The Novels of Nora Roberts, Volume 5 (40 page)

“Maybe if the idiot’d find a rock and sit still somebody’d find his sorry ass.” Jesse shifted in the saddle. He spent a lot more time shoeing horses than riding them, and
his
sorry ass was sore. “I can’t take much more time riding around looking for somebody hasn’t got the sense to get found.”

The deputy, Cy Fletcher—the baby brother of the girl who owned the first pair of breasts Gull had ever got his hands on—scratched his belly. “I say we follow the creek another little while, then we’ll circle back around.”

“Fine by me.” Gull agreed.

“Can’t see shit on a stick in this fog,” Jesse complained.

“Sun’ll burn it off.” Gull shrugged. “It’s breaking through here and there already. What the hell better you got to do, Jesse?”

“Got a living to earn, don’t I? I don’t got some lazy-ass job where I ride around with numbnut tourists all damn day.”

It was a bone of contention between the brothers, and they poked each other about it as the sun strengthened and the fog thinned. As they approached one of the little falls, the drop and tumble of water made shouting insults at his brother over the noise too much trouble.

Gull settled down to enjoy the ride again, and thought about the whitewater outfits who’d start gearing up soon. Weather might turn again, he thought, more snow was every bit as likely as daffodils, but people sure did like to strap themselves into rubber rafts and shoot down the creek.

He didn’t get the appeal.

Riding now, or fishing, that made sense. If he could find a woman who appreciated both, and had a nice pair on her, he’d marry her in a New York minute.

He took a deep, satisfied breath of the fresh and warming air, and grinned happily as a trout leaped. It flashed, shiny as the good silver his ma used for Christmas dinner, then plopped back into the busy water.

His eye followed the ripples all the way to the foaming white of the falls. He squinted, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up.

“I think there’s something down there, down in the falls there.”

“I don’t see dick.”

“You don’t see dick doesn’t mean I don’t.” Ignoring his brother, Gull guided his mount closer to the bank.

“You end up in that water, I ain’t coming in after you.”

It was probably just a rock, Gull thought, and then he’d feel like a numbnut and have to suffer Jesse’s ragging for the rest of the ride. But it didn’t look like a rock. It looked like the front half of a boot.

“I think that’s a boot. You see that, Cy?”

“I can’t tell.” Cy peered with eyes shaded by his hat and not especially interested. “Probably a rock.”

“I think it’s a boot.”

“Alert the freaking media,” Jesse proclaimed, boosting up a little to rub at his worn-out ass. “Some asshole camper lost a boot in Spearfish Creek.”

“If some asshole camper lost a boot in the creek, why’s it just there? How come it’s not floating off, pushed along by the falls? Asshole,” Gull muttered as he dug out his binoculars.

“’Cause it’s a freaking rock. Or it’s some asshole’s boot that’s stuck on a freaking rock. Hell with this. I gotta piss.”

As he stared through the glasses, Gull’s face went pale as wax. “Oh, Jesus. Mother of God. I think there’s somebody in that boot. Holy shit, Jess. I can see something under the water.”

“Oh, bullshit, Gull.”

Gull lowered the glasses, stared at his brother. “Do I look like I’m bullshitting?”

Studying his brother’s face, Jesse set his teeth. “I guess we’d better get a closer look.”

They tethered the horses.

Gull looked at the deputy—the scrawny build of him—and wished he didn’t feel obliged. “I’m the best swimmer here. I’ll go.”

The breath Cy let out held both resignation and nerves. “It’s my job.”

“Might be your job,” Jesse said, as he got his rope, “but Gull swims like a damn otter. Water’s pretty rough, so we’re going to get you secure. You’re an asshole, Gull, but you’re my brother and I’m not going to watch you drown.”

Fighting off nerves, Gull stripped down to his jockeys, let his brother secure the rope around his waist. “I bet that water’s pretty fucking cold.”

“You’re the one who had to go see something.”

Since he couldn’t argue with that one, Gull eased over the bank, picked his way over the rocks and shale, and stared at the fast water. He glanced back, reassured himself that his brother had the rope secured.

He went in. “Pretty fucking cold!” he shouted. “Give me some slack.”

He swam against the fast water, imagined his toes going blue and just falling off. Even with the rope, he banged against the rocks, but pushed off them again.

