I Shall Not Want (24 page)

“Watch out, Kevin,” Urquhart said.

“Non-Caucasians.” The deputy ticked off another finger.

“We can’t say that about three.” The chief crossed his arms over his chest.

“Killed during tourist season.” MacAuley ticked off his third finger.

“April? Nobody comes to Millers Kill in April.”

“Bodies left in remote locations in Cossayuharie.” MacAuley ticked off a fourth finger. “And finally, all three of them killed in the same fashion with the same-caliber weapon.” He held his hand up and waggled his fingers. “We can’t rule out a serial killer. Not with three bodies agreeing on five points.”

“Why—” Hadley started to say, then shut her mouth.

“Go, on, Knox,” the chief said.

She swallowed. “Why was the first guy—I mean, John Doe one—why was he dumped? The others were buried. Not deep, but they were buried. He was just laying out there in the open.”

The chief slid up onto the table and braced his boots on a chair. “What do you think?”

Her face fell into the cool expressionless mask that had completely unnerved Kevin when she’d directed it toward him.
She’s panicked
, he realized.
She’s afraid of coming across like an idiot
. The chief looked at her patiently. MacAuley looked at her like a guy who was running late for his proctologist’s appointment. Kevin twitched in his seat. Urquhart was smirking.

The search
. He tried to beam the thought into her head. It must have worked, because her eyes slid toward him. He put his hand up to his mouth. “Huggins,” he coughed.

“The search for the men who ran away after the accident interrupted the killer,” she said instantly. “There was no chance to bury the victim because the area was crawling with searchers.”

“Which means,” the chief said, “somebody who was there that night may have seen something. We need a list of everyone on the SAR team who participated, and the various Christie relatives who turned out. That’ll be your job, Eric.”

McCrea slid low in his chair and groaned. Several “baas” erupted from the back of the room.

“The other possibility,” the chief said, “is that the body found in the back of the McGeochs’ property is unrelated to the two found past the Muster Field.” The dep snorted loudly but didn’t say anything. “We’ve sent the pictures and the ME’s preliminary report down to the Bronx, where they’re trying to find the two men Knox and Flynn stopped last week.” He stared at the whiteboard, which had a lot of theories and very few solutions. “Kevin, you go ahead and follow up on the local migrant worker population.”

Kevin clenched his fist in triumph.
In like Flynn
.

“Knox, you’re with McCrea. Noble, you take the SAR volunteers. Lyle, since you like the serial killer angle so much, you get to work on the VCAP database and see if you can find anything that sounds familiar.”

“Any evidence that John Doe one was sexually assaulted?”

The chief’s eyebrows went up. “I didn’t see anything in Scheeler’s report. Although, since he did his prelim before we found the other two, maybe he wasn’t looking in that—uh—direction.” Urquhart snickered. The chief ignored him. “You thinking someone preying on young gay men?”

The dep shrugged. “Two guys alone in the woods with no signs of coercion? It’s not like we haven’t seen it before.”

The chief pinched the bridge of his nose again. “Yeah.”

Hadley leaned toward Kevin. “What are they talking about?” she hissed.

“Three summers ago,” he whispered, “two gay guys were beaten up and another one killed.”

She flinched. “That’s awful.” Then her expression changed. Became thoughtful. “Why are we assuming it’s a guy?”

“Knox? Kevin?” The chief was frowning.

“If you two brought candy, you better have enough for the other kids,” the dep said.

“Why are we assuming it’s a guy?” Hadley said, loud enough for everyone to hear. She looked up at the chief. “Maybe the killer is a woman.” Hadley looked around the room, measuring the others’ reactions. “She could have lured them into the woods.” She turned to MacAuley. “You don’t need to restrain someone if he’s busy taking his pants off.”

“If it was poison, or there was money involved—those are the sort of situations where women’ve appeared as serial killers.” The dep sounded like he was trying to be diplomatic. “Naked guys tapped in the woods—there just aren’t many recorded instances of women doing that.”

“Maybe that’s because they’re better at covering it up than men,” Hadley said.

Clare hoped she would miss Janet when she took Amado back out to the McGeochs’ to get the rest of his stuff. It was Memorial Day Monday, after all, and most reasonable people were taking the day off.

