Waking the Dead (36 page)

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Authors: Kylie Brant

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Suspense, #General

BOOK: Waking the Dead
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“Yesterday evening a ranger discovered a body of a man in the forest north of Highway One twenty-six.” Andrews drummed her fingers on the file folder in front of her with Cait’s most recent report of her findings. “No ID, and the animals and insects had gotten to him, but there’s enough left of his face to be fairly certain it’s him. He also had a couple items in his lean-to with the initials B.L. on them. The ME figures heart attack or aneurism, some time in the last week.”
In the last week. Which meant if they had happened to find him, he would have already been dead.
“All right.” She started to rise, but something in the sheriff’s expression alerted her. “Is there something else?”
Andrews and Barnes exchanged a gaze. Cait felt all her senses go on alert. “Crime lab contacted me today. They have a match on the thumbprint they took off the garbage bag.”
Mystified, she sat back down. Wondered at the edge of tension in the room. “From one of the elimination prints?”
The other woman nodded. Picked up the file folder to fan her face as it began to flush. “The print belongs to Sharper.”
There was a viselike squeeze in Cait’s chest. It took effort to take a breath, survey the two impassively. “I suppose it’s to be expected. He said he’d looked inside one of the bags.”
“That wasn’t in his original statement.”
“In the statement he was asked if he touched the bones.” Like anything else she read, details of that document were imprinted on her memory. “He didn’t. But no one asked if he’d handled the bags.” It had been the sort of mistake made during questioning that Raiker would never tolerate from his employees. “He told me he had when I took his prints.”
Again that look of shared knowledge between the two. And it was starting to irritate her. “Climbers wear gloves, don’t they?” Barnes asked.
“Climbing gloves don’t have fingers in them. They protect the palms while still allowing dexterity for grasping finger holds.” Cait’s voice was cool. Her pulse was thudding in her ears. Trepidation pooled in her stomach. It was easy enough to see exactly where this was going. And like a train wreck, she was helpless to stop it.
Barnes leaned forward. His mustache had filled in a little, more rusty colored than the remaining hair on his head. His brown gaze was unblinking. “How close do you think Sharper comes to fitting the profile you developed for the UNSUB?”
All those years of donning masks for her photo shoots came in handy now. She could be certain her expression remained professional even as nerves were scampering up her spine. “Superficially, there would be some similarities. Given his time in the military, he may have acquired training in various kill techniques. There’s acidic soil on his property, although the sample I took wasn’t an exact match for the sediment found in the bottom of a couple of the bags.”
“And both of the identified victims went missing in the time he’s been back in the area,” Andrews put in.
Cait inclined her head. “With another six set of remains to be identified,” she reminded them. “But once you get past the superficial qualities—qualities that are probably shared with several others in the region—I don’t find him a probable match for the offender.”
Andrews sat back, folded her arms over her chest, still grasping the folder. “You don’t? What about the fact that he found the bodies in the cave? And that his clients stumbled on the last one? We know he did business with Livingston when the man vacationed in the area.”
“What would his motivation be for ‘accidentally discovering’ them?” Cait argued. “Chances are those bones could have sat in that cave for years longer if he hadn’t brought them to your attention. While it isn’t all that unusual for an UNSUB to deliberately insert himself into an ongoing investigation in some way, it’s hard to believe one would do so when it looked for all intents and purposes as though he was getting away with the crime.”
“He may have done it to prove he’s smarter than we are.” At her look, Barnes lifted a shoulder. “We had that a few years ago. An arsonist was burning places down and leaving us notes. Finally caught him with the help of a handwriting expert.”
Irritation was starting to take the place of her earlier panic. “With an arson, you already had evidence of the crime. In this case the killings could have remained undetected for much longer. This isn’t Hollywood. It’s actually more rare than you’d think to have serial offenders deliberately engage the police. The act is about
their
compulsion, whatever drives them. It’s not about us.”
Andrews shrugged, clearly unmoved. “It should be simple enough to check out his alibi for the days the two victims disappeared.”
Cait doubted there would be anything simple about providing alibis for dates three and five years ago, respectively. “Obviously you’ll want to talk to him. We should follow up with all the businesses in the area that showed up on the victims’ credit card statements. But I think you’re wasting your time focusing on him as the UNSUB. As a matter of fact, after speaking to Gomez this morning, I’m wondering if we’re dealing with more than one offender.”
Cait watched the dismayed look pass between the two and wondered if she should have waited before bringing this up. She hadn’t worked through all the angles of the theory yet, although it was beginning to make a great deal of sense to her.
“Your earlier profile didn’t mention that possibility.” Andrews tapped the edge of the folder on the table in a rhythm that immediately set Cait’s teeth on edge.
“I said it would be a developing document. It changes as more information comes to light. And if money turns out to be the motivation for the homicides, rather than the act of killing for itself, the picture of our offender changes.”
Barnes cocked his head. “How so?”
“Marissa Recinos disappeared from Seattle. Paul Livingston from LA.” She raised her brows, but when neither of them commented, Cait went on. “That’s a lot of area to cover. Someone has to do the actual kidnapping. The money transfer. The kills. The disposal. Whoever set up the offshore accounts is good enough to have stumped law enforcement in two different states. That suggests a highly evolved individual with advanced training and knowledge in that area. A very different personality type from the offender who disposed of the bodies. The second person is also organized, given the degree of planning that goes into the disposals. But his planning shows signs of being rooted in emotion, drawn probably from a traumatic experience in his past.” She paused a moment, because she hadn’t completely had time to thoroughly think through the description. “Offender two may also be the one to do the actual killing.”
“How can you know that?” Barnes’s tone was more curious than questioning.
