Skye Cree 03: The Bones Will Tell (28 page)

A
cross town, Jason Berkenshaw wasn’t spending his day off on Silcox Island. No, he’d gone into what he called, ready mode.

Today was a kind of crossroads for him. He looked in the mirror at himself, stared at the image. For what he had in mind he needed to wear his
field uniform today. It provided him with that extra edge of authority. He’d always liked the look, the blue shirt, the tan trousers, the navy lightweight jacket with the white lettering on the back.

It was a damn sight better than wear
ing army green.

He’d
hated every minute of his nine-year stint as an army MP. The higher ups were always on his ass about something he’d done wrong, some line he’d crossed, some rule he’d broken. A guy gets tired of that kind of shit at work, day in and day out, he recalled now.

So when Homeland Security
had created the Immigration and Customs Enforcement branch, also known as ICE, and sent out a call for recruits, he’d filled out his application the same day he’d read the notice.

Some people didn’t think he’d ever make it through the testing, the rigorous training, the discipl
ine at the academy, especially the mental evaluations, certainly not the background check. But he’d fooled them all. He’d shown them he could reinvent himself.

He’d always loved his time
working the streets. As he stuffed his M9 into his jacket, he picked up the keys to his Jeep and headed out the door to find his next quarry. Since he already knew who it would be, he wasn’t worried. Glancing at his watch, he realized he needed to get his ass in gear. He had just enough time to make it into Seattle before school let out.

When Skye and
Josh left the Foundation, they jumped in Skye’s car and headed south. Driving down the I-5 toward American Lake, they went over the plan.

“Do you really think this is the guy?”

“It’s gotta be.” Josh ticked off the points. “He owns an isolated cabin
and
property near the military base. He was Ellen Schreiber’s boyfriend at the time of her murder
and
he was stationed at Fort Lewis as an MP. Let’s not forget that Berkenshaw interviewed Daniel Cree and even painted a picture to his superiors that Daniel had not been truthful about where he was the night Ellen went missing. We have so many indicators we should probably call Harry.”

“Harry deals in hard facts. Let’s wait and make sure we can give him something concrete that he won’t be able to diss.”

To get to Silcox Island they had to take a pontoon boat for the three-mile trip across the lake. Even though the water was choppy, it didn’t take long. Thanks to the groundwork they’d done at the Foundation, when they stepped off the boat, they already had an address. Sort of. They knew the general area where Berkenshaw’s cabin was located from Google Earth. What they didn’t know was the exact directions on how to get there.

Once they disembarked,
surveying the rustic setting of Silcox, it was easy to see why most residents had gone without electricity until 1967. Charming little European cottages blended with sturdy log houses used as second homes.

Heavily wooded, the terrain was intimidating.
But not as much as the locals. Asking directions to the cabin got them blank stares along with several mind-your-own-business looks.

It soon became clear t
he little town was not stranger-friendly.

They finally found a man at the post office willing to tell them how to reach the place. The
small house turned out to be more like a hut. There was no one home at the small eight-hundred-square-foot getaway. But Skye and Josh circled the perimeter anyway. It looked like Berkenshaw used the place mostly for a place to stash his fishing gear and hunting rifles, of which there were many.

It didn’t go unnoticed that hi
s nearest neighbor had to be a good half-mile down the road, providing him with a secluded spot to do whatever he wanted.

But despite the isolation, Skye commented,
“This isn’t what I expected. It looks more like a quaint retreat than a torture chamber used for murder.”

“Looks can be deceiving.”

When Josh removed a pick from his jacket pocket, Skye stared at him. “What are you doing?”

“What does it l
ook like? I’m picking the lock.”

“Another reason we didn’t call Harry,” Skye
reasoned.

“Yeah, I know. But
I can’t very well kick the door in. What if he should come back? We don’t want to let him know we’ve been here or that we’re on to him.”

Josh stuck the little wrench into the keyhole and when the tumbler clicked, they stepped inside.

If they were expecting blood and gore or least traces of it, they were disappointed. What they found instead was a cabin that smelled like fish. The place was not only devoid of any signs of physical violence but there were no pictures on the walls. There were no personal effects, or possessions of any kind cluttering up space. Other than tacky, second-hand furniture, it sat empty. There was nothing there that could tell them who or what Jason Berkenshaw was all about.

Since there
was no sign of carnage anywhere, no smell of death, and no signs that it had ever touched the four walls, they left the place as they’d found it.

