Grave Danger (28 page)

“But Sheila’s an issue now, or you wouldn’t be telling me about her.”

“I think he’s interested in you. Apparently we have the same taste in women.”

“The corollary being, am I the same type of woman, ready to jump from you to him? Don’t hold me accountable for your ex-fiancée’s actions, and I won’t assume all cops are like Aaron.”

He was making a mess of this. “I had that coming.” He gathered her closer. “Listen, Libby. I’m crazy about you. I want this to work between us. I trust you. I don’t care that you’re working with Jason. I just want you to come home to me at the end of the day.”

“That’s what I want, too.”

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L
IBBY PAUSED BY THE REAR DOOR
of the Shelby house, bracing herself to enter for the first time since the attack. Mark had wanted to be by her side this morning, but a traffic accident at the north end of town prevented him. Which was just as well. This was something she needed to face down on her own. She unlocked the door and stepped inside.

As promised, Jason had had a security system installed. She shut off the alarm, and then spent several minutes familiarizing herself with the system before resetting the security code. After that, she squared her shoulders and turned to face the kitchen.

A cleaning crew had visited over the weekend and the crisp scents of lemon and pine permeated the space, and yet she was certain she could still detect the faint odor of gasoline.

Reminded of the first sharp jolt from the Taser, her knees weakened. She stepped to the sink and braced her arms against the front, holding herself up. She ran the faucet and splashed cold water on her face and then closed her eyes.
Think of the frigid river water. Think of mud, laughter, fishing, and falling in love.

She opened her eyes and looked around the kitchen again.
You can do this
.

She wanted to reclaim the room by preparing and eating something, but she had no appetite. She turned and went upstairs to her office.

She was engrossed in a transcript when her geomorphologist, Jerry Santos, called. “Hey, Libby. What the hell are you doing sending me Mount St. Helens ash and claiming you found it a meter deep? You trying to mess with me or something?”

“Are you talking about the soil samples I sent over a week ago?”

“Yeah. I started processing them this morning.”

“We didn’t send you Mount St. Helens ash, Jerry. The samples we sent are from the site in Coho. Ash from the Mount St. Helens eruption didn’t dump here on the peninsula.”

“I know. But the bag you sent me is St. Helens.”

“Wait a second—read me the provenience information written on the bag.”

Jerry did while Libby opened the site master catalog on her computer.

“That sample came from just above Angela’s remains—we sent it before we found the bones. I forgot to tell the police to contact you to get the samples back.”

“Police? What the hell are you talking about?”

“That bag of St. Helens ash you have is police evidence.”

“Evidence of what?”

“We found a murder victim in the site, a woman who has been missing for more than twenty years. It made the news here, but might not have made the headlines in Idaho. Stop processing all the samples that came from units 22, 23, and 24. I’ll have the officer in charge of the investigation contact you,” she said.

After the conversation ended, Libby leaned back in her chair. Angela had been buried under a large pocket of Mount St. Helens ash. The ash couldn’t have fallen naturally on the Olympic Peninsula—Jerry had identified a clue to where she’d been buried before her remains were moved in 1984.

She picked up the phone to dial Mark, and then stopped. She would rather tell him in person and could use a break from the Shelby house. Traffic was light—as usual for Coho—when she crossed town, noting that the earlier accident had been cleared. Mark was probably at the station.

An officer she didn’t know led her through the squad room to Mark’s office. He smiled in surprise when he saw her. He looked gorgeous. His button-down shirt was open at the collar, bringing vivid memories of running her tongue over his exposed skin. She licked her lips.

His dimple deepened, and he gave her a sultry look before he said softly, “Cut that out, you’re giving me a hard-on. I’m going to be stuck behind this desk all day.”

She laughed. “I have news. I got a call from my geomorphologist this morning. We sent him some samples before we found the remains. Today he told me an ash sample we took a meter below the surface was from Mount St. Helens.”

“As in the 1980 eruption?”

“Exactly. The sample was taken from just above the bones, where we uncovered a large ash stratum. The layer could only have been deposited on May 18, 1980, when St. Helens erupted. The ash cloud from St. Helens coated Eastern Washington within hours, but only trace amounts of ash ever made it to the Olympic Peninsula, and most of that traveled all the way around the world before getting here. Which means, the pocket of ash we sampled had to have been moved with her. There’s no way a deposit of St. Helens’ ash that thick is
in situ
on the peninsula.”

“So you think she was in Eastern Washington before she was moved here in 1984.”

“Yes. She must have been buried in a very shallow grave before May 18, 1980. You asked the ME if a body could decompose down to bones in less than five years—well, Eastern Washington’s desert environment is perfect for rapid decomposition.”

“And you assume she was buried in a shallow grave because the layer of dirt above the bones but beneath the ash deposit was thin.”

“Yes. It’s the Law of”—her face heated as she remembered exactly how she’d explained the principle to him on Saturday—“Superposition again.”

His eyes flashed with amusement. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget that geologic law.” He turned serious. “So it’s likely her body was originally buried somewhere in Eastern Washington, then St. Helens exploded and the ash covered her grave.”

