Kitabı oku: «Ice Cold Killer», sayfa 3

Chapter Four

Christy O’Brien lay across the front seat of her wrecker, the front of her white parka stained crimson with blood, her hands and feet wrapped with silver duct tape. The wrecker itself was nose-down in a ditch at the far end of a gravel road on the outskirts of town, snow sifting down over it like icing drizzled on a macabre cake.

Ryder turned away, pushing aside the sickness and guilt that clawed at the back of his throat. Such emotions wouldn’t do anyone any good now. “I just saw her,” he said. “Less than an hour ago.”

“Where?” Sheriff Travis Walker, snow collecting on the brim of his Stetson and the shoulders of his black parka, scanned the empty roadside. Travis was one of the reasons Ryder had ended up in Eagle Mountain. He had visited his friend at the Walker ranch one summer and fallen in love with the place. When an opening in this division had opened up, he had put in for it.

“I was in the grocery store parking lot,” Ryder said. “She passed me. I figured she was on a call, headed to pull someone out of a ditch.”

“This probably happened not too long after that.” Travis played the beam of his flashlight over the wrecker. “Maybe the killer called her, pretended his car wouldn’t start—maybe a dead battery. When she gets out of the wrecker to take a look, he overpowers her, tapes her up, slits her throat.”

“Then shoves her into the wrecker and drives it into the ditch?”

“He may not have even had to drive it,” Travis said. “Just put it into gear and give it a good push in the right direction. Then he gets in his own car and drives away.”

“Who called it in?” Ryder asked.

“Nobody,” Travis said. “I was coming back from a call—an attempted break-in not far from here. I turned down this road, thinking the burglar might have ducked down here. When I saw the wrecker in the ditch, I knew something wasn’t right.”

“An attempted break-in?” Ryder asked. “Where? When?”

“Up on Pine.” Travis indicated a street to the north that crossed this one. “Maybe twenty minutes ago? A guy came home from work and surprised someone trying to jimmy his lock. He thought it was a teenager. He thought he saw an Eagle Mountain High School letter jacket.”

“I saw three boys in letter jackets at the grocery store just after Christy’s wrecker passed me,” Ryder said. “And someone tried to break into Darcy Marsh’s place this evening—I was leaving there when you called me.”

Travis frowned. “I don’t like to think teenagers would do something like this, but we’ll check it out.” He turned back toward the wrecker. “I’ll talk to the people in the houses at the other end of the road, and those in this area. Maybe someone heard or saw something.”

“There would be a lot of blood,” Ryder said.

“More than is in the cab of the wrecker, I’m thinking. It was the same with Kelly, did you notice? She wasn’t killed in that car—and it was her car.”

“I did notice,” Ryder said. “There was hardly any blood in the car or even on her.”

“I think she was killed somewhere else and driven up there,” Travis said.

“So the killer had an accomplice?” Ryder asked. “Someone who could have followed him up to the pass in another car, then taken him away?”

“Maybe,” Travis said. “Or he could have walked back into town. It’s only about three miles. We’ll try to find out if anyone saw anything.” He walked to the back of his cruiser and took out a shovel. “I don’t think Christy was killed very far from here. There wasn’t time. I want to see if I can find any evidence of that.” He followed the fast-filling tracks of the wrecker back to the road and began to scrape lightly at the snow.

Ryder fetched his own shovel from his vehicle and tried the shoulder on the other side of the road. The work was slow and tedious as he scraped, then shone his light on the space he had uncovered. After ten minutes or so, the work paid off. “Over here,” he called to Travis.

The blood glowed bright as paint against the frozen ground—great splashes of it that scarcely looked real. Travis crouched to look. “We’ll get a sample, but I’m betting it’s Christy’s blood,” he said.

“Whoever did this would have blood on his clothes, maybe in his vehicle,” Ryder said.

Travis nodded. “He could have gone straight home, or to wherever he’s staying, and discarded the clothes—maybe burned them in a woodstove or fireplace, if he has one. There’s no one out tonight to see him, though we’ll ask around.” He stood. “You said you were at Darcy’s place?”

“Right. When she got home tonight, there was a strange vehicle leaving. I found signs that someone tried to break in.”

“What time was this?” Travis asked.

Ryder checked his notes. “Seven forty.”

“The person or persons who tried to break in to Fred Starling’s place might have come from Darcy’s, but I don’t see how they would have had time to drive from Darcy’s, kill Christy, then break in to Fred’s,” Travis said. “We’ll see what the ME gives us for time of death.” He glanced down the road. “He should be here soon.”

“I didn’t like leaving Darcy alone out there,” Ryder said. “It’s kind of remote.”

“I’ve already called in one of our reserve officers,” Travis said. “I’ll have him drive by Darcy’s place and check on her. Why did she call you?”

“I gave her my card when we spoke earlier and told her to call if she needed anything.” Ryder shifted his weight, thinking maybe it was time to change the subject. Not that he thought Travis was a stickler over jurisdiction, but he didn’t think Darcy would welcome any further attention from the sheriff. “What are you doing, pulling the night shift?” he asked. “Doesn’t the sheriff get any perks?”

