Waking the Dead (16 page)
Cait eyed him more carefully. Special ops, she reminded herself. It wouldn’t do to forget that training of his. “Behave yourself and I won’t be tempted to pull my weapon.”
He snorted, and brushed by her to take the lead. “You ever pull a gun on me, Slim, better be prepared to use it. You won’t get a second chance.”
His tone held that cocky arrogance she’d so quickly grown to loathe.
Trouble was, she was pretty sure that arrogance was well deserved.
Cait wasn’t sure how many miles they covered before they happened upon another person. At least three, by her estimation. And he appeared to be a hiker. At least she didn’t see a campsite in the vicinity.
The man raised a hand in a halfhearted wave and would have gone by if Cait hadn’t greeted him. “Hi. Mind if I ask you a couple questions?”
The stranger turned his head. It looked as though a refusal was on his lips. She noted the instant it turned to something else. She squelched the instinctive flicker of distaste. A good investigator used whatever tool was available to do her job. And that’s what her looks had always been, a tool. If they could help her in the course of an investigation, she was ruthless about using them. The same way a big brawny cop used his bulk to intimidate.
So she mustered an easy smile and closed the distance between them, pulling the ID she’d been issued by Andrews from where it was clipped to a strap on her pack. “Cait Fleming. Consultant for the Lane County Sheriff’s Department.” She flashed the ID, but the man barely glanced at it.
“Doug Gates.” He looked at Sharper long enough to give him a nod before returning his gaze to Cait.
“I’m looking for a couple of men who might be in the vicinity.” She slipped out of the pack to remove the pictures and handed them to him. “Have you seen either of them around?”
Gates peered at the pictures for a few moments, shook his head. Giving them back, he said, “I’ve only been in the area since yesterday. My family is camping about a mile west of here. My wife and two teenage daughters.” His face took on a pained expression. “I needed a break, you know? Felt like I was drowning in an estrogen pool.”
Ignoring Sharper’s sound of sympathy behind her, Cait asked, “Pretty spot. What made you choose it? Are you familiar with the area?”
“Oh sure, been here plenty of times. I’m from Salem but grew up in Springfield. Every vacation I can recall when I was a kid involved camping.” He sent an aggrieved look in the direction of his camp. “Don’t remember bitching the whole time about it, either.”
“Guess it takes a lot more these days to keep kids entertained.”
But her words seemed lost on him. The man’s eyes had gone wide behind his dark-framed glasses. “You’re here about those bones they pulled out of Castle Rock, aren’t you? I saw it on the news the other day.”
“We’re interested in talking to everyone who might have been in the area.”
Gates grew more animated. Small wonder. The prospect of murder never failed to intrigue the general public. “My wife tried to talk me into going somewhere else after we saw that. ‘It’s not safe,’ she said. I told her, ‘Cops are going to be all over that area. What could be safer?’ ” He paused, as if awaiting her agreement.
“You should be safe enough if you take normal precautions. Enjoy your vacation.”
As Gates continued on his way, Cait gave the pictures to Sharper and took a moment to secure her ID on the strap of her pack again. He glanced at them before handing them back to her, his face impassive.
“Driver’s license photos aren’t the best likenesses to go off of. Especially ones as out of date as these.” He started walking again in the direction they’d been heading when they’d met up with Gates.
Interest hummed in her veins. “Maybe not. But you recognized them, didn’t you? At least one of them.” She’d identified the infinitesimal flicker in his gaze when he looked at the second photo. He knew the guy. Even if he’d claimed not to when she’d mentioned their names.
“What makes you say that?”
Cait grabbed his arm to halt him. And it irritated her to note that he stopped only because he chose to, not because her action slowed him appreciably. “I could tell. Quit making everything so damn difficult. Tell me how you know this guy.” She held up the second photo again. The one he’d hesitated over.
“I don’t know him.” He stepped easily around the pile of moss-covered rocks, his gait swift and sure. “But I’ve seen him before.”
“The second one?” she pressed. “Lockwood?”
“We haven’t been formally introduced,” Sharper returned testily. “He’s usually around the area. Sometimes I’ll see him over the course of the summer and fall a couple times. He’s not always fussy about where he sets up camp.”
Cait dodged the low-hanging branch of the fir in front of her. “Meaning you’ve found him on your property?”
Sharper turned to fix her with a look. “Trespassers can be a pain in the ass.” His meaning was clear enough. He hadn’t yet forgiven her uninvited visit to his land. “Campfires can get out of control, and I don’t open the area to hunters, either. But people don’t always know they’ve left the forest and passed over onto private property. Once they’re told they’re usually good about moving on.”
“And you’ve moved Lockwood on before?”
“Once. A couple years ago. You’re wasting your time. He’s just the type of guy who wants to be left the hell alone.”
And Sharper, Cait reflected as she slipped the photos in the zippered compartment of her pack, sounded as if he understood that desire. “These areas you’ve seen him in. Are they around here?”
He stared at her for a moment, his whiskey-colored eyes narrowed in annoyance. “Like I say, it’s a waste—”
“It’s less of a waste of time if we have specific places to look than if we just canvass this entire part of the forest,” she pointed out. “Of course, maybe you’ve decided you’d rather spend time with me than with your business.” She sent him an innocent smile, one he returned with a glower.
“There are a few specific places I can think of.”
Spying a large flat rock, Cait halted. “Take a look at this.” By the time he’d turned and come back to her she had the soil map spread out before her. “These areas I’ve marked with red are in the same general vicinity of our location, right?”
He bent down to study the map for a moment. “Within a few miles anyway.”
