Frozen (Detective Ellie MacIntosh) (21 page)

Chapter 16

It was an art form. The selection was the grand finale, the conclusion of the love affair. Since he’d given one up, he could choose a new one, but it didn’t feel right, like that place still belonged to someone else. He’d lain awake last night, dreaming of this, fitful in turns and then ecstatic, aroused when he thought about the bones, so carefully layered between those logs, a puzzle for the police to put together, and yet with a missing piece he couldn’t give up.

The Hunter rearranged the tarp, got into his vehicle, and flicked on the heater. Cold morning … November now. He should be looking forward to deer season more, but truthfully, he didn’t care about it as much as usual, and he’d been afraid of that all along.

The game sucked you in, took hold with an inexorable grip, and once you were a player, he suspected it was impossible to walk away.

Dammit, he’d tried to distance himself. But he needed it, like air. As he accelerated along the country road, he reminded himself that he had as much a right to survival as anyone else. If this was what he had to have, that was nature speaking. Just as much as a pack of wolves relaying a deer, he hunted. Not for food, but food for the soul.

Yes, that was it.

Without the killing, he might go crazy …

A long time ago, back in the thirties, there had been a farmhouse out by Otter Lake. There was nothing left but a few mossy rocks from the foundation, tumbled like broken teeth, this morning covered in a thin film of frost. He parked by an untidy spruce in what had once been the front yard and got out to go around and remove the top of the old cistern.

As a choice for a hiding place, it was nothing less than perfection.

*   *   *

It wasn’t the
finest way to spend Saturday day morning. Rick stamped his feet and blew on his hands, standing on the periphery of the yellow crime scene tape. One of the other deputies had brought coffee in a stainless steel thermos, but it was already gone. The drop in temperature had caused a thin mist under the trees, the drift of the fog ghostly and thick in spots. Frost touched everything with spidery white fingers.

Pearson, his gaze perpetually scanning the scene, stood next to him. “This feels like we’re being led.”

Rick wished he’d put on his thermal socks before he left the house. He’d just been in too much of a damned hurry to get to the scene, but standing around like this his feet were cold despite his heavy boots. “I agree,” he said grimly.

“We’ve recovered a body and have evidence of another possible homicide. Blood, the shoes … So the bastard gives us a third one, but just pieces. Like this is a goddamned game.”

“Do we know that it’s human remains yet?” Rick watched the crime scene unit move logs, each removal followed by a painstaking sweep for possible evidence. Everyone had his collar up and a red nose. Two technicians, one of them Tom Jessup, who didn’t look too happy to be sacrificing part of his hunting weekend, had bags and tweezers, their gloved hands sifting through piles of leaves around the woodshed.

“The whole skeleton isn’t here.” Pearson rubbed his jaw, which showed an early morning grazing of stubble. “God, it sounds gruesome put this way, but the skull seems to be missing.”

“
If
this is one of our victims.”

“Do you think for a minute it isn’t?” Ellie asked the question, a Styrofoam cup in her hand. Rick hadn’t noticed her walk up and he turned. Her hat was small and powder blue, sprinkled with embroidered snowflakes and instead of her long dark wool coat, she wore a lightweight parka in a matching color of her hat. The ensemble made her look about eighteen. She added, “Come on, Rick, if it’s human, it has to be Julia Becraft or Patricia Wells, and the coroner says those are human bones.”

“It’s likely,” he agreed, wiggling his toes to maintain circulation. “The real question is, how much do we believe Grantham at this point?”

“He’s cooperating.” Ellie watched as another log was removed, her expression neutral.

“Or playing us. This could be a seriously brilliant move on his part.”

“How so? To direct more suspicion on himself? Because no one with half a brain who was under consideration in a murder case would plant a body on their own property and then call the police.” She shook her head, blond wisps of hair sticking out from under her cap brushing her shoulders. “It’s too much of a stretch for me to believe it.”

Rick wasn’t as sure. “I think Grantham is a complicated guy and we know he went to see a shrink. Let’s not forget his recent divorce. This could be a trick, a way to get his rocks off by giving us another body and make it look like he’s being victimized.”

