by C. M. Sutter
“Should we go find a diner to work in? We can compile what we’ve learned since being here and have a coffee, too, while we wait to hear from the sheriff.”
“That works for me,” Renz said.
We had already checked out of our hotel rooms hours earlier, and there was no reason to return to Butte until we were ready to fly to the Utah location.
We found a cozy diner and took seats at the far end of the restaurant. Minutes later, with coffee and a couple of scones in front of us, we compiled the names of the officials, the locations, and the results we’d found at the Montana crime scene. I’d hoped to learn more if we had been able to get into the county registry for the brands.
We had just finished putting together our Montana report when my phone vibrated on the table. I looked around the near-empty restaurant and thought it okay to go ahead and take the call.
“Agent Monroe here. Yes, that’s great news. We’ll be there in ten minutes.” I hung up and passed on the message to Renz. “We’ve got to go. I guess the county clerk was able to access the files remotely and emailed them to the sheriff’s office since she’s out of town. The sheriff has the records on his computer.”
Renz pushed back his chair and stood. “I’ll settle the tab while you pack up.”
Chapter 10
After pulling up the records that were sent over by the county clerk, the sheriff graciously allowed us the use of his computer. Renz and I searched through at least a hundred patterns of registered brands from