Cold Lake (22 page)

Rachette stared at his computer monitor, listening to the patter of rain on the squad room windows. Despite the late afternoon hour, it was almost dark as evening outside and he needed to turn on his desk lamp, but he had too little willpower to reach up and twist the switch.

He felt a tinge of regret that he wasn’t out scouring the scene of Sarah’s murder for clues with Patterson. He felt like he’d betrayed Wolf once by getting caught unknowingly running drugs … running drugs for Christ’s sake! And now, instead of trying to crack Sarah’s case, he was staring at the seizure-inducing glow of his computer screen, trying to find a damn match for at least one of these bodies pulled up from the depths, something he was also failing at.

“Rachette.” Tammy was leaning out her door.

He looked up.

“There’s a Kimber Grey here? Says she wants to talk to you.”

He sat straight. “Thanks, Tammy.” He walked to the reception door and opened it.

Kimber Grey sat on the edge of a chair, her thick brown hair bundled at the back of her head, eyes big and wide and looking up at him.

“Hi.” He said.

“Hi.” She stood up and pulled down her sweatshirt. “Can I talk to you?”

He nodded. “Sure. Come on inside.”

She smiled gratefully and walked past Rachette into the Squad Room, and Rachette took a deep inhale of her as she passed. Flowers and fabric softener, he thought as he looked at her butt. Only for a second. It was impossible to ignore the perfect way she filled her jeans.

“I’ve been sitting at the hotel all day, and I just wanted to see how things were progressing?”

He exhaled with a somber nod and motioned for her to sit in front of his desk.

Patterson’s desk phone began to trill.

“With things up at the lake?”

She nodded and sat down. She crossed her legs and pulled a piece of escaped hair behind her ear.

He sat down. “Yeah. Well, we had a little incident in town, and haven’t gotten up there today. The rescue divers have been up there all day trying to fish a … trying to exhume something they found yesterday.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Really? Another body?”

“Well, I don’t want to speculate. It’s not in the same spot that the other bodies, and your father, were found. They’re searching more straight out from Olin Heeter’s place. Still no word yet, though. It’s too deep to dive to, and it’s not like we have submarines up here in the Rockies.”

“Ah.” She nodded and looked down at her hands.

Her eyelashes were so long, her lips so smooth. Even after so much time, over two years now, he recalled the way she kissed. So hungry and passionate, and then so quick to switch it off. He remembered it like it was yesterday. It was a typical shoot-down of the variety he’d endured many times before—one second he’s making out with them, the next they come to their senses. But her shoot-down had stung badly, and he still remembered exactly how he’d screwed up the moment. They’d gotten into his car in full steamy mode, and he had his uniform in the back seat. He had pointed at it and told her
See that? I’m a man in uniform. You like men in uniform?

Apparently she didn’t. Because that had been the end of their kiss, and the end of any sort of meaningful communication they’d had with one another until this moment now.

“Tom?” She was looking at him with raised eyebrows.

His face went hot and he stood up. “You want any coffee?”

“Sure. I was just asking, though, have they found anything interesting in Mr. Heeter’s house?”

He walked out from behind his desk. “No I mean, I can’t really talk about it.” He paused at the coffee machine and frowned. “So when is the last time you saw him?”

“Geez, I don’t know. It’s been a couple of weeks, I guess. He usually spends most of his weekends up there during the summer, but I didn’t see him this last weekend, or the one before that, I guess.”

“You want cream and sugar?” Rachette held up a cup of steaming coffee.

“No thanks. Black.”

He walked over and sat it down in front of her.

Patterson’s desk phone rang again.

He jerked his head towards it and then got up. “Just a second. Someone keeps calling her damn phone. Hello?”

There was shuffling on the other end and then a man clearing his throat. “Hello. I was looking for Deputy Patterson?”

“Yeah. Are you the one that keeps calling?”

“I called just before this, but I didn’t leave a message. Then I called your dispatcher and got your fax number. I was just calling back now to let her know that I was going to fax her over some files of interest we have.”