He went under, pushing, pushing against the current, and in that gin-clear water, he saw he’d been right. Somebody was in the boots.

He surfaced again, choking, flailing. “Pull me back. Oh, holy bleeding Christ, pull me back.”

Panic buzzed in his head, nausea churned in his belly. Slapping and clawing at the water, swallowing it, choking it out again, he relied on his brother to get him back to the bank.

He crawled onto a rock, heaved up water and his breakfast until he could only lie panting. “I saw him. I saw him. Oh, God, the fish’ve been at him. At his face.”

“Call it in, Cy. Call it in.” Jesse slid and slipped his way down to wrap a saddle blanket over his brother.

 

 

 

WORD SPREAD AS word did. Coop heard about Gull’s discovery from three sources, with varying details, before Willy hunted him down at the stables.

“You’d’ve heard.”

“Yeah. I’m going by to check up on Gull.”

Willy nodded. His voice was still rough, but he was feeling better. “He’s pretty shaken up. I’m going over to his place, get a formal statement down if you want to come along. The fact is, Coop, I’d appreciate if you did. Not just because he works for you. I’ve worked killings before, but nothing like this. We’re going to have a lot of fingers in this pie. I’d like to have yours—unofficially.”

“I’ll follow you over. Did you notify Tyler’s wife?”

Willy’s mouth tightened. “Yeah. Worst part of it. I guess you did your share of notifications back east.”

“Worst part of it,” Coop agreed. “I’ve heard different versions. Do you have the cause of death?”

“Coroner has to give us that. He’d been in the water awhile—you know what happens. But it wasn’t a fall, and it wasn’t the damn fish that slit his throat. It wasn’t either that weighed the body down. Flooding hadn’t stirred it up, and Gull didn’t have eyes like a damn hawk, God knows when we’d’ve found him.”

“What did he use?”

“Nylon rope, rocks. Thing is, the way it was situated, it looked to me like the bastard had to get in the water to do it. Sick son of a bitch. Took his wallet, watch, pack, jacket, shirt. Left him with his pants and his boots.”

“Must’ve been the wrong size. He’d have taken them otherwise. No point in wasting anything.”

Gull had a little place on the other side of town, over a bar and grill. The narrow apartment smelled like him—horses and leather—and was furnished like a college dorm. With castoffs from his parents, his brother, and anyone else who wanted to upgrade a chair or table.

Jesse, despite his bitching about having to earn a living, answered the door. He hadn’t been ten feet from his brother since he’d come out of Spearfish Creek.

“He’s still a little shaky. I was thinking I’d haul him over to our ma, have her pat his head awhile.”

“That might be just the thing,” Willy said. “I’m going to get his statement now. I got yours, but could be you’ll think of more.”

“We got coffee on. He’s been sucking on that Mountain Dew of his. Christ knows how he chokes that down, but that’s what we’ve got.”

“Wouldn’t say no to coffee.” Willy crossed over to where Gull sat on a saggy plaid couch, his head in his hands.

“I still see it in my head. Can’t get it out.”

“You did a hard thing today, Gull. You did the right thing.”

“Can’t help wishing somebody else’d seen that damn boot poking out of the water.” He lifted his head, looked at Coop. “Hey, boss. I was going to come by, but . . .”

“Don’t worry about it. Why don’t you tell Willy everything. Just say it straight through. You’ll feel steadier after.”

“I told you,” he said to Willy. “And the rangers, too.” He blew out a breath, rubbed his face. “Okay. We were following the creek,” he began.

Coop kept quiet, letting Willy ask the questions when they needed to be asked. He drank cowboy coffee while Gull purged himself of the details.

“You know how clear that water is. Even after the storm, it’s good and clear. I went under, because I couldn’t get a good look with the way the falls were beating down, foaming up. I got a good look then. His one leg had come up, you know. I guess the rain, the churning, worked it up. He didn’t have a shirt on, just his pants and his boots. And the fish had been at him. His face . . .”

Gull’s eyes watered up as he looked back at Coop. “I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s not like the movies. It’s not like anything else. I couldn’t even say, for certain, it was him—the one we were looking for. Not from the picture we had. Because of the fish. I came up, but I swallowed a bunch of water. I guess I screamed like a girl under there and took a bunch in. I couldn’t get my legs to move. Jesse and Cy had to pull me in with the rope.”