“He went to see a therapist, but so do a lot of people, that’s why there
are
therapists,” Ellie pointed out briskly. “And as for the divorce, it happens. It happened to you, didn’t it? That means nothing.”

She didn’t think the guy was guilty. He’d already gotten that impression. Not from anything she’d said really, but just a feeling. He wasn’t half as sure. Or a third as sure. Maybe even a quarter …

“Except for the timing,” he said.

She looked as if she going to argue, but the sheriff interrupted.

“I hate this damn case,” Pearson said heavily, fiddling with the zipper on his jacket, his face drawn into a frown. “My first reaction is to think the bones were put here by whoever is abducting these women as gesture to implicate Grantham. That I’ll admit. Now that bodies are popping up, the perpetrator wants control again. I think that’s probably what’s happening.” His restless gaze skittered over to where Bryce Grantham stood leaning against his SUV, looking none too happy in the morning cold. “But, let’s face it. One guy has now uncovered two bodies and he’s tied to another disappearance. It’s too unlikely to just be chance.”

“He didn’t hesitate to let us search the cabin.” Ellie sounded subdued.

“Maybe he assumed we would and was ready for it.” Rick had to admit he didn’t like what he sensed might be a personal interest in Grantham from his partner. Ellie was usually very professional, but she almost sounded defensive. “If he was going to plant the bones and let us know about it, he’d make sure the cabin was clean. I know
I
would. It’s logical. Come on.”

“How in the hell do you figure out the logical thought processes of someone who kills people?” Sheriff Pearson skimmed his gaze across the scene again and answered the question himself. “I can’t. I don’t even want to put myself in those shoes. There’s an FBI profiler to help us out now that we have this latest development. I’ll set up a phone interview. I’m also thinking we should try to get a subpoena for Dr. Grantham’s psychotherapy records. At the very least, you need to go talk to his doctor. See if he’ll cooperate to the extent of maybe not violating confidentiality issues, but just give us an overall evaluation on the stability of his patient.”

“Duty to warn,” Ellie argued, gesturing with her cup, sending a gentle curl of steam into the air. “If his therapist thought he was going to do harm to anyone, the doctor would have had to report it already.”

Pearson shifted from foot to foot, restless as usual. “I don’t need to know if he thinks his patient is psychotic, Detective. All I need to get is an idea if he thinks Grantham is stable.”

“His ex-wife hasn’t called us yet with the name. She seemed pretty uninterested.”

“Then get her interested,” Pearson said shortly. “This is a murder investigation.”

“If Bryce Grantham had nothing to do with all this, we’re concentrating a lot of energy in the wrong place, sir.” Ellie looked at the subject of their conversation, her mouth just a little tight.

“If you have other leads, Ellie, I’d love to hear about them.” The sheriff wasn’t precisely sarcastic, but his frustration came through anyway. “Besides Grantham, we’re empty-handed.”

“Rick had a pretty solid idea. I think we should request credit card statements from all of the families for the day our victims disappeared. If we can link even two of them to the same place, such as a gas station, it would be a place to start.”

Rick interjected, “Margaret Wilson was going by the store for a few things. The second victim, Patricia Wells, ran into town to pick up beer according to her parents. It isn’t much of a pattern, but it is something.”

“Follow whatever you have but keep DCI in the loop. Do what they want, when they want it. Show me, and them, there’s nothing you overlooked.” Pearson added with a mutter, “I need more coffee. I could use a cigarette too, but I promised my wife I wouldn’t.”

When he stalked away, Rick looked at Ellie. “This is getting to him.”

“It’s getting to all of us,” she answered, sipping coffee. “They’re finding little bones scattered all over the place. The guy dumped the body like so much garbage on the ground behind the woodpile and then proceeded to move the logs and layer the bigger bones in. There are fragments everywhere.”

“Yeah, that’s what Jessup said.”

She leaned against the cruiser with one hip. “I’ll call Ms. Colgan-Grantham and tell her we need that therapist’s name right away, not on her time schedule.”

“I’ll get someone to start requesting credit and debit card statements.”

“If they paid with cash, we’re out of luck.”

He knew it was true. “It’s just a long shot but what else are we supposed to do?” Rick rubbed his cold fingers together.

