BIG SKY SECRETS 03: End Game (3 page)

There were dozens of popular roadhouses in the county—old-west styled bars offering steaks and burgers, live country music and beer. All of the victims had frequented those places in the months before their attacks.

Hal lifted his gaze to meet hers and nodded, the quirk of his mouth conveying his approval of her assessment. “What else?”

“Timing. Full moon, every time—or as close as forensics can get for placing the time of death. If the papers pick up on that, I can just see the headlines…and that sort of notoriety and attention could fuel this guy’s motivation.” She leveled a look at him. “But I’m sure you have all this figured out, anyway. Why do I get the idea that you’re testing me?”

His silent answer was evident in the deep lines of his face and the weariness in his eyes.

They’d had this conversation a dozen times. Her answer was always the same, but this time, she felt rising sympathy warring with her resolve. “You know I’m not interested.”

“Once this case is over, I’m leaving. You’re the right one for the job. You’d make a good sheriff.”

“I belong in a patrol car, not behind a desk. I’d go
crazy
behind a desk.”

“I’m not just at my desk. I’m out here, aren’t I?”

“Whenever you can be.” From somewhere in the distance came the faint sound of approaching vehicles at the bottom of the hill, and they both fell silent for a moment, listening. One of the engines sounded like a car, the other like a diesel truck—which could be the DCI’s mobile lab unit. “But it’s just not enough for me. Like this case—there’s nothing I want more than to get this guy, if it takes every last minute, night and day. The politics and management you have to deal with would keep me from making a real difference out on the streets.”

“You’ve already made a difference. Many times,” he added gently. “Though you’ve already taken too many chances with this case. You need to learn to step back.”

“I’d never jeopardize the safety of a fellow officer. You know that.”

But last month she’d put a dark rinse in her hair, piled on some makeup, and had gone undercover in some of the roadhouses in parts of the county where she wasn’t well-known. Places the victims had visited within a week of their deaths, just to see if anyone suspicious would approach her.

She’d rationalized those visits with the logic that she had the right to a taste of social life during her free time, and hadn’t mentioned her off-duty ruse to Hal since he’d already denied her proposal to pursue an undercover operation.

His written reprimand was now a part of her file.

“I ran into a stranger at the café today. I’m going to run his name through the system, then go check him out.”

“A tourist?”

“He bought the Swanson place. The place sold last November, yet he supposedly has only been here since some time in January. Interesting parallel with the killer’s activities.”

“Haven’t met this new guy, either.” Hal shrugged. “But it isn’t surprising. Outsiders don’t usually stay year-round unless they’re into winter sports.”

“True. He came in January, so maybe he’s a skier—though there aren’t any big resorts around here. He turned edgy when I mentioned being a deputy, and lit out of that café like a cougar after a lame deer.”

Hal’s gaze sharpened, locked on hers. “Be sure you have backup nearby when you go out there.”

“I will.” She suppressed a flash of frustration. Even after her nine years on the force, she still caught occasional hints of a faint, paternal tone in his voice. “But if it were Jim or Wes going out there, you wouldn’t say that.”

“If I was sending either one of them to interview a suspect at an isolated place? It’s
policy,
Megan.”

“You can ride along if you want to.”

He must’ve caught the edge in her own voice, because his mouth flattened to a grim line. “I get the feeling this case is way too personal for you, and it worries me. How many hours of your own time have you put in? Way, way too much.”

“It’s my job.” She glanced down at the plastic tarp and couldn’t quite suppress her inward shudder as a pervading sense of looming danger slid through her. “I don’t want this killer to claim another victim.”

“And I don’t want to lose a good officer. You’ll be off this case entirely if you don’t watch your step.”

The criminal records database yielded nothing on Scott Anders. Neither did the sex offender registry. The only hits Megan found were a couple of speeding tickets in Chicago from several years back, and as she pulled to a stop in front of his cabin, she wished once again that she’d nabbed his coffee cup at the café so she could run his prints through the national AFIS fingerprint database.

If Sue Ann hadn’t abruptly turned to clear away his dishes, Megan would’ve done it…but she could only imagine the woman’s questions and the potential for rumors, if she’d asked to
borrow
it for an hour or two.

These days, with
CSI
reruns scheduled almost nightly on television, Sue Ann would’ve latched on to the reason for her request in a split second.

After ten miles of nearly deserted two-lane highway, a turnoff led to five miles of gravel road that twisted up into the foothills. Here and there, pine forest gave way to glimpses to the west—sweeping panoramas of a deep valley, with a backdrop of the soaring peaks of the Rockies.

The lane leading to Anders’s cabin had been even steeper, more narrow, the loose sand and rocks providing intermittent traction.

Now, Megan made a quick call to another deputy to let him know she’d arrived, and then she stood at the door of her patrol car and surveyed Anders’s property. He must have had a great job, an inheritance or had won a lottery to buy a place like this one. Or maybe he’d found another less upstanding way to accumulate a great deal of cash.

The cabin itself was a sprawling, one-story log home with large windows facing the mountains. Behind it, several buildings were tucked among the pines. An unseen door slammed, and soon a black lab came loping around the side of the house, its tail wagging and tongue lolling.

“You must be the infamous Jasper,” she said, laughing as the dog wound around her legs, its body wiggling with pure delight. “What a watchdog you are.”

Anders followed a minute later, his businesslike stride and grim expression showing no sign of welcome. He gave the patrol car a disparaging glance, then took off his sunglasses and pinned her with a steely look. “Is there something I can do for you,
Officer?
”

Her second impression echoed her first.