“Yes. Whoever dug Angela up from her first resting place removed her bones with the soil and ash that was on top of her. I’ve already given you copies of the maps we drew of the ash layer with depth measurements. A snow shovel or something similarly wide and flat would make it possible to move the remains and dirt in solid pieces, which explains why her skeleton was still articulated and the ash layer intact.”

“I need your geomorphologist’s phone number.”

She handed him Jerry’s card.

He leaned back in his chair. “The person who killed her must not have worried about someone finding her accidentally, because even a dog could easily uncover a burial that shallow. I wonder what changed? Why was she moved?”

“I don’t know. That’s your job, Chief.” She stood. “I’ve got to go.” She paused and turned. “Maybe you should get an FBI profiler to review the case.”

“You watch too many movies.” He stood and followed her to the door.

“No. I read too many mysteries. I like Patricia Cornwell, don’t you?”

“I don’t have time for thriller fiction. I’m a cop. I live it.”

She burst out laughing. “Uh, huh. And I’m Indiana Jones without the Fedora.” She paused. “You know, I could buy a whip.”

He closed the door, pressed her back against the solid panel, gave her a searing kiss, and then said, “And I’ve got the handcuffs.”

M
ARK PLAYED PHONE TAG
with Jerry Santos for a while before finally connecting. Santos promised to send a full report of his analysis of the ash sample, along with all the remaining bags from the burial pit. Mark hung up. He couldn’t believe his luck. He had a team of cops working overtime to ferret out every last bit of information from any small scrap of evidence they had, yet it was Libby who had just provided him with a major break.

The Mount St. Helens ash indicated Angela had originally been buried in Eastern Washington. Back in 1979, investigators had tried to place Angela in Eastern Washington. If they’d been able to prove Angela went east from Seattle instead of west, they’d have had a strong case against Jack, even without the body.

“Chief, you got a minute?”

Mark looked up to see Luke Roth in his office doorway. It was nearly noon and he’d planned to head out and get a bite to eat. “What do you need?”

“I’ve been following up on the Maitland investigation and have some questions.”

“Fire away.”

“You stated you’d argued with Ms. Maitland about the boxes she had, which contained Angela Caruthers’ papers. Did Maitland know you planned to return with a warrant to seize the remaining boxes?”

“She did.”

“Did she know how long it would take you to obtain the warrant?”

“I told her I would be back in an hour.” His phone rang. Caller ID said Seattle PD. Could be Bobby. “Luke, I’ve got to take this call. We’ll finish this when I’m done. Close the door,” he instructed before picking up the phone.

“Listen, Colby.” Surprise registered as he recognized the voice. Aaron Brady. “This has got to stop. You’ve got Internal Affairs crawling up my ass and all because I showed seriously bad judgment in getting involved with a whack job groupie.”

Mark kept his voice level. “Brady, perfect timing. I have questions about your activities Thursday night.”

“I was home reading my Bible. Look, I’m calling you cop to cop. You need to put a stop to this.”

“Fine. Stop harassing Libby.” Mark wanted to keep him on the phone, hoping he would slip up and say something that could be used against him.

“I didn’t harass her before and I’m not harassing her now.
She
harassed
me
because I wouldn’t help her with her financial troubles.”

“That doesn’t sound like a groupie. Decide on one story and stick to it.”

“Oh, she definitely has a thing for cops. I bet she’s already gunning for somebody in Coho, the poor bastard. I was just a bonus, because I had a connection to her client, which she wanted to use. The project she ran for my brother was in financial trouble.”

“Sounds like a convenient excuse.”

“Deny it all you want, Colby, but I’ve got the facts on my side. She took my brother to court. She lost. Hasn’t she whined to you yet about the thirty thousand my brother supposedly owed her? He didn’t owe her a dime. The judge agreed.”

“I’ve read the court documents. That wasn’t the issue, nor was that the finding.”

“She claimed my brother agreed to the increased budget. She wanted me to back her statement. I wouldn’t do it, no matter how good she fucked.”

Anger gripped Mark. He wanted to rip Brady’s throat out. “Libby lost because the signed copies of the contract addendum mysteriously disappeared. She had nothing else to back up her claim. There was a break-in at her office, and you were harassing her twenty-four/seven, so I have a personal favorite theory about what happened.”

“I get it now,” Brady said, his voice oozing satisfaction. “Smart woman, going straight for the top. Man, I should have called you sooner and saved you some trouble. I admit she’s a fine piece of ass. Just remember, she’ll fuck anything to get what she wants. She wanted me to get more money out of my brother. She’s probably screwing you so you’ll believe her bullshit stalking claims.”

“You’re full of shit if you think I believe a word you say.”

“Does it bother you I had her first?” Brady asked in a whisper filled with taunting malice.

“It might, if it were true.”

“She told you we didn’t fuck?” He laughed. “I fucked her till my dick nearly fell off. I know what it feels like to be inside her. I know what she sounds like when she comes.” He paused. “She has a scar from a barbed wire fence. Inside thigh. Two inches long.”

“Don’t call again. I don’t have time for this.” He slammed down the phone. Brady knew about her scar. He didn’t believe Brady. He couldn’t. But still, doubt crept in.

Or maybe it had never quite left.

He picked up his car keys and left the station.

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