Rachette frowned. “And who is this?”

“Oh sorry. This is Deputy Michelson, Boise Sheriff’s Department.”

“Boise?”

“Idaho.”

“Yeah, I know where Boise, Idaho is. I’m just wondering why you’re calling.”

“I’m calling because Deputy Patterson called last night about a VIN number. And we got to talking about the bodies you’ve been pulling up from that lake down there.”

“Yeah?”

“I just got off the phone with a retiree from our department, a guy who lives up state. He called talking about an unsolved case we have from twenty-four years ago. This retiree worked the case all those years ago. Anyway, he saw the news stories they’re plastering all over the TV about those headless bodies you’re pulling up down there, and he swears there’s a connection to his case way back when. Looks like they had a body that showed up, killed with the same M.O..”

Rachette leaned on the edge of the desk. “Really? Head chopped off?”

Deputy Michelson cleared his throat. “Yeah. I’m looking at the pictures. I don’t envy you guys with eight of these bodies.”

“Seven. One of them was killed with a shot …” Rachette looked at Kimber and stopped talking. She had been staring at him with wide eyes, and now she turned away.

Shit.
Rachette was being an insensitive bastard, talking about all this right in front of her.
Her father was the one with the gunshot to the head
,
idiot
. 

Rachette stood up and turned away. “Sounds like we need to hear about this.”

“Okay, that’s what I figured. I just got your fax number from your dispatcher. I’ll send it right away. Keep an eye out for it.”

Rachette looked absently at Kimber and nodded. “Sounds good. We’ll look forward to it.” The line clicked dead and he hung up.

“Hey, Wilson. We’ve got an important fax coming in from the Boise Sheriff’s Department.

“Idaho?”

Rachette held out his hands. “California. Yes, Idaho.”

“What do you want me to do about it?”

Rachette exhaled. “Just make sure it comes through.”

Wilson shook his head and kept his eyes on his computer screen. “Yeah. Sure.”

Rachette felt his face blossom red.

“Deputy Rachette?” Kimber looked up at him.

“Yeah?”

“Can you do me a favor?” She raised her eyebrows and gave an exasperated smile.

He sat down. “Sure. What?”

“The reason I came in here is because I have to go up to my house, and I heard from Sheriff Wolf that you guys have seen someone up there?”

Rachette leaned back in his chair. “Nobody’s seen anyone. But someone is definitely up there.”

Her eyebrows creased together and she looked at her hands. “I have to go up there. I have to get some things, but I don’t want to go alone. Do you think you could go up with me?”

“Now?”

She exhaled. “I have to go. I left my laptop computer up there and it’s driving me crazy.”

He shook his head. “If you need to you can use one of our computers in here.”

She sagged in her chair. “I also don’t have enough money on me to stay another night in the Edelweiss. I don’t use credit cards, so I have to go get more cash. Listen, I’ll buy you a drink on the way back?”

Without even trying he gave her an awe-shucks smile that lit up her face. “If you need money, I can spot you, Kimber.”

Her face dropped and she scooted her chair back. “No, thank you. I’ll just drive up by myself. I’m sorry for bothering you.” She kept her eyes down as she stood.

“All right. All right.” He raised a hand and stood up. “Geez. I’ll go with you. Don’t worry.”

She smiled and tilted her head, her eyes softened with unending gratitude.

Rachette gave her a cool smile. “But I’m driving. I don’t want to be listening to Madonna all the way up there in that Blazer of yours.” He picked up his jacket and put it on.

She shook her head and rolled her eyes. She liked his ribbing.

“Thank you,” she said. “I feel so much better.”

He smiled and hooked his thumbs on his duty belt. “No problem. Hey Wilson. I’m heading up to the lake for a little bit. I’ll be back.”

Wilson eyed Kimber for a second and then nodded. “All right. I’ll be sitting in this dark room sifting through databases.”