No such luck. Russ’s sister came running out of the barn as soon as Clare’s Subaru pulled in the dusty yard. Clare and Amado hadn’t gotten out of the car before the apologies started.

“Oh, my God, Clare, I’m so, so sorry! I had
no
idea when that man showed up that he was—well, I thought it was odd that he knew Amado, but I was so distracted—when Russ told me, I nearly
died
, I was so…” Apparently, there wasn’t a word big enough, so Janet threw her arms around Clare and hugged her. “Thank God, thank God you weren’t hurt. I thought Russ was just being—well, cranky, when he said you’re as tough as an army boot, but he was right!” She hugged her again. “Oh, there’s Amado!”

Clare listened while Janet repeated her whole apology to the young man, who looked at her with alarmed incomprehension, protecting his cast with his good hand.
Smart kid
, Clare thought.
If she hugs any tighter she’ll rebreak that bone
.

“I thought, all things considered, that Amado should stay at the rectory after all,” Clare said, loudly enough to catch Janet’s attention. “The Christies will probably make bail as soon as court opens tomorrow.” She made a
go on
gesture to Amado, who needed no encouragement to escape. He took off around the barn at a trot.

“Are you sure that’s safe?” Janet, having disgorged the apologies she must have been holding in for two days, visibly settled. “I mean, what if they come back?”

“It’s a lot less likely in the middle of town than out here in a trailer.”

Janet ran her hand through her Medium Golden Blond No. 5 hair. “Is it true you broke Donald Christie’s nose?”

Clare rubbed her own nose. “I didn’t mean to.”

Janet whistled. “You go, girl.”

Clare held up her hands. “Violence is not the answer, to paraphrase… a whole bunch of people. Including your mother.”

“Mmm. So, have you seen Russ since that night?”

Oh, God. What did he tell her
? But no. He wouldn’t have spoken about the two of them. Or about the bodies they found at the Muster Field. Janet didn’t know her John Doe had been reclassified as the first of a series of murders.

She was saved from coming up with a truth that told nothing by the thrum of tires along Lick Springs Road. Janet craned her neck and shaded her eyes. “Shit,” she said under her breath.

Clare twisted around to see the squad car speeding down the long sweep of hill toward the McGeochs’ barnyard.

“I gotta call the men,” Janet said. She raced toward the barn, leaving Clare alone at the end of a train of dust puffs rising and falling in the air.

Her heart rose in her chest to sink again when she glimpsed the red head through the driver’s window.
Not fair
. She wasn’t going to hold it against the rest of the MKPD just because they weren’t Russ.

“Hey! Reverend Fergusson!” Kevin waved jauntily as he unfolded from his cruiser. “What’re you doing out here?”

She gestured toward the barn and, by implication, the bunkhouse that lay somewhere beyond it. “I brought Amado out to get the rest of his things. I’m moving him into the rectory.”

Kevin considered that. “Does the chief know?”

She resisted the first comment that came to mind. “I think he’s got a little more on his mind than my interim sexton’s living arrangements, don’t you?”

He hooked his thumbs over his gun belt in a perfect copy of Russ. “Those Christies will be making bail tomorrow, you know.”

“That’s why I’m out here today. How about you?”

His face lit up. “I suggested we ought to find out what migrant workers might have been in the area last year, when the other two were killed, and the chief agreed with me.” His pleased expression wavered. “Well, honestly? He didn’t exactly agree. But he’s letting me follow up on it.” He looked around, taking in the white-paint barn, the harrow and hay wagon and truck corralled between outbuildings, the cows grazing just far enough away to be scenic rather than smelly. “This is my first stop.”

At Russ’s sister’s. Who allegedly didn’t have any migrant employees.

“Are you hoping to track down who the two men from yesterday are?”

“Nope. We’re trying to track down their murderer.” There was a certain relish in the way Kevin said “murderer.”

“A migrant worker? You must be kidding. Those men do backbreaking labor six or seven days a week for wages most of us would turn our noses up at. Why on earth would one of them get involved in something like this?”

Despite the absence of anyone else in the barnyard, Kevin leaned in close. “We’re thinking… serial killer.”

“Oh, please. In Millers Kill? Pull the other one.”

He shrugged. “There are three men dead, all of ‘em killed in the same way, by a similar weapon, in the space of a year or so. All of ’em left within seven miles of each other. If that happened along the Green River instead of in Millers Kill, what would you think?”