He gave his brother a weak smile. “I got sick as two dogs—maybe not as sick as you did on a chaw, boss, but pretty damn sick. I guess I was pitiful enough Jesse didn’t even rag me about it.”

“I wanted to turn around,” Jesse said. “Bitching and complaining. I said how that guy, the one Gull found dead, was an asshole. I’m sorry for it.”

Outside, Willy puffed out his cheeks. “There’s some distance between the trail and where Tyler ended up. A lot of area where he could’ve run into his killer.”

“Do you think he got that far off the trail?”

“No, I don’t. Not on his own if that’s your meaning. Some, sure, but he had a map, he had his phone. I think he was driven that far, that’s what I think.”

“I’d agree with you. He didn’t want the body found too soon, and he didn’t want it found near his own territory. Drive the quarry away from your . . . habitat,” he said, thinking of Lil. “Do the kill, the disposal, then go back to your own area.”

“It would’ve taken time. Hours probably. The bastard got lucky with the rain.”

“He can’t stay lucky.”

“Right now, we’re looking for an unidentified subject. We can’t tie Tyler’s murder to what’s happened at Lil’s, or with the other murders you dug up. What I’m going to do is get Ethan Howe’s picture out, as a Person of Interest. My boy Cy kept that scene preserved as best he could. He’s green as a leaf of iceberg, but he’s not stupid. We got pictures, and I don’t think you’ll squawk if I happen to slip you copies.”

“I won’t.”

“Criminal Investigation Division’s combing that scene now. They’re not stupid either. If that bastard dropped so much as a toothpick, they’ll find it. When we get a ballpark on the time of death, that’ll help. We can do a couple of reconstruct scenarios. I’ll listen to any thoughts you’ve got on it. I’m damned if somebody’s going to get away with terrorizing one of my friends, and killing tourists.”

“Then I’ll give you a couple now. He’s holed up. He’s got a place, probably more than one, but one where he keeps the bulk of his supplies. He won’t have much. He needs to travel light and often. When he needs something, or wants something, he steals it. Campers, vacation homes, empty houses. We know he’s got at least one gun, so he needs ammo. He hunts for food, or pilfers campsites. And I think he keeps his ear to the ground. He’s going to find out you found the body. The sensible thing to do would be to pull up stakes, head over into Wyoming, get lost for a while. But I don’t think he’s going to do that. He’s got an agenda, and he isn’t finished.”

“We’ll be searching, ground and air. If he shows the tip of his dick, we’ll pull him in.”

“Have you had any reports of anything stolen from campers, hikers, houses, stores?”

“There’s always some. I’ll look over everything for the last six months. Maybe you’d let me deputize you, for the short term.”

“No. I don’t want a badge again.”

“One of these days, Coop, you and I are going to have to sit down over a beer so you can tell me why that is.”

“Maybe. I need to get to Lil’s.”

“You swing by, pick up those pictures. Badge or not, I’m going to use you.”

This time when Coop arrived at Lil’s he wore his 9mm under his jacket. He carted his laptop, the files Willy had given him, and three spare clips into her cabin. After some debate, he shoved one of the clips into his pocket and stowed the other two in one of her dresser drawers.

And with an eyebrow cocked, drew out a short, silky black gown with very sheer lace in interesting places.

He wondered why she always seemed to wear flannel.

He poked at something red and virtually transparent, shook his head, and dropped the black number back into the drawer.

In the kitchen he set up his laptop on her table, dug a couple of bottles of water out of her supply, then went out to take a look at the progress on her security system.

He spent a little time with the head installer out of Rapid City, and made his escape after the man figured out he knew something about security—and before he could get roped into helping with the wiring.

The good weather brought people out, he noted. He counted three groups making the rounds of the habitat. And the big yellow school bus indicated there were more on the property. Education center, he surmised.

She was keeping busy, and that was good. It was also too bad, or so she might think. But there were only a few hours of daylight left—and they had an appointment.

He hooked her horse trailer to his truck, loaded the horse he’d sold her onto it. He chose the younger and larger of the horses left in the stable, then secured that one in the trailer.