He was tall—maybe six foot two, two-hundred pounds. Well muscled, without an obvious ounce of fat on him, and good-looking in a rough-hewn sort of way. A strong jaw darkened with a five o’clock shadow. Sweeping eyebrows. A shock of unruly, near-black hair tumbling over his forehead.

He looked liked someone who might model a Rolex or a black leather blazer on the pages of
GQ
magazine.

Handsome enough to attract a pretty woman.

Big enough to overpower her if she resisted his unwelcome advances.

In this isolated place, there’d be no one around to observe any suspicious activities. And he definitely didn’t seem to appreciate the arrival of someone in uniform.

His dog ambled over to him and sat at his feet.

“Beautiful place you have here.”

“It is.”

“Great place to raise a family.”

“I suppose it could be.”

“You’re here alone?”

“I like peace and quiet.”

She glanced at the cabin, and the meadow surrounding it, where a few early wildflowers were peeking through the dried grass. “Will you be here year-round?”

“Yep. Why?”

“Most folks are just here seasonally, so if properties are going to be vacant, it’s good for us to know. When did you say you moved in?”

His gaze sharpened on hers. “Are these questions leading anywhere in particular?”

“Out here, people tend to rely on each other—especially when there’s trouble. It’s good to meet new neighbors.”

A corner of his mouth curled. “You’re saying you’re a neighbor?”

“Not exactly. But I work this part of the county, so I make it my business to get to know as many residents as I can.” She tipped her head in a faint shrug. “And you left the café awfully fast.”

He stood, silently waiting. She looked right back at him and smiled until he finally heaved a sigh. “I get the feeling that you’ve already checked me out, even before coming here. Maybe you can tell me what this is about, because otherwise I have nothing more to say.”

She hesitated. He’d radiated a lazy sort of impatience before, but now she sensed his irritation. “There’s been some intermittent trouble in the county, and I’m checking out possible leads.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“The investigation is…ongoing. Were you in Montana during December? Just looking the place over, maybe?”

“No.”

“What about when you bought the place?”

“All online. Look, Ms. Deputy, I do read the papers. I know about the two women who were killed.” His expression was matter-of-fact, his voice cold. “I looked at this place last fall, bought it in November, and moved here the beginning of February. Hold on a minute.”

He stalked back to the cabin and returned a few minutes later with a manila folder. “I know I don’t have to answer your questions, and I don’t have to show you this. But I just want to be left alone, and hope this will be the end of it.” He handed her the folder. “I’ve got toll-way, credit card and hotel receipts from my trip between Chicago and here. A receipt for the rental van. If this isn’t enough, I can get copies of credit card statements that show transactions made in Chicago dated clear up through February 1.”

Her heart sank as she thumbed through the folder and felt her chances at a quick resolution to the case slipping away. She handed it back to him. “I guess you’re covered.”

“I wasn’t anywhere near here when those women were murdered. So unless you have something else, I think we’re done with this conversation. Right?”

“What sort of work do you do, Mr. Anders?”

“I’m in the process of…changing gears.” The sardonic lift of his eyebrow telegraphed his disdain. “I’ll let you know.”

Whistling to his dog, he turned on his heel.

She watched him go, taking in his almost military stride, and the rigid set of his shoulders.

She’d come here hoping to find a solid lead that would finally tie the assaults and murders to a single suspect. Beyond just that folder of receipts, a gut-deep feeling told her that he wasn’t the one she was looking for.

But there was something else about him that wasn’t quite right—and she was definitely going to find out what Scott Anders was hiding.

T
he regular staff meeting in the sheriff’s office fell on the second Monday of the month, which was usually a time for coffee, caramel rolls and camaraderie between the sheriff and the seven full-time deputies. Twelve-hour shifts, a budget too tight to hire extra personnel, and the county-wide area they all covered generally precluded the chance to gather at any other time.

Working so shorthanded, with three officers on leave, had kept them on edge for weeks. But today, with the murder investigation weighing heavily in everyone’s minds, the mood was tense.

Megan fidgeted in her chair and studied the other deputies in the room, eager for Hal to wrap up the meeting so she could get back into her patrol car.

As if he’d read her mind, Jim Rigby caught her eye and canted his head in a subtle nod. Tall, fit and highly professional even after thirty years on the force, silver-haired Rigby was the deputy Megan most preferred to work with if she had a choice for a particular assignment.

Now, he glanced out the window in Hal’s office, then turned to the others with a grim smile. “Mayor’s coming. He doesn’t look happy.”

She smothered a laugh as Ewan Baker and Wes Dearborn simultaneously looked up at the clock, stood and—no surprise—edged toward the door. Short and hefty, with thinning brown hair, Wes was flat-out intimidated by the mayor’s tendency for histrionics and avoided him at all cost. Ewan took considerable pride in his own intellect, and only tolerated the mayor if under duress.

“Guess we’re done for the morning. Right, Sheriff?” Ewan muttered, smoothing a hand over his military-cut red hair. “I expect he wants to meet with just you anyhow, so we’d better get back to work.”

He and Wes were out the back door within seconds after Hal nodded.

Mayor Taylor bustled in the front door and made a beeline for Hal’s office without stopping at the front desk, a folder clutched to his narrow chest and his gaunt face a mask of worry. He ignored Megan and Jim, and marched forward to plant his hands on Hal’s desk.

“It’s been five days since that last body was found,” he barked. “What’s going on with this investigation? I need to know, Hal.”

Megan rose to leave, but Hal motioned for her and Jim to stay. “You should see this,” he said. “It’s what you’ll be hearing out in the county, from now on.”