“It isn’t Grantham,” Ellie said, her voice firm. She looked distracted but confident. “He doesn’t feel like the one.”

It was more likely she didn’t want him to
be
the one. When she’d shown up with the key to the cabin, it seemed logical to ask how she’d gotten it and she’d admitted to meeting with the guy. Not that there was anything inherently wrong with that because he wasn’t an official suspect, but Rick wasn’t exactly blind.

The phone clipped to his belt vibrated. He checked it and answered shortly. “Jones.”

“What do you want for dinner? I’m cooking tonight. I’m in the mood.”

He knew what it meant when Jane had that domestic tone. She cooked, they had sex afterward. He’d never gotten the connection, but he always got the message. A home-cooked meal meant a pretty nice evening. Had the circumstances been different he would have smiled, but instead he said shortly, “I’m at a scene.”

“Oh, God, Rick. Not another murder.”

“I can’t talk right now.” With effort, he softened his voice, aware of Ellie’s frown over his abruptness. “Whatever you want for dinner would be great. Hopefully I won’t be late.”

“Okay.” She sounded subdued, the enthusiasm wiped from her voice, which made him wince. Maybe he should have left Jane a note, he thought as he pressed a button. When Pearson had called with the news he’d done little more than pull on some clothes and leave the house.

“Jane?” Ellie’s tone held a hint of criticism.

“Yeah.”

“You could have talked to her longer, Rick. We’re just standing here for now.”

“She wanted to know what I wanted for dinner. Sorry that I’m not in mood to pick out a menu. Those are human remains they are hauling out of Grantham’s woodpile.” He said with as little inflection as possible, “I’d rather it was one of Walters brothers myself. Grantham is at least a productive part of society instead of being an obvious dirtbag. I’ll give you that. But, keep in mind, staying objective is important.”

Ellie straightened. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Just a comment.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you implying I’m
not
objective?”

He came up with a few responses, none of which seemed a good idea. He wasn’t out to piss off his partner by pointing out he thought she might be leaning toward being sympathetic to Grantham, where he wasn’t nearly as convinced.

Way less than a quarter by now.

Rick had heard that tone in a woman’s voice before and he wasn’t too fond of it. Vivian was a master at combining outrage with contempt. “Come on. There’s nothing more we can do here until we get the report. It’s the weekend. I bet we can start making a few calls and maybe even reach someone.”

*   *   *

He’d had better
starts to a day.

Since he didn’t understand the situation himself, Bryce could hardly blame his father for the utter silence on the end of the phone. He added, “They haven’t precisely said so, but I think I’m stuck up here for a little while.”

“We’ve heard about it.” The delayed response was measured. “It’s been in the paper. I read about it in the
Sentinel
. I just didn’t know it was you.”

“Yes, well I think you can probably expect a little more on it by tomorrow. Just a word of warning. I hope not, but my name may pop up.” Bryce looked out the window by the kitchen sink. There were still several vehicles in the drive and people walking the perimeter of the property. “My bad luck isn’t exactly making whoever is doing all this happy.”

“Good heavens, this is unreal, Bryce.”

“Oh, you have no idea.” His smile was wry.

“Maybe your mother and I should come up.”

“To what purpose?” Bryce rubbed his temple. “No. Don’t. As soon as I can, I’m going home. I’ll call you.”

When they signed off he stood there for a moment and then automatically began to straighten the cabin. Things had been moved around and rifled, and while it wasn’t a mess, it wasn’t neat like his mother had left it after her last visit. Had they found anything they considered suspicious, Bryce was sure he’d be under arrest, so at least that part of it was promising.

If the killer could plant bones around the cabin, what else might he do? He wasn’t exactly being clued in by law enforcement, but he gathered they were still looking for more of the victim’s skeleton.

A knock on the door made him look up from trying to arrange a stack of magazines back in some semblance of chronological order.

It was Deputy Jones, large and exuding what might not be precisely ill will, but wasn’t the warmth of friendship either. A comical hat with flaps kept his ears warm, but the rest of him looked cold as hell. Bryce could relate, because he’d frozen half to death waiting as well. The deputy held out a hand that was chapped and reddened, the key to the cabin in the palm. “Thanks for the cooperation.”