The Watcher (4 page)

“Myers? You got the call?” Curt, abrupt voice, no preliminaries.

“Yes.”

“Where are you?”

“Sitting in front of my motel. The Extended Stay on Sunrise Avenue, right off Grandview?”

“Good, you’re not too far away. Turn right onto Grandview. That’ll take you to Interstate 80. Head northeast on the freeway about fifteen miles. Take the Highway 69 exit. You’ll see the cruisers a few miles after you turn off.”

By habit Kate quickly scribbled directions in her notebook although she knew she wouldn’t need them. She was good at remembering details. “What’s happening?”

“Highway patrol found an abandoned sedan. Hidden in a culvert off the freeway. Blood in the interior and the trunk.”

“You’re thinking it’s the car Jennifer Johnston’s killer used?”
He’d never left behind a vehicle, much less one that provided trace evidence.

“Bingo.”

“Anything else?”

“Maybe. They just finished dusting for prints.”

Adrenaline surged through Kate’s body as she spun her car out of the parking lot and onto the blacktop. She hadn’t expected they’d find anything. Not this soon.

#

Myers arrived in less than fifteen minutes. Slater watched as a sporty yellow Volkswagen convertible pulled in behind a squad car and she climbed out, tucking her keys into her jeans pocket before she hurried his way. Through the night air, she peered toward the culvert where the older-model Pontiac sedan dipped into the trees, its rear jutting upwards.

“Have they identified the owner yet?” Myers asked.

“CHP ran the license plate. The car it belongs to was reported stolen thirteen days ago outside Red Lodge, Montana, near Yellowstone National Park.”

“An out-of-state car?”

“Yeah, but the plates don’t match the car description.”

Myers frowned, her scrubbed face tight with concentration. “An old trick. He steals a set of license plates and switches them with another car.”

“Looks like it. They’ll run the VIN number to ID the car, but my guess is it’ll be stolen too.”

“Were we lucky enough to get a print?”

Slater glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, his attention focused on the rear of the car, which barely peeked from beneath the thick foliage of the culvert.
We? They were a team now? Shit, what had Marconi saddled him with? He’d barely gotten used to the fresh-faced Bauer.

“There’s a lot of wipe down,” he replied, “but the crime techs pulled some prints from the front seat and the trunk, and found a partial under the inside door handle on the driver’s side. They’ll run it through AFIS for a hit.”

“Can we take a look inside?”

Slater jerked his head and moved carefully down the slope, extending a hand backwards to help Myers maintain her balance. Which she ignored. He shrugged carelessly. “Suit yourself.”

After snapping on gloves, he opened the interior of the car from the passenger side.

“Free-falling blood stains in the front seat showed up under luminol,” Slater said, handing the light to Myers.

“Human?”

Slater nodded. “Crime scene matched it to the Johnston girl’s blood type.”

Myers peered into the car’s interior, looking slowly around. She used her flashlight to point out the circular pattern of blood on the passenger’s seat and the floor. “Someone was injured inside the car,” she said, “a shallow cut. She must’ve leaned forward and the blood dripped straight down to the floorboard.”

Slater nodded. More circular drops of blood showed on the floor than on the seat. “He probably got her into the car, used a knife to subdue her, and cut her to intimidate her.” He flashed his light around the interior. “No other blood smears.”

“And in the trunk?”

“Oh, yeah, lots of it there. Soaked through the blanket and onto the trunk matting.”

“You figure he kidnapped her in the Pontiac, used the knife to subdue her, and also used the trunk of the same car to transport her after she died?” Over her shoulder, she slanted an inquisitive look at Slater as she leaned into the car.

“Ballsy bastard, huh?”

Myers frowned and backed out of the car offering him a very nice view of her rear end. She turned to face him and he wondered if she’d caught him inspecting her ass, but apparently she was too involved in her thoughts.

“But why?” she asked. “Using the same car for the kidnapping and transport is too risky. And why would he take her dead body to the lake and then abandon the car so close to the body site? It doesn’t make sense.”

“The distance from Lake Beale to here is approximately ten miles, not
that
close.”

“It would’ve been smarter to dump the car out of town, or even out of state.” She wasn’t asking a question, but he heard the uncertainty in her voice.

Slater shrugged. “Hell if I know. You’re the psych expert.”

She walked around to the driver’s side. “The partial print was found on this side?”

He followed her. “I figure he wiped down the car before he snatched her, and that’s why there are so few prints.”

Slater examined her face, wondered what she was thinking with such fierce concentration. “Then he wore gloves for the kidnapping and drove her here. So we have her prints but no one else’s. But he missed the underside of the door handle. Careless of him.”

“He seems confident his stolen car wouldn’t be spotted for several days.”

“Out of state license plate, no one’s going to notice.”

“So the killer kidnapped the Johnston girl last Wednesday,” Myers summarized, pursing her lips and deepening the dimple-dent above her mouth. “She sustained an injury in the front seat. He took her to an unknown location, where after three or four days of torture, he killed her, used the same car to dump her body at the lake, and abandoned the car here.” She faced Slater. “Is that the scenario?”

“Hey, you’re the doc,” Slater repeated.

With the same amused expression he’d seen before, those spectacular eyes slanted upward beneath thick lashes to his lips and then his eyes. He couldn’t quite interpret the look. Mocking or confronting?

“How’d he get back,
Detective
Slater?” The emphasis was on
detective.

“Good question.” He smiled at the unexpressed reprimand in her voice and gave her a mock salute. “Right, you prefer
doctor.
Okay then,
Dr.
Myers, maybe our killer didn’t have too far to go, or maybe he got a ride.” He paused and eyed her thoughtfully. “And why are you so surprised at that scenario? It’s a usual pattern for a garden-variety killer.”

