Impulse (18 page)

35

“
W
ell,” Will said to Jack D
awson,
whom Sam had also called to the office, “it’s official. Erin Gallagher’s throat was slit.”

“See,” Jack said drily, “I was right. You were definitely better off handing the case over to the pros.”

“It’s a wise man who knows his limitations,” Will murmured as he read through the pages Heather Jackson had faxed over.

A sharp instrument had been used from left to right, cutting both jugulars, her larynx, and the muscles on both sides of her neck.

“The guy knew what he was doing,” Jack repeated what he’d said at the scene. “And to cut the muscles without having to saw away at them definitely shows strength.”

“Which rules out a woman,” Sam said.

“I never rule anyone out,” Will responded. “But it definitely lessens the odds. There was blood in her lungs.”

“Aspirated when she bled into her windpipe,” Jack diagnosed.

“Which means,” Desiree, who’d come in from patrolling out by Silver Lake when she’d heard the report had come in, said, “she was alive and breathing at the time her throat was cut.”

“That’s Heather’s conclusion. She also writes that by the way the larynx was cut, and the way the windpipe was slashed, the girl’s head must have been pulled back.”

“Meaning that her killer came to her from behind. Which is undoubtedly why there weren’t any defensive marks,” Sam said.

Will nodded. “Yeah, that’d be my guess, too
.
”
He turned back to the report. “Christ, this says she had the bone density of a seventy-year-old woman. That’s gotta be a mistake.”

“Not necessarily,” Jack said. “I see it a lot in orthopedics, mostly from the superathletic girls who are literally starving to death. Which, in turn, starves their bones.”

“Hayworth said female athletes are prone to eating disorders,” Will mused as he continued reading through the report. “Which doesn’t exactly gel with the fact that she’d eaten pizza before being killed.”

“Which your son already testified to,” Sam said.

“Everyone we’ve talked with said she was starting to enjoy discovering a real life,” Desiree said. “That would include eating like a normal person.”

“Yeah, I suppose it would.” Will frowned. “Her tox screen came back with trace amounts of MDMA.”

It was Desiree’s turn to frown. “Ecstasy.”

“I hate to ask this,” Sam said carefully, “but do you think she could have gotten the drug from Josh?”

Will plowed a hand through his hair. “Hell, I don’t know. Anything’s possible. He’s done drugs before, but I thought we were beginning to move past that. And Hazard doesn’t exactly have a huge rave scene.”

“True. But small towns aren’t immune from drugs.” And didn’t Will know that?
“I’m still waiting to get his screen back.”

“Which won’t be definitive proof of his innocence.”

“No.” If Josh weren’t his own son, Will knew he’d be as cynical as Sam sounded. The kid could be as clean as a hound’s tooth and still have supplied her with it. Or at least watched her do it.

“I heard a speech on MDMA at a medical convention a few years ago,” Jack offered. “It’s supposed to open up the capacity for feeling loving, and affectionate, and trusting. Although it’s being sold on the street, a lot of therapists continue to prescribe it.”

“Well, that sure as hell should let Josh off the hook,” Will muttered. “Since loving, affectionate, and trusting sure as hell doesn’t exactly describe my son.”

“Not outwardly,” Desiree said. “But if you two weren’t at such loggerheads, you’d see that deep down inside that rock-hard shell he’s built around himself is a pretty sensitive boy.”

“Yeah. That’s what Faith Prescott keeps telling me.”

Despite the seriousness of their conversation, Jack grinned, “You should listen to the lady. Not only is she smart, she’s got great legs,”

“Not to mention a very fine ass,” Sam said.

“Mention her ass again and I’ll have to shoot you,” Will said mildly. Returning to the report, he missed the knowing look that flashed between the three other people in the room.

“There was pubic hair on her groin area.”

“Not surprising, since Josh also admitted having sex with her.”

‘Yeah, but the samples came from two different people.”

Jack blew out a low whistle. “
You don’t think—”

“That there was another person with them?” Will shook his head. “I seriously doubt that. Josh was sweating bullets while Sam was questioning him.”

“There were a couple times I thought he was going to pass out on me,” Sam agreed. “If he’d been involved in a three-way, I think it would’ve spilled out.”

“Definitely,” Will said.

“And if there’d been someone else there with her and Josh, she’d have been less likely to have gone out to the lake alone,” Desiree said.

“Unless she went out there to meet someone. Which would also explain the lack of defensive wounds,” Jack surmised.

“That doesn’t work if Josh is telling the truth about her wanting him to go out there with her. Which
h
is showing up on the scene later confirms.”

“Not if he was jealous,” Will said, playing devil’s advocate. “Maybe he realized she was going straight from him to another guy and drove out there to catch her.”

“Jesus, Will.” Jack’s brow furrowed. “Don’t you trust anyone?”

“I may have left the big city, but I’m still a cop. With a murder to s
olve. So, the answer is no.
There’s no sign of either pre- or postmortem rape, so, although I’m not ruling anything out, I suspect she had sex before she picked up Josh at the gas station.”