“The new officer who’s supposed to be working tonight has the flu,” Travis said. He shrugged. “I figured I’d make a quick patrol, then spend the rest of the night at my desk. I have a lot of loose ends to tie up before the wedding and honeymoon.”

“I hope the weather cooperates with your plans,” Ryder said. “The highway department says the pass could be closed for the next two or three days—longer if this snow keeps up.”

“Most of the wedding party is already here, and the ones who aren’t will be coming in soon,” Travis said. “My sister, Emily, pulled in this afternoon, about half an hour ahead of the closure.”

He turned to gaze down the street, distracted by the headlights approaching—the medical examiner, Butch Collins, followed by the ambulance. Butch, a portly man made even larger by the ankle-length duster and long knitted scarf he wore, climbed out of his truck, old-fashioned medical bag in hand. “Two dead women in one day is a little much, don’t you think, Sheriff?” He nodded to Ryder. “Is there a connection between the two?”

Ryder checked for any lurking reporters, but saw none. He nodded to the ambulance driver, who had pulled to the side of the road, steam pouring in clouds from the tailpipe of the idling vehicle. “Both women had their hands and feet bound with duct tape, and their throats slit,” he said. “It looks like they weren’t killed in the vehicle, but their bodies were put into the vehicles after death.”

Collins nodded. “All right. I’ll take a look.”

Ryder and Travis moved to Travis’s cruiser. “Darcy said Kelly was going shopping today,” Ryder said. “She couldn’t think of anyone who would want to hurt Kelly. No one had been threatening her or making her feel uneasy. You’re a little more tied in with the town than I am. Do you know of anyone who might have had a disagreement with her—boyfriend, client or a competitor?”

“I didn’t know her well. My parents had Kelly or Darcy out to the ranch a few times to take care of horses. I remember my mom said she liked them. I knew them well enough to wave to. I don’t think she was dating anyone, though I’ll ask Lacy. She keeps up with that kind of gossip more than I do.” Travis’s fiancée was a local woman, near Kelly’s age. “I never heard anything about unhappy clients. As for competitors, there’s really only Ed Nichols.”

“What do you know about him?” Ryder asked. “Darcy said he wasn’t too happy about them opening up a competing practice.”

“Ed’s all right,” Travis said. “He might have grumbled a little when the two women first arrived, but it’s understandable he would feel threatened—two attractive, personable young women. I imagine it cut into his business.”

“I talked to him and his wife this afternoon,” Ryder said. “He seemed genuinely shaken by the news that Kelly was dead.”

“It’s hard to picture Ed doing something like this,” Travis said. “But we’ll check his alibi for the time of Christy’s death.”

“What about a connection between Kelly and Christy?” Ryder asked. “Were they specific targets, or random?”

“Maybe Kelly was the target and the killer went after Christy because she was the one who pulled the car with Kelly’s body in it out from its hiding place?” Travis shook his head. “It’s too early to make any kind of hypothesis, really.”

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

“I don’t like to use the words serial killer,” Travis said. “But that could be what we’re looking at.”

“After I found Kelly’s body, I was worried her murderer had gotten away before the road closed,” Ryder said. “If he did, we might never find him.”

“Looks like he didn’t get out,” Travis said. “Which could be a much bigger problem.”

“I hear you,” Ryder said. As long as the road stayed blocked, the killer couldn’t leave—but none of his potential victims could get very far away, either.

* * *

DARCY CONSIDERED CLOSING the clinic the next day, out of respect for Kelly. But what would she do, then, other than sit around and be sad? Work would at least provide a distraction. And the clinic had been her and Kelly’s shared passion. Keeping it open seemed a better way to honor her than closing the doors.

The morning proved busy. Most of the people who had come in had heard about Kelly and were eager to share their memories of her. Darcy passed out tissues and shed a few tears of her own, but the release of admitting her grief felt good. Knowing she wasn’t alone in her pain made it a tiny bit more bearable.

The office manager, Stacy, left for lunch, but Darcy stayed behind, claiming she had too much work to do. If she was being honest with herself, however, she could admit she didn’t want to go out in public to face all the questions and speculation surrounding Kelly’s murder, especially since one of her last patients of the day had told her the newest edition of the Eagle Mountain Examiner had just hit the stands, with a story about the two murders filling the front page. The editor must have stayed up late to get the breaking news in before the paper went to the printer.

Murder. The word sent a shiver through her. It still seemed so unreal. Who would want to harm Kelly? Or Christy? Darcy hardly knew the other woman, but she had seemed nice enough. Not that nice people didn’t get killed, but not in places like Eagle Mountain. Maybe she was wrong to think that, but she couldn’t shake her belief that this small, beautiful town was somehow immune to that kind of violence.