“Good.” She folded the paper back up and shoved it into her pack. “I’ll want to get soil samples from those places as we come upon them.”
When she was ready to move out again, he remained still. “Because of the sulfur. You said you found sulfur on the bones.”
She had, in fact, been very careful not to say anything at all. “Did I?”
The familiar impatience was back in his expression. “Well, did you or didn’t you? You’re also looking for sites where there are hot springs, right?”
“Not necessarily.” At least not anymore. She was going to turn her interest to acidic soils without hot springs in the vicinity and see if they provided closer matches.
His gaze narrowed. “A few of these people who camp year-round will sneak onto campgrounds and use the water and facilities. But most of them, though, don’t care much about those kind of niceties.”
She nodded her understanding, wondered where he was going with this. “I suppose they could always clean up in the river if they have to.”
His smile was genuinely amused. It softened his face. On a less irritating man, it might change his looks from merely attractive to devastating. “Doubtful. The McKenzie is usually forty-five to fifty degrees. But there are plenty of smaller hot springs on the edge of the river. Less well known. Tourists wouldn’t go looking for them, but lots of locals might know about them.”
“And so might roamers,” she murmured, consideringly.
He looked impatient with her interruption. “What I’m saying is, you might want to check out springs closer to the river. An isolated spot at river’s edge would be a good place for a kill.”
Chapter 8
Zach didn’t note Cait’s reaction. Not then. An all too familiar sense of detachment had settled over him. “You get close to the water, preferably where there are animal trails leading down to it. Shows there will be traffic when they come down to the river to drink. The news didn’t say how the victims were killed, but a blood spill is messy. Where better to do it than at water’s edge? What blood you aren’t able to wash away, the animals would clean up. The rain would take care of anything they missed. Wash it right into the river.”
It wasn’t until he caught her expression that he considered how his words would sound. Dark humor twisted through him. If those soil samples Cait had taken from his property matched whatever the hell she was looking for, his words would sound pretty damning.
But chances were if those soil samples had been a match, the gorgeous model-turned-consultant would have returned to Whispering Pines for another unannounced visit. This time bringing a search warrant and cuffs.
Her expression had eased, shifting to mere interest. “An intriguing possibility. But he’d still have to transport the body to that cave on Castle Rock.”
He gave a short laugh. Wondered if she were used to dealing with morons or if her reaction was specific to him. “Who do you think you’re talking to? I’ve made that climb, remember? More than once. It’s highly unlikely that anyone did that trip no fewer than seven times with a body on his back. Not to mention then having to haul it into that cave and to the chamber. Those bodies were bones before they ever got dumped there.”
Her smile was grim. “Given this a lot of thought, have you, Sharper?”
Soberly, he nodded, still surveying her. “Not much else to do when the whole thing is screwing up my routine. Still can’t figure why the killer would move the bodies after they’d decomposed. Seems like a lot of extra unnecessary effort.”
She was good. Damn good. Her expression didn’t change a fraction. Maybe she’d had practice holding a mask in place all those years spent before a camera.
“How would you have done it?”
He shrugged and turned to move again. “I wouldn’t have bothered with the cave. What’s the point? If it’d been me, I’d have buried them. Deep enough that the animals would leave them alone. There are lots of isolated areas of the forest. But the killer didn’t do that. So maybe he found a place close to the water, like I said. Gutted the victims and stripped the flesh off the bones, leaving it for the animals to carry off.”
“Interesting theory.” Her tone gave away nothing.
Zach scanned the area for a moment before choosing a direction away from the trails in the area. She was decent enough at keeping up, he thought grudgingly. Okay, more than decent. But she was going to find the men she was seeking in out-of-the-way areas, far from other campers and tourists.
“So in your scenario, what happens to the skulls?”
He kicked aside a pinecone as big as his foot and slanted a look at her. “I’m not sure. Makes sense that he’d want to slow identification.” This climate was far removed from that of Afghanistan, but he thought the same general principles would apply.
However, it seemed smarter, under the circumstances, to refrain from going into detail. “Maybe hiding the skeleton separate from the skull is just a way to be careful. Because people like you”—and it still blew him away that she’d acquired this sort of skill—“you can reconstruct a face from a skull, right? So it makes sense that the killer would do what he can to prevent that.”
“You’re thinking of forensic artists,” she said dryly. “But yeah, I’ve been involved in the three-dimensional facial reconstruction process several times. Any other thoughts?”
He doubted she was all that concerned with his ideas about her case. She’d certainly been closed-mouthed about it. But something made him say, “Yeah. Dumping the bones in that cave makes me think this guy is local. Or else he used to be.”
He felt her eyes on his back, like a green laser heating the skin beneath his black T-shirt.
“Why do you say that?”
Smooth. He had to give her that. Asked a lot of questions but damn sure gave no information away. Zach gave a mental shrug. She could keep her secrets. All he cared about at this point was getting this time over with so he’d no longer be on Andrews’s leash.
“I can see someone dumping a body far from home. But if I were driving across state, or even from a neighboring town, I wouldn’t go to so much trouble to get rid of the bones. I’m already going to believe they can’t be traced back to me. Dump them in a remote area and let the animals carry them off. If I hear on the news that they’ve found some of the bones, choose another remote area in the state. God knows we’ve got plenty of them.”
She said nothing to that and he made no further move to fill the silence. He’d already said enough as it was. Too much when you considered she’d been on his property, uninvited, trying to match the soil samples to whatever the hell she’d found on those bones.
Jesus. And to think he used to be known as the man with the knack for being in the right place at the right time.
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