“Girl had a busy night,” Jack said.

“Seems so.” Yet another case, Will thought, of people going to extremes when the damn wind stopped. Unfortunately, Erin Gallagher’s recklessness had gotten her lolled.

“We’re going to have to comb the town. There must be someone who saw her before she and Josh had sex.” Will turned to Desiree. “And check with Debroux’s pharmacy to see if they’ve filled any prescriptions for MDMA lately.”

“Will do.” She stood up. Pulled her parka off the wall hook. “It wasn’t Josh, Will.”

“Hell, no.” Will would bet his badge, his career, hell, his life if need be, on that. “Which is why we have to find the guy. Before he decides to slice and dice again.”

They were outside when Sam came over to him. “We need to talk,” the deputy said.

“Sure,” Will said. “But can it wait, because—” Damn. The phone rang again. He’d gotten more cell
phone calls in the past sixteen hours than he had in the past six months.
“Hold that thought,” he said as Desiree drove off in the direction of the drugstore.

It was his dispatcher, Earlene Spoonhunter, calling from the office upstairs. Her message was short and brief. And unwanted.

“Goddammit,” Will ground out. “Tell them I’ll be right there.” He slammed the phone shut. Closed his eyes. Why was it that murder, which had been almost commonplace when he’d been working vice, now seemed even more evil than it had in the city?

Because, he answered his own rhetorical question, small towns were supposed to be the last bastion of civility in America.

“We’ve got ourselves another body.” Will blew out a harsh, frustrated breath. “A woman, out at the lodge.”

“Oh, Christ, Will. Don’t tell me—”

“Her throat was slit.”

36

O
nly a few d
ays after the start of
winter, the sun set early. Which was why darkness had already fallen when Will pulled up outside the Red Wolf Lodge.

“Hey, Sheriff,” the man standing in the spreading yellow glow of the mercury-vapor lamp outside the main entrance greeted Will as he climbed out of the Cherokee. Falling snowflakes sparkled like crystal in the light. “Talk about your small worlds. Or, I guess you could say, your small towns. Good to see you again.”

“Mr. Sasone.” Will nodded at the burly man he’d driven to the hospital. “How’s the arm?”

“Hell, a little broken elbow can’t keep a good cop down.”

“You’re a cop?” That little piece of information hadn’t come up on the drive to the hospital last night. Of course that could have been because the man had cursed nonstop all the way into town.

“Was. I’m retired. Been working for myself as a bounty hunter these days.”

“Is that what brings you to Hazard?” The last thing he needed was some armed and dangerous former cop running around loose in his town.

“Nah.” Shoulders as wide as an ax handle shrugged. “I just figured I’d come here, do some skiing, maybe some ice fishing. Not a lot of either one of those things in the desert,” he said with forced joviality. “Course that damn accident last night pretty much put the kibosh on that.”

The guy was lying through his teeth. There was a story there. Will didn’t know what it was. Didn’t care unless it pertained to his murders.

“Well, you called in a possible crime, Mr. Sasone?”

“Not
possible.
Unless it’s legal to go slashing women’s throats in Wyoming.”

“No.”

“Didn’t think so.”

Sasone seemed to be enjoying himself. Will was not. “And you found the body where?”

“Over in the trees.” He gestured toward a small ; stand of ponderosa pine beyond the circle of light. “I
’
ll show you.”

“Why don’t you stay here—”

“I may look like a jackass to you, Bridger.” The overly friendly tone turned hard. Familiar. Will recognized it, having used it on more than one occasion himself. It was the no-nonsense, take-no-prisoners voice of command. “But I was, until eighteen months ago, the goddamn best detective in the city of Las Vegas. I know enough not to compromise a crime scene.”

Now that Will believed.

Will pulled the Maglite from his utility belt and followed Sasone into the trees, both men treading in the former cop’s original footprints.

“There she is.”

Her amber eyes stared unseeingly up at the falling snow. The mink coat that had looked so spiffy only a few hours earlier was wet and matted with blood. The meticulously made-up face was bleached to the color of ashes, and a bloody line, looking like a grotesque, scarlet grin, curved beneath her chin.

“It’s Susan Gallagher.”

A dark brow climbed the former detective’s brow. “The dead skater’s mother?”

“Yeah.” Will crouched down and used the tip of his pen to lift the laminated piece of plastic from around her neck. Another damn poem. What the hell was going on here?

“Fuck!”

Will glanced up. Sasone looked as though he were about to have a stroke. “What?”

“The girl’s name kept niggling at me, but with a
l
l the drugs they pumped into me, I couldn’t get a handle on it. But that Russian who sat next to me on the plane was her coach.”

“Erin Gallagher's coach is in Hazard?”

“Yep. In fact he’s staying here at the lodge. I saw him early last night in the dining room.” Sasone dragged a huge bear paw of a hand down his face. “Chr
ist. Guess who his waitress was.
”

Will didn’t have to guess. Remembering what Mike had said about the former skater complaining about tips, Will knew.