Myers stiffened before replying. “But it’s not a very smart thing to do, is it? And what if he’s
not
the usual kind of killer.”

“I’m assuming he’s not a rocket scientist.”

She didn’t respond as they walked to the rear of the car where Slater’s flashlight illuminated the open trunk. The beam from his flashlight shone on a worn blanket, blood soaked and littered with twigs and leaves. The stains showed as dark shadowy blotches. Her face blanched before she pulled herself together and looked away, her jaw set hard.

She stared into the bright lights of the patrol car’s headlights glaring from the ledge above. Her eyes narrowed as her face took on a dark cast. “Maybe you shouldn’t underestimate this killer, Lieutenant.”

Slater perused her profile, but when she finally met his eyes, hers were clear. What did Kate Myers know that he didn’t, he wondered? Why had she really come to Bigler County? And how had she insinuated herself so quickly into department business?

“Point well taken,” he conceded with another tiny salute. “When we get confirmation on the prints, we’ll know more.”

A tiny movement tugged at her lips, and he guessed she was trying not to hurl a snappy retort at him. He watched her retreat all the way up the hill to her car where she returned the salute before she drove away.

He smiled incongruously in the wake of the crime scene. He’d bet a month’s salary that Dr. Katherine Myers knew more about his case than she let on. Whatever had brought her to their little piece of California might turn out to be good luck.

#

Excited and pumped up, Kate drove to the motel and stepped into a steamy shower, intending to return to work after washing off the dirt from the abandoned car scene. Her killer was too cagey for this recent behavior, she thought, as the hot spray sluiced over her tired muscles. He hadn’t been this sloppy in the past.

Had he grown overconfident? Or just careless? Whatever, Slater was right. The killer
was
a bold son of a bitch.

She smiled and smoothed soap over her arms and neck, thinking about the way Detective Slater had stood back and let her take the lead when it clearly wasn’t his style. She grinned as the water sprayed over her face and hair. Maybe he was just trying to figure her out.

She sobered immediately. What would happen when he learned the truth? When she told him how she figured the Johnston case fit an old cold case on their books. How cooperative would he be when she suggested that both cases in Bigler County were tied to the same killer? Oh, yeah, he wouldn’t like that, an outsider showing up and solving an old case.

Especially when the official Bigler County records showed the cold case had already been closed.

Stepping from the shower, she dried off and wrapped her hair in a toweled turban. She wiped the mirror clean of steam and examined herself. A clear, unlined face and trim athletic figure. Plenty of men had been interested, but hadn’t stuck around.

She thought of Slater’s craggy face again. She’d have to tone down the in-your-face, spunkiness, but she didn’t think womanly wiles would work on him either. In spite of his casual air, she sensed he wouldn’t let a woman walk all over him. He had a kind of quiet confidence and those stormy gray eyes watched her carefully.

Handsome in a rough sort of way and tall, probably six one or so, he had the big kind of body that she’d always admired. He moved in a smooth, feline way, like a large panther. She’d known football players with that kind of grace, their movements a choreographed ballet on the playing field.

She grimaced at her reflection. And she wasn’t the least bit interested. Men always complicated situations.

Captain Howes was right. Her mission consumed her. No matter how intriguing Slater was, she didn’t mix business with pleasure. Until she put this case to rest, nothing could interfere with her work.

One hand holding the blow dryer, the other a hair-brush, she ran the appliance end over her damp hair. It was darker when wet, almost brown and only became dark gold when it was dry.

For a moment the memory of the two of them as they’d once been, invaded her mind. Their heads touched, her yellow strands of hair mixing with Kate’s. Dressed in ruffled dresses and black patent leather shoes, grinning into a camera. Pushing each other and giggling on the way to church.

Shit. Shit.

She turned away from the mirror, hurriedly finished her hair. After turning up the heat in the motel room, she pulled on panties, bra and skirt. Damn weather. She hated the cold. The chill reminded her again of the two of them tumbling in the snow, building a snowman, snuggling together for warmth under the weight of heavy quilts.

The two of them – young and pretty and vibrant. She really
despised
the cold. It reminded her of Idaho. And not the happy times either.

Chapter Four

Eager to catch up on the Johnston case, Kate drove quickly to the county courthouse. The sooner she became entrenched in the sheriff’s office, the sooner she could fit together the disparate puzzle pieces she’d been working on.

The courthouse parking lot sat at the base of the hill on which the 1879 restored landmark building rested. Kate parked her yellow Volkswagen in the only vacant space and ascended the cement ramp to the upper lot designated for use by attorneys and magistrates. She climbed the steps to the entrance and pushed through the wide double doors.

As soon as she arrived, Slater introduced Kate to the team leaders, all detectives like himself, although his actual rank was lieutenant. Then he took her on a tour of the courthouse.

The detective squad room was an expansive area that took up the entire first floor of the old courthouse. The sheriff’s department was broken down into four teams, all of which were housed on this floor, including Special Investigations Division, the team Slater headed, commonly known as S.I.D.

Because of the murder, Kate had asked to be assigned to Special Investigations, knowing they’d handle the Johnston case. Across from them was Special Operations, devoted to drug control, primarily eliminating marijuana crop-growing in the county, but increasingly more often tracking down make-shift labs set up to manufacture methamphetamine.

Down the hall near the elevators was the office of Special Enforcements, a sort of SWAT team, a small and highly specialized group. According to Slater, they got almost no action, much to the disappointment of the team.

Criminal courts were held on the second and third floors above the detective division, and various court offices were on the fourth floor. The court archives and evidence room was housed in the basement, a dimly lit and dusty area which looked infrequently used.