“When it comes to profiling, very little is
known
.” Cait wished she’d brought in the bottle of water she’d bought on her way here this morning. Her throat felt like she’d been gargling with sand. “I’m just drawing conclusions based on the evidence as it presents itself. But supposing there are multiple UNSUBs, there has to be something that draws offender two more deeply into the crime. Offenders that act as a team are often careful to be sure one is just as guilty as the other. An equal division of labor, if you will. It helps build trust that one won’t turn in the other. He can’t, or he risks incriminating himself, as well. Disposing of the bones hardly carries the same danger as stealing funds or homicide.”
“But that inequity is exactly what I would expect to find if, say, it were a man and woman working together,” Andrews argued. “It wouldn’t be unusual at all for the female in the team to be at lower risk, although she helps somehow in the commission of the crime.”
Nodding, Cait replied, “True. But if one of the offenders is female, it’s my guess she’s the brains. The one behind the money transfers, simply because it’s difficult to imagine a woman hauling those bodies up to Castle Rock in the middle of the night.”
Stubbornly, Andrews said, “Painting those images seems more feminine to me. But you may be right about there being multiple offenders.” She shot a look at Barnes. “I’ll want a list of all Sharper’s known acquaintances since he’s been back in the area.”
“He grew up around there,” the deputy reminded her. “He likely knows most everybody.”
Ignoring his words, Andrews went on, “And see what you can find out about his finances. He happened into a great deal of money in the last few years, I’m told.”
There was a quick vicious twist in Cait’s gut. “The property he’s building his house on is worth approximately a million dollars.” She wasn’t sure if the shock in their expression was due to the number or the fact that she knew about it at all. “I looked it up in the courthouse records. He said he was the sole beneficiary of his grandfather’s will. I’m sure you can acquire details of the probate.”
“I’ll do that.” There was a light in the other woman’s eyes that she didn’t trust. “I want a go at him before he has a chance to prepare. So I’d appreciate it if you don’t let your relationship with the man blind you to his possible guilt. I don’t want him tipped off that I’ll be talking to him.”
Every organ inside her ground to a halt. Brain. Heart. Lungs. Then they restarted with a lurch that had the blood pulsing like a sprinter through her veins. “My relationship with him?”
Barnes studied a nonexistent spot on the wall while the sheriff spoke. “It’s come to my attention that you and he may have become . . . closer recently. I have to be sure that isn’t going to affect your ability to remain objective.”
She welcomed the temper that fired at Andrews’s words. It was infinitely preferable to the self-doubt, the all-encompassing fear that had all but paralyzed her earlier. “If you’re asking if I’ve slept with him, the answer is yes. But my brain happens to function independently of my sex organs.” The deputy flinched a little in the face of her frank language. But it was the sheriff she was addressing. Barnes may have been the conveyor of that little message, but it was Andrews who was twisting it to suit herself. “I’ve never given you any reason to question my professionalism. But if you’ve got doubts now, say so.” Even she could hear the dare in her words. She stared at the sheriff, their gazes doing battle. And it was small comfort when, at the end, it was Andrews who looked away.
“Don’t be so damn touchy. I was just saying . . .”
“I know exactly what you were saying, Sheriff.” Cait stood, more than ready to leave. “You made it clear enough. Rather than focusing on Sharper, you’d do better to run the records on locals in the area. Anyone with a history of violence. I know for a fact that Rick Moses, at least, recently got out of prison.”
“We’re on that. Moses served time for vehicular manslaughter.” Without a breath, the woman shifted back to her original topic. “I thought you could come with me when I talk to Sharper today.”
She’d rather chew glass. “There are still a couple detectives I haven’t heard from yet. I’m going to contact them again and then interview the owners of the businesses that showed up on the victims’ credit card statements.” Cait pushed back her chair and rose, seeing the skim of Andrews’s eyebrows and not giving a damn. Regardless of the sheriff’s inferences, she’d provide any information she had in her possession about the case, whoever it might point to. But she wasn’t up to interrogating the man. Not when she could vividly recall the hours she’d spent wrapped around him last night. This morning.
Professionalism was one thing. She gathered up her files and headed for the door. But she’d be lying if she claimed anything in her training had prepared her for getting involved with a man who was a possible suspect in the case.
It was midafternoon before Cait nosed her vehicle toward McKenzie Bridge. She’d checked out the businesses that had shown up on Livingston’s statement first, a couple gift stores in Sisters. As she’d suspected, it was nearly impossible to jog people’s memories about a tourist that had been a customer over three years ago. Employees at the businesses had come and gone. And none of those she’d talked to had recognized his picture.
It was difficult to believe she’d have any better luck in McKenzie Bridge, but she was determined to conduct those interviews as well before the day ended. She’d wanted to meet more of the locals there anyway, she reminded herself, slowing behind a county dump truck filled with gravel. There was a more urgent need for that now after finding out that Recinos had stayed in the area.
She’d managed to make contact with a Detective Mark Holder in Nevada that morning, and she could now officially discount his missing person case. New evidence had recently come to light, and Gary Smith’s wife was now suspected of killing her husband and cremating him in the family’s mortuary business. Which was a macabre ending any way you looked at it.
There was still no response from Sergeant Hal Cross of Idaho, but she’d left yet another message. And considered, again, that she was going to have to relook at the list of missing persons she’d formulated. She’d deliberately concentrated first on subjects from neighboring states, but it was time to branch out farther. It was still hard to believe the UNSUB—or, if her newest theory was correct—one of the UNSUBs had traveled hundreds of miles to kidnap the victims. But the offender was proving much more daring than she’d originally believed.
Her cell beeped, indicating an incoming text message. Keeping her eyes on the road, Cait felt around in her purse until she retrieved the cell. It was another minute before traffic thinned enough for her to risk a glance at it.

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