Like every other
fourteen-year-old at Hastings Middle School, Zoe heard the freedom bell ring at three-fifteen. She scooted out of last-period geography, ran to her locker, switched out her math book for her English text, and stuffed a copy of
Coraline
, down into her already too-heavy backpack.

When her best friend, Molly, ran up to her in a breathless huff, Zoe prepared for
the drama. Molly was always about the over-the-top rehashing of an ordinary event.

“Do you know what that stuck-up
Suzie Meyers told Merry Ann Higginbotham about me?”

“What?”

“Suzie said I liked Tristan. You know that’s not true. Tristan is one of those really snotty basketball players.”

“I thought you liked Tristan and wanted him to ask you to the spring dance?”
Zoe asked.

“What does that have to do with Suzie Meyers sticking her big fat nose into how I feel about Tristan?”

From there, Zoe gave up and listened to her friend. She didn’t have much choice in the matter since she didn’t seem to be able to ditch Molly or get her classmate to change the subject.

By the time
the two girls reached the side door where the buses lined up, Molly still hadn’t convinced Zoe that Tristan was such a bad guy. The girls kept up their steady stream of I-don’t-really-like-Tristan chatter until Zoe tried, once again, to change the subject. “Are you going to the Spring Dance next month?”

“Well, sure.”

“Then why don’t you come over to Lena’s house so we can get ready and go together?” Just as Zoe had hoped, that did the trick. Molly went into describing the dress she’d bought for the occasion.

“I
was hoping Tristan would ask me to the dance.”

Zoe sighed,
rolled her eyes, knowing Molly was more than predictable.

“Come on, Molly, we have to hurry or we’ll miss the bus.”
Zoe pushed open one of the heavy double doors and stepped out into another dull gray afternoon. Zoe bounded down the steps with Molly beside her until a man approached her. He was dressed in a uniform, wearing a pair of polarized Oakley sunglasses over his eyes. He flashed his badge at both teens, but directed his question to Zoe. “Are you Zoe Hollister?”

Zoe swallowed hard
. She tried to remember if old Mrs. Faraday was so mean that the librarian would rat her out to a cop for not returning her copy of
A Separate Peace
on time. “Yes, I’m Zoe Hollister.”

“
Good. Is Lena Bowers your foster mother?

“
Sure, Lena’s my foster mom. Is she okay?”

“
I’m sorry to have to tell you this but Mrs. Bowers has been in a car accident. If you’ll come with me, I’ll take you to see her in the hospital.”

Skye and Josh
left Silcox disheartened and moved on to Berkenshaw’s main home in Lakewood. But they found no one there either. The little three-bedroom house appeared tidy and well maintained but like the cabin seemed completely without a personality.

By early
afternoon, they realized the trip had been a complete waste of time. As they passed out of the city limits heading toward the I-5, they decided to try, once again, to locate the third property near the base.

“But there’
s no house there.”

“The info’s wrong. It has to be
. Somewhere on this piece of property is where he takes his victims, his death house,” Skye uttered in disgust. About that time, her cell phone dinged. She looked down, saw it was Leo.

“Something weird I thought you should know about.”

“It seems to be the day for it. What happened?”

“
Some guy left a bizarre message for you on the Foundation’s website. The IP address tracks back to the Seattle Public Library downtown. You might want to take a look at it when you get a minute.”

“Leo,
you know I’m in the car right now, getting ready to check Berkenshaw’s property near the army base. You’ll have to read it to me.”

“Okay, here goes. It says, ‘
Hey Skye, I promise this one’s gonna hurt.’ That’s exactly word for word what it says.”

The hairs on the back of
Skye’s neck stood up as she had Leo repeat it. When her phone rang signaling another call was coming in, she told Leo she’d call him back. Skye was surprised to see Lena’s number on the display.

Sliding the bar
across to answer, Skye discovered Lena frantic with hysteria. The words flowed out of the worried foster mom in one long breathless chain. “Molly Connelly, Zoe’s best friend, saw a policeman take Zoe away. He had on a uniform and got her into his Jeep Cherokee this afternoon after school by telling her I had been in an accident. It’s an obvious lie. He took off with her, Skye. She’s gone. Zoe’s gone.”

“
Okay. Okay. Calm down. We’re on it, Lena. Josh and I are pretty sure we know where he’s taking her. We’re headed there now. Don’t worry. I’ll get her back.”