“Erin Gallagher.”

I
t was, Faith thought, as she approached the lodge,
d
é
jà
vu all over again. The parking lot, and the small stand of trees between the lodge and a semicircular grouping of log-sided chalets, were lit up like the middle of the day.

The flashing lights atop three sheriff department SUVs and two ambulances parked outside the lodge added surrealistic color, causing the falling snowflakes to resemble red and blue butterflies.

Unlike last night, the press, who’d come to Hazard to cover Erin Gallagher’s death, were in full force, the TV folks setting up huge klieg lights that rivaled the brightness of the Vegas Strip, while the flashes from the still photographers’ cameras winked like manic fireflies.

Faith recognized Will’s black Jeep Cherokee immediately. She debated trying to join the other reporters clamoring for attention, but decided, since there was no way she was going to find out anything the others wouldn’t know, she’d stick to her original plan of dealing with Sal. Hopefully Will would be so occupied with this latest crime scene that he wouldn’t notice her slipping into the lodge.

Her boots crunched on the snow as she approached the main entrance, only to find her way blocked by police tape guarded by Hazard’s very own Dudley Do-Right, Trace Honeycutt.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Prescott,” he said, as she started to duck beneath the tape. “But I’m not allowed to let anyone past. Sheriff Bridger's orders.”

“I understand.”

She didn’t like it, but she did honestly understand Will’s reasoning. That, however, wasn’t going to stop her. If anything, the fact that her husband and the man she’d just made love with were both in the same location made her even more determined to get to Sal.

Nearby, three fire department paramedics were lifting a stretcher into the back of one of the red-and- white ambulances. The driver of the other was standing beside his vehicle, smoking a cigarette, which suggested his services weren’t going to be needed anytime soon.

“Would you mind doing me a favor, Deputy Honeycutt?”

Her voice dropped into its lowest registers. It was her husky, black velvet
Talking After Midnight
tone. The one Will said inspired sexual fantasies in men all over the high-mountain region. She could only hope it worked on this man.

His Adam’s apple bobbed visibly. Bingo. “What favor would that be, Ms. Prescott?” His voice cracked like that of an adole
scent asking a girl to the prom.

“Could you go get Sheriff Bridger for me?” She leaned forward, across the tape. “It’s imperative that I speak with him.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I’m not supposed to leave my post.”

“Of course you’re not. But believe me, he’ll want to hear what I have to tell him.”

If Sal didn’t kill her, Will would for what she was about to do. Hopefully, he wouldn’t also kill his deputy. Even as she told herself that it was important for the young man to learn the importance of following orders, she felt like the worst person on earth as his blue eyes darte
d toward the shaggy, dark trees.

“You’ll have to stay here,” he said hesitantly.

“I promise not to move a step,” she lied.

“Well then, I guess, if you’ve in
formation about the murder…
”

So there had been another murder. Faith’s blood, which was already chilled, turned even icier than the air as two men carried a stretcher bearing a black body bag out of the trees.

She was debating just giving up this fool’s errand when the deputy suddenly turned and walked away, headed in the direction he’d just looked.

It was now or never. Taking a deep breath, Faith ducked beneath the tape.

“Hey, Faith baby!”

She froze at the all-too-familiar voice. Her heart in her throat, she turned slowly toward the tall, burly man who, if size was all that mattered, could easily have played linebacker on any professional football team in the country.

“Hello, Sal. This is a surprise.”

“Small world, huh, baby?”

“Apparently.”

Definitely not as large as she’d hoped when she'd escaped Las Vegas. She clutched the bag to her side and surreptitiously unzipped it. She couldn’t believe Sal would try anything with all these cops on the scene. Then again, she’d never thought he’d hold a gun to her head and threaten to kill her.

“I planned on catching up with you last night, after I called you at the station, but I had myself a little accident. Ran my rental car into a tree when some idiot jackass on a snowmobile ran across the road in front of me.

“And, no, except for a busted elbow, I wasn’t seriously injured, thank you very much for asking. They wanted to keep me overnight at the hospital, make sure 1 didn’t drop dead after walking out of the ER, but, hey, didn’t I always say you can’t keep a good man down?”

“That’s what you always said.” Her hammering heart sank as she viewed the other man headed toward them.

“Hello, Faith.’’ She heard the question in Will’s voice. Hoped he’d believe she was here as a reporter.

“Sheriff.” Her mind spun as she tried to remember whether there were earthquakes in Wyoming. Because she certainly wouldn’t mind one opening up beneath her feet right now.

“Deputy Honeycutt said you had something important to tell me?”

“I believe he must have been mistaken.”

“I think your deputy must’ve got himself snookered,” Sal volunteered. “I
’ve seen this little lady sweet-
talk her way past more than one police line back in Vegas.”

“Vegas.” Will rolled the word around, as if trying it out on his tongue. “I take it you two know each other.” His words were directed toward Sal, but his eyes were dark and hard on hers.

“You could say that,” Sal said. He winked at Faith. “This pretty little gal is my wife.”