head and very softly kissed her. “You're a good friend, Lane. Caleb's lucky to have you on his side.”

She hoped she was Dylan's friend, too. But deep down she knew friendship wasn't what she felt for him. It was crazy, but she wanted more from him than that.

“It's not far now,” he said, taking her hand. Dylan continued toward the crime scene and she realized he was pacing off the fifty-yard distance. The closer they got, the tighter her stomach went. She was glad for the warmth of the strong fingers wrapped around her hand.

He came to a halt beneath the branches of a thick-trunked pine tree that sat at the edge of a meadow.

“This is it. About fifty yards out and you can tell the ground has been disturbed by any number of people. This is where he killed her.”

Her stomach knotted. The yellow tape was gone, but there was no doubt this was the place it had happened. “It looks like the area has been thoroughly searched. I can't believe there's anything left for us to find.”

Dylan made no reply, just started walking, stopping every few feet, crouching, examining the spot, crouching again, studying every blade of grass, every pinecone.

“See this?” He pointed to another trail that ran into the tall meadow grass from the murder scene. It was almost nonexistent except for a patch of green that was flattened, followed by another a few feet away. “This is the path he made as he carried her body to the river.”

Dylan started down the trail, moving from one footstep to the next, Lane following behind him. Her heart was pounding. It was all too easy to imagine the young woman's lifeless body slung over the killer's shoulder as he walked to the river rumbling in the distance.

“Do you think the police got any boot prints or anything?”

Dylan shook his head. “Rained too hard that night.” He took her hand, moving carefully along the trail, looking for something—anything—the police might have missed.

“He's tall,” Dylan said. “Strides as long as mine, and purposeful. No hesitation. Always moving forward. He knew what to do with the body, figured if he put her in the river, any DNA would be washed away.”

“Not everyone would know something like that.”

He looked off toward the sound of the rushing stream. “The guy knew what to do. My guess, he's seen death before.”

“How can you tell?”

“It's like hunting. First-timers get nervous. They get buck fever, sometimes can't even pull the trigger. Afterward, they're unsteady. Sometimes they even get sick. A seasoned hunter lays out a plan, locates the game he's after, takes the kill shot, then does what's necessary to bring back food for his family. I don't know if this guy killed Holly on purpose, but dealing with her body didn't shake him up.”

“That isn't Caleb.”

“No, it isn't. Caleb gets upset when a bird flies into a window. Once Holly was dead, the killer did what had to be done to keep from getting caught.”

Dylan started walking again, leading Lane along the faint trail through the deep grass onto the bank overlooking the water.

“This is the north fork of Copper Creek,” he said. “Lot of guys fish it.”

The river wasn't that wide, but it was frothy and churning as it poured itself toward the sea. Dylan followed the muddy bank, carefully examining the ground, the twigs and leaves along the route. Lane mimicked his search, being careful not to fall in. They looked the area over for half an hour before Dylan gave up and grimly shook his head.

“Nothing. Whoever did this took his time, cleaned up after himself.” He urged her back down the trail. “Let's head over to Mad Jack's. See what else we can find out.”

With her hand in his, Dylan led the way. They walked in silence, taking a shorter route back that avoided the spot where the murder had taken place. At the edge of the parking lot, he paused.

“Before we go in, I need to make a phone call.” With a glance back toward the crime scene, he dug into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out his cell phone. “Three bars. Service isn't a problem.”

“Who are you calling?”

He raised a finger, silencing her question, as the phone was quickly answered. But Lane had a pretty good idea who was on the other end of the line.

 

 

Dylan waited only a single ring before Nick picked up.

“Hey, bro,” Nick said. “I'm glad you called. I've been worried. Rafe phoned this morning, brought me up to speed. How's Caleb?”

“Hanging in there. Keller got him released so he's home. Listen, Lane and I just left the crime scene. I was hoping you could give me a little input.”

A heartbeat passed. “I'll do what I can.”

Dylan knew his brother was trying to take a break from the murder and mayhem he had dealt with in his job. Still, this was Caleb. Dylan knew he could count on Nick's help.

Over the next few minutes, he laid it all out: what the cops had found—or hadn't; what the scene looked like; the conclusions he had drawn.

For several moments, Nick was silent on his end of the phone. “From what you've said, this guy sounds like a pretty cool customer. Nothing at the scene that could incriminate him. They found a shoe? A chain? So what? Purse is gone, so no ID. No blood. No DNA. This may not be his first rodeo.”

