BIG SKY SECRETS 03: End Game (17 page)

She made her way through the people she’d known since she’d moved here, exchanging handshakes and hugs, and all of the usual pleasantries over sweet babies and engagement rings and news of children coming home from college, that marked the fabric of the community.

Someone brushed against her arm from behind as he passed. “Good morning.” The voice was low, raspy, without any note of welcome.

She jerked to a stop and turned, but behind her she saw only a cluster of children and a couple of young moms framed by their umbrellas. But over there—at the edge of the parking lot, she caught a man giving her a quick glance before his black umbrella dropped back into place.

There was something vaguely familiar about his voice and profile…but who was he?

She watched him saunter away.

You’ve got to stop imagining things,
she muttered to herself.
The poor man probably just has laryngitis, and you know half the people in this town at any rate. Of course you think you know him.

And the last thing she wanted to think about right now was her job.

She slipped through the heavy oak inner doors into the hushed silence of the sanctuary and felt a sense of peace enfold her like welcoming arms.

It was a simple country church with a single center aisle and old-fashioned oak pews that marched up to the communion railing in front of the altar.

The walls at either side were white, set with twelve tall, old-fashioned and intricate stained glass windows depicting the events of Jesus’s life. On sunny days, bejeweled light streamed through them in glorious colors. On this rainy morning they were dark and dreary, but with even greater meaning for all that Jesus had suffered in His time on earth.

She moved forward and settled in her favorite pew, three rows from the back, nodding to the others who had already come in.

The entire front of the church, including the altar, pulpit and lectern were oak, darkened to a deep, rich glow by the past hundred years, and generations of women armed with soft cloth and lemon oil polish.

She loved the honey and amber glow of the wood. The simple cross that hung above the altar with such deep meaning for her eternal life and the God who had been with her through good times and bad, her rock no matter what.
Lord, thank You for this beautiful day, and for all of the people here. Please, help me in the coming week to do my best for them. And please, please be with Carl and his daughter as we continue to search for him.

Someone touched her shoulder and she automatically gathered her purse and jacket, then slid down the pew to make room. Her heart did that funny little dance again when she realized it was Scott.

“Good morning,” she whispered. “You’re up early.”

“Attila thinks he’s a rooster,” he whispered back in a low tone. “He announces dawn with the most unbelievable racket.”

“I’ll bet he’s just the cutest thing, braying like that.”

Scott slid his hand over hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Hey, I don’t suppose I could interest you in a donkey.”

A warm sensation shimmered up her arm at the touch of his hand, and it took a moment for her to collect her thoughts. “Um…a donkey. That sounds like a
great
idea. My nights are pretty short as it is, but thanks, anyway.”

The organist began to play a soft, slow version of “How Great Thou Art,” and Megan settled back in the pew, savoring the warmth of Scott’s hand on hers. Missing it, when he shifted and pulled a hymnal from the pew rack in front of them.

He’d talked about no longer having trust that God would take the time to answer his prayers or watch out for him, but here he was anyhow, joining in a community of believers. She hadn’t been so faithful back when Laura died.

At a time when she’d needed to be surrounded by a congregation of people who cared and who were shell-shocked and grieving, too, she’d pulled away, refusing to go to church or even talk to God in prayer for years afterward.

She shook herself out of her thoughts, startled when she realized that Pastor Fields was already at the pulpit.

“Send forth your light and your truth, let them guide me,” he intoned, his voice deep and powerful. “‘Let me bring peace to your holy mountains, to the place where you dwell.’” That’s from Psalms 43:3, and I think it’s the perfect verse for today.

“Many of us are fearful these days, knowing that evil is among us. Someone who has taken lives, and who has still eluded capture. Some question why bad things can happen to good people. Where is God in all of this? Why doesn’t He intervene—and send a bolt of lightning to stop the one who can so callously take lives? Isn’t He powerful enough to do that?”

A nervous titter spread through the congregation, and several people shifted in their pews.

“God gave us all free will, to do good or evil. We’re not puppets on a string. Evil does happen. I believe God sorrows deeply when His children go astray. He wants us to have full, happy, abundant lives in Him. And He is with us, wanting to give us strength and wisdom, and guidance. He is only a prayer away…”

Megan closed her eyes, the image of Carl Wilson taking over her thoughts. Where was he? How could such an ill man just disappear? Unless…

Her eyes flew open. He’d said he could identify the driver of the pickup truck…and Arnold Lane was missing. Had Lane snuck back into town, to hide in the hospital until visiting hours were over?

She’d watched the security camera tapes over and over, and there hadn’t been even a hint of activity or the sounding of an alarm at the doors closest to Carl’s room—the most logical route for a weak, confused man to wander away without being seen in the corridors of the hospital. There’d been no shred of evidence that anyone else had helped him leave. Hal and Jim had discounted the idea already, based on the tapes.

But it was possible.

Arnold was a burly man. Could he have hidden somewhere to wait until the staff was preoccupied, then dragged Wilson to a nearby side door? Disabled the alarm, and timed his exit to miss the sweep of that surveillance camera and avoid being seen? If so, he’d been able to disappear into the night with the one witness who could identify him.

And with the note left on the Fairlands’ door, it seemed logical that Lane had not only caused the semi accident, but was also the Full Moon Killer.

She started to rise in her seat.

Scott gently took her hand and tugged her back down with a look of concern. “Are you all right?” he whispered.

“Yes—no—” She looked up and saw Pastor Fields was still giving his sermon, though his eyes were on her. The faintest of smiles touched his mouth, along with a slight cant of his head toward the door. “Pastor will understand. I need to leave.”