Rachette pursed his lips and thought about Wolf. Where was he? Patterson said after he talked to Jack, he had driven away without a glance or word to anyone. The pity he felt for Jack and Wolf right now made him sick every time he thought about it.

“Could be worse,” he said.

Wilson looked up and nodded with closed eyes. “Yeah. Could be worse.”

Patterson walked into the Squad Room and took off her jacket, being careful not to flip water all over the papers on her desk.

Easing around to her seat, she looked out the rain-splotched window and read
Debate Cancelled Tonight
in black capital letters on the Town Hall sign.

“You see all those reporters outside? Now they’re all in the right place at the right time, glomming on to this God-awful mess for something to cover.”

She slung her jacket on the chair and sat down, feeling the ache in her shoulders as she reached for the computer mouse to wake up her computer. The screen for the National Missing Persons Database materialized.

“Any luck?”

Wilson gave her a sour look. “What do you think?”

She opened another Internet browser tab and checked her email.

“So what have we got up there?” Wilson’s tone softened.

She leaned back and rubbed her eyes, trying to vaporize an image of Sarah’s dead, exposed body from the back of her eyelids. “Nothing yet. None of the neighbors saw anything. The two people who heard the gunshots were over a mile away, on the other side of thick forest, over on Bear Hill Road. They didn’t see anything. No brass at the scene. Fingerprints are Carter Willis’s, Sarah’s, and the other two sets aren’t matching in IAFIS.”

Patterson and Wilson turned to the sound of the Reception door slamming closed. Wolf was already halfway through the Squad Room, head leaning forward as he marched.

She swallowed. “Sir.”

Wolf ground to a halt at her desk and dropped a plastic bag that knocked against the wood.

Looking down, she saw it was a brushed nickel doorknob. With raised eyebrows she looked up.

“Where’s the Pollard case packet?”

She snatched it off her desk and held it up.

Without a word he pulled it from her fingers and flipped to a page. “I want you to check the prints on this doorknob against these. And then,” he flipped to another page, “these.”

She took the packet back and pulled her eyebrows together. “You want—”

“Wilson, help her.” And with that, Wolf left the room.

“Yes, sir,” Patterson said to no one. She looked up at Wilson and they exchanged puzzled looks.

“Now!” Wolf’s voice boomed from around the corner.

She jumped in her seat and stood.

“What the hell is going on?” Wilson stood up.

“Follow me.” She grabbed the plastic bag and case file and marched out of the squad room, down the hallway past Wolf’s office and into the tiny box of a room they called a lab.

Wilson was breathing excitedly on her heels. “What’s going on?” He whispered when they got inside.

“We have to check for a print match on this doorknob to these or these.” She got busy.

“But … the first prints are Kimber Grey’s.”

“Yep.” Patterson flicked on an overhead lamp and bent it down.

“And these are the prints on the payphone.”

“Yep.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Me neither. Now stop wasting time and hand me that brush.”

Ten minutes later Patterson stood over the white sheet of paper and pasted the clear tape on top. An array of charcoal-colored prints crowded the small area looking like a cloud of swirling smoke.

With a magnifying lens she bent over and studied the patterns, looking for specific indicators. There were dozens of fingerprints on the knob, smudges on top of smudges, and most were warped because of the shape of the knob.

For a minute she bent over. Her lower back ached and she was on edge, the humming light was hot and making her palms sweat even more than usual under her gloves. Wilson’s exhales through his nose and shuffling feet weren’t helping the overall atmosphere inside the tiny room.

A few seconds later she drew in a breath and looked up.

Wilson stood straight, studying her expression. “What’s the matter?”

Picking up the card covered in fingerprints, she held them next to Kimber Grey’s print sheet. “The fingerprints on this doorknob do not match Kimber Grey’s print sheet.”

“Okay. So, what’s the matter?”

She picked up the fingerprint sheet from the bloody handset of the payphone at Pumapetrol Gas. “The fingerprints on the doorknob match these.”