She was forcing herself to eat a cup of yogurt from the office refrigerator when the phone rang. She should have let it go straight to the answering service, but what if it was Ryder, with news about Kelly? Or Kelly’s parents, wanting to talk?

She picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

A thin, quavering voice came over the line. “Is this the vet?” The woman—Darcy thought it was a woman—asked.

“Yes. This is Dr. Marsh. Who is this?”

“Oh, my name is Marge. Marge Latham. You don’t know me. I’m in town visiting my cousin and I got trapped here by the weather. Me and my dog, Rufus. Rufus is why I’m calling.”

“What’s the problem with Rufus?” Darcy called up the scheduling program on the office computer as she spoke.

“He’s hurt his leg,” the woman said. “I don’t know what’s wrong with it, but he can’t put any weight on it and he’s in a lot of pain. It’s so upsetting.” Her voice broke. “He’s all I have, you see, and if something happens to him, I don’t know what I’d do.”

“If you can bring Rufus in at three today I can see him,” Darcy said. The patient before that was routine vaccinations, so that shouldn’t take too long. The patient after might have to wait a little, but most people understood about emergencies.

“I was hoping you could come here,” Marge said. “He’s such a big dog—he weighs over a hundred pounds. I can’t possibly lift him to get him into the car.”

“What kind of dog is Rufus?” Darcy asked.

“He’s a mastiff. Such a sweet boy, but moving him is a problem for me. I was told you do house calls.”

“Only for large animals,” Darcy said. “Horses and cows.” And llamas and goats and one time, a pig. But they had to draw the line somewhere. Most dogs were used to riding in the car and would climb in willingly—even mastiffs.

“Well, Rufus is as big as a small horse,” Marge said.

“Is there anyone who can help you get him to the office?” Darcy asked. “Maybe your sister or a nephew—”

“No, dear, that isn’t possible. Won’t you please come? The other vet already said no and I don’t know what I’ll do. He’s all I have.” She choked back a sob and Darcy’s stomach clenched. She couldn’t let an animal suffer—or risk this old woman hurting herself trying to handle the dog by herself.

“I could stop by after work tonight,” she said. “But we don’t close until six today, so it would be after that.”

“That would be wonderful. Thank you so much.”

The address the woman rattled off didn’t sound familiar to Darcy, but that wasn’t unusual. Four months was hardly enough time to learn the maze of gravel roads and private streets that crisscrossed the county. “Let me have your number, in case I’m running late,” Darcy said.

“Oh, that would be my sister’s number. Let me see. What is that?” The sounds of shuffling, then Marge slowly read off a ten-digit number. “Thank you again, dear. And Rufus thanks you, too.”

Darcy hung up the phone and wrote the woman’s information at the bottom of the schedule, and stuffed the notes she had taken into her purse.

Five and a half hours later, Darcy drove slowly down Silverthorne Road, leaning forward and straining her eyes in the fading light, searching for the address Marge had given her. But the numbers weren’t adding up. She spotted 2212 and 2264 and 2263, but no 2237. Had Marge gotten it wrong?

Darcy slowed at each driveway to peer up the dark path, but usually she couldn’t even make out a house, as the drive invariably turned into a thick tunnel of trees. Growing exasperated, she pulled to the side of the road and took out her phone and punched in the number Marge had given her. A harsh tone made her pull the phone from her ear, and a mechanical voice informed her that the number she had dialed was no longer in service or had been changed.

Darcy double-checked the number, but she had it right. And she was sure she hadn’t written it down wrong. So was Marge completely confused, or was something else going on? “I should have asked her sister’s name,” Darcy muttered. “Then maybe I could have looked up her address.”

Or maybe there wasn’t a sister. A cold that had nothing to do with the winter weather began to creep over her. No. She pushed the thought away. There was no reason to turn this into something sinister. It was simply a matter of a confused old woman, a stranger in town, getting mixed up about the address. Darcy would go into town and stop by the sheriff’s department. The officers there knew the county front to back. They might have an idea where to find a visitor with an injured mastiff and her sister.

With shaking hands, Darcy put the car in gear and eased on to the road once more, tires crunching on the packed snow, even as more of the white stuff sifted down. As soon as she found a place to turn around, she would. But houses were far apart out here, and the narrow driveways difficult to see in the darkness. She missed the first drive, but was able to pull into the next, and carefully backed out again and prepared to return to town.

She had just shifted the Subaru into Drive when lights blinded her. A car or truck, its headlights on bright, was speeding toward her. She put up one hand to shield her eyes, and used the other hand to flash her high beams. Whoever was in that vehicle was driving much too fast, and didn’t he realize he was blinding her?

She eased over closer to the side of the road, annoyance building, but irritation gave way to fear as she realized the other car wasn’t slowing, and it wasn’t moving over. She slammed her hand into the horn, the strident blare almost blocking the sound of the racing engine, but still, the oncoming vehicle didn’t slow or veer away.

Panic climbed her throat and she scarcely had time to brace herself before the other car hit her, driving her car into the ditch and engulfing her in darkness.