She slipped past Scott and quietly left the sanctuary of the church, then she raced for her car.

They’d all been looking in the wrong place.

Carl Wilson wasn’t in town. He probably wasn’t even alive. But the search needed to widen or there’d be no chance at all of finding the one person who had seen the Full Moon Killer’s face.

S
ince it was Sunday and her day off, she’d driven her own truck to church. She climbed inside and grabbed her cell phone from the console. Hesitated, then called Hal’s private number. She hadn’t seen him in church, but maybe he was at home with his ill wife.

He answered on the fourth ring. “Megan. What’s up?”

“You know that Carl Wilson is missing.”

“Jim called me last night and said the guy wandered off. Any news? Wait—this is your day off. Where are you?”

“In the church parking lot.”

“Then you’re running mighty late.”

“I was there, and I left. I don’t think Carl wandered off. He couldn’t have. I still think he was kidnapped.”

There was a long silence. “Why do you think that?”

“Just consider what we know. He wasn’t even verbal, and he was flat in bed. The hospital staff thinks he woke up, got confused and wandered away. Maybe that’s possible, but with all of the security cameras and door alarms, it would have taken a miracle for him to avoid both the staff and cameras,
and
disarm the doors.”

“True.”

“And why would he want to do that, anyway?”

“Confusion?”

“I just don’t buy it. But he sure would be a valuable commodity to someone. He’s the one person who can identify the driver of the other vehicle in his accident—a man who appears to be tied to the Full Moon killings. And now, coincidentally, Arnold Lane has come up missing. A suspect.”

“Go on.”

“Lane could’ve read all about the accident and Carl in the local newspaper. Realized that he had an opportunity to get rid of the man who’d seen his face. He could’ve slipped into the hospital undetected during visiting hours, then dragged Carl out. He could’ve decided to kill him and hide the body, or maybe dumped him in some remote area, figuring the guy would die anyway without care and there’d still be the question of whether or not Carl had escaped the hospital on his own.”

“Sounds more than plausible to me. Hold on.” Hal came back on the phone a few seconds later and sighed. “Looks to me like Jim and Wes got called in for overtime four hours last night, and now they’re back on the day shift as scheduled. This isn’t good. It just isn’t good.”

“True. But we’re managing.”

“You should talk Anders into coming on board on a permanent basis, Meg. He’s got experience. Big-city stuff. He could be a real asset.”

“He’s already said he’s not interested.” She thought for a moment. “Maybe he’d agree to ongoing work on a consultant basis, but he said he wouldn’t consider anything more.”

“Still…”

“And you know the county wouldn’t approve another full-time position, anyway. It’s just a matter of getting our regular guys back on the schedule…unless someone decides to quit or retire.”

As Hal wanted to do.

What would it be like to take his place, and have Scott working under her…or vice versa? Interesting thought.

“It’s my day off, but I don’t want to take it. Give it to me later.” She turned on the ignition of her truck and threw it into gear. “I’ll go out to my place and switch vehicles, and I’ll call dispatch on the way. Everyone needs to be on the lookout for Carl, county wide.”

“I’ll be in a little later, too.” Hal heaved another sigh. “And in the meantime, I’ll be praying that circling vultures don’t lead us to him. We need his testimony because right now it’s all we got.”

With the highway patrol and sheriff’s department on alert, there were more officers searching. But in a mountainous area like Marshall County, it still didn’t amount to much. Now and then the bodies of hikers missing several years or more turned up, and those accidental deaths weren’t even intentionally hidden.

So the chances of finding Carl Wilson’s body—if it had been buried in a well-hidden place—were roughly zero.

Still, every available officer joined in the search. On Wednesday, twenty volunteers on the search and rescue team came in with horses and dogs, and began scouring the country around Copper Cliff.

The dogs all hit on a scent from the side door of the hospital to the alley behind the hospital, but there the scent ended. So Carl had been put in a vehicle—but what then?

The team members fanned out, covered old timber roads and trails in a five-mile radius, then ten. Thirty more riders came from the neighboring county with horses and dogs, riding along highways and into government land.

The second day passed. A third.

And then the call came in from a man covering the Eagle Butte area five miles west of town. Megan arrived just minutes before the rescue squad and EMTs.

A man stood by the side of the gravel road holding the reins of a buckskin mare, his search and rescue dog leashed at his side. “I’m not sure about this one,” he said slowly, his voice grim. “I’ve got a body down there, but it looks like it’s been there awhile, and it’s been in the sun. It may or may not be the guy you’re looking for.”

Megan nodded, already rehearsing the difficult words she would have to say to Carl Wilson’s daughter. “Where is it?”

He pointed to the bottom of a deep, rocky ravine. “Be careful. It’s a tricky climb down, and I had some trouble getting out of there on the way back up.”

Even from up here she could smell the unique, nauseating stench of a human cadaver. “Can you wait here and flag down the emergency vehicles when they arrive?”

“Of course.”

She studied the steep slope, then started down at an angle, loose rock giving way under her feet and careening to the bottom way below. Halfway down, she could make out a leg protruding from a clump of sagebrush.

But as she drew closer, something wasn’t right.

Carl Wilson was around five-foot-nine. Stocky—probably around one-ninety, or so. This body was much bigger, and it wasn’t just due to the bloating of decomposition.

She reached the bottom, scanned the area for hazards, then held a tissue at her nose as she walked up to the body for a closer look. She did a double take.