Good Lord. Kevin Flynn is growing up into a real cop
. A civilian Humvee drove past the barnyard, its woofer rattling their car windows.
This has gotten way too deep
.
Janet has got to come clean with them
.

As if he could read her mind, he said, “Are the McGeochs around?”

“In the barn,” she said.

“Thanks.” He strode toward the barn while she told herself it wasn’t her business and she wasn’t going to get involved. This didn’t have anything to do with her, or her people, or her church. Except… Sister Lucia had asked her to take care of these men. And so far the only thing she had done to uphold the sister’s charge was to keep her mouth shut about their location.

“Wait for me,” she called. Kevin paused in the wide doorway and watched as she jogged across the dusty yard. Inside, it was cool and lofty. They alarmed a pair of barn swallows, who fluttered through the mote-hung air before arrowing out the door. The sound of wings echoed in the almost-empty haymows.

“Mr. McGeoch?” Kevin shouted. “Mrs. McGeoch?”

“In here!” The faint answer came from the small doorway set opposite the tractor-wide entrance to the barn. Clare dogged Kevin as he ducked through and they emerged into a long, low cow byre. Clare stumbled, and the young officer caught her by her arm. She looked up and down the center aisle. Cement. Drain holes. The steel-basketed lights hung, one each, at the stall entrances. Her skin went clammy. She swallowed.

“Are you okay?” Kevin let her arm go.

“Yeah,” she said. “This just… looks a lot like the MacEntyres’ barn.” She breathed in. Manure and urine and hay, earthy and sharp and green. No copper-sweet smell of blood.

“Don’t worry,” Kevin said, “You’re safe here.” He meant to be reassuring, but all Clare heard was the perfect assurance of someone who had never had anything horrific happen to him.

“Clare?” Janet emerged from one of the stalls, pitchfork in hand. “Officer Flynn?” That last sounded genuinely surprised. She jammed her pitchfork into the manure cart squatting in the middle of the aisle. “What’s up?”

“Hi, Mrs. McGeoch. Sorry to interrupt, but when I went to your house, your daughter said you were over here, and I wanted to talk to you first, because the chief said you’d talked to some local farmers about migrant workers before you hired that service to, you know, help you get your own, so I was hoping you or Mr. McGeoch could fix me up with some contacts so I can find out a little more about who’s hiring migrants and if they’ve had workers stay year-round.”

“What?”

Clare shook off the shadow of the angel of death. “Officer Flynn needs a list of farmers in the area who employ migrant workers.”

Kevin looked a bit affronted. “That’s what I said.”

“Maybe,” Clare said, “if Mike’s around, he could help Officer Flynn?”

“He’s cleaning the equipment. I can—”

“Because I want to talk to you—um, about Amado possibly returning to work here.” She was speaking so broadly, she might as well be winking and nudging.

“O-kay.” Janet walked toward the center of the byre. “You see those doors there?”

Kevin nodded.

“That’s the equipment room. Go ahead and tell Mike what you want. He’s better with names and numbers than I am.”

“Thanks,” Kevin said. He started down the central aisle. Stopped. Turned. “Big place you got here. How on earth do you two manage it by yourselves?”

“Oh, we’ve got help.” Janet’s voice was as light as air. “But it
is
Memorial Day, you know.”

“Don’t I just.” He resumed walking toward the equipment room.

Clare gestured toward the narrow walkway leading to the larger barn. “Can we talk out there?”

“He won’t be able to hear us. With the steam cleaning equipment on, he’ll hardly be able to hear Mike.”

“It’s not that. This place is way too much like the MacEntyres’ for my comfort. I keep expecting to see someone with a gun coming out of the abattoir at any moment.”

Janet looked, frowning. “Sure.” She led the way, the top of her head almost brushing against the low ceiling of the passage. Clare took a deep breath once they were in the sun-shafted expanse of the hay barn. “So,” Janet said. “Let me ask you something. Do you think my brother would react in the same way? If he were in the byre?”

Clare thought about how, thirty-odd years after the need, Russ still couldn’t walk through heat and green leaves without watching for the glint of a gun barrel. About the way his face would still and his words dry up when conversation wandered onto certain old cases. “Yes,” she said. “I’m pretty sure he would.”