“I was afraid you'd say that.”

“He might have hoped the body wouldn't show up for a while, but he was ready if it did. On the other hand, could be this was a sex game gone wrong. She wasn't beaten. She wasn't raped. His stride matches yours so we know he's tall. Powerful enough to strangle her. Could have been he just got carried away. Whatever happened, if you're reading this right, he knew what to do once she was dead. The guy was no stranger to death. I have a hunch this joker's a professional.”

“You mean like a hit man?”

“More like a cop or soldier. Didn't seem intimidated by being in the woods. Found a place to take her for sex, someplace close enough to the bar so she wouldn't be scared but far enough away they wouldn't be heard.”

“Maybe he's a local.”

Nick picked up on the tone of his voice. “But you don't think so.”

He didn't. He couldn't say why, just one of those hunches he had listened to over the years. “We've never had any problems before. Nothing like this. Ferry comes in and out. Could be some drifter who got off for a visit.”

“Could be.”

“Anything else?” he asked.

“Not without coming down there.”

“Let me do some legwork first. See if we can get this done ourselves.”

“You're using the plural, brother. If you mean you and Lane, you better take care or you'll be in deeper shit than you were the last time.”

The words were sobering. Lane would be leaving. He couldn't afford to get in too deep.

“I'll keep that in mind. In the meantime, I'll keep you posted. Thanks for the help.” Dylan hung up the phone.

“That was your brother, Nick, the policeman?”

“Homicide detective. Or was. He says the guy sounds like a professional, a cop or ex-military.”

“Because he didn't get rattled after he killed her.”

“That's right. Think how you would feel. The average guy would go ballistic. Unless he had it planned, which considering the timing—she could have walked outside any time that night—I don't think it was.”

“But you think it's a stranger, not someone local, maybe someone who came in on the ferry.”

He nodded. “Holly hadn't been in town that long. And she was concentrating on Caleb. As far as we know, she wasn't involved with anyone in town—the cops would have checked that angle.”

Lane looked up at him. “If he came in on the ferry, he might need transportation.”

Dylan's interest sharpened. “You're right. He could have walked from town to the bar, but if he's staying somewhere out of town, he'd need a way to get there.” He smiled. “I knew you were more than a pretty face.” Reaching for her hand, he started across the parking lot.

Lane stopped him at the door. “Okay. Before we go inside, let me put this together. We're looking for someone as tall as you and probably as strong. He's purposeful. Not a wimpy kind of guy. Probably attractive or Holly wouldn't have had sex with him.”

He nodded. “Sounds right.”

“Maybe someone who's been a cop, or in the military, or someone who spends a lot of time outdoors.” She glanced up at him. “That leaves a lot of possibilities.”

“Not so much in a place the size of Waterside.” Dylan led her up on the porch and pushed through the swinging doors. He'd been in a few times. Caleb liked to go there once in a while to listen to the band. Occasionally, he'd talked Dylan into going with him.

The wooden floor creaked beneath his feet as he walked to the long oak bar. A row of stools ran the length of it and there was an old-fashioned back bar behind it. Dylan recognized the guy using a rag to wipe off the counter.

“Hey, Brian, how's it going?” He waited for Lane to sit down on one of the stools, then sat down beside her.

The bartender slowed the spin of the rag to a stop. “Dylan, right?” He was thin to the point of skinny, dark-haired, with lip whiskers and a pointy little goatee. He looked like a dumbshit, but he seemed like a pretty decent guy.

“That's right,” Dylan said. “I was in here a couple of times with Caleb.”

“I . . . uhh . . . heard about the murder. I guess he's under arrest.”

“Released him yesterday. The evidence is all circumstantial.”

“Doesn't mean he didn't do it.”

Dylan's jaw clenched. He forced himself to relax. “Were you working the night of the murder?”

“I was here for a while.”

“When Caleb and Holly were in here?”

“Look, Dylan, they had a fight, okay? Caleb left. Holly left maybe fifteen minutes later. That's what I told the troopers and that's all I know.”

“Fair enough. You ever see Holly in here with another guy?”

“You mean like a date? No. She was a real cock tease, though. She was always coming on to some guy. Got them to buy her drinks, but she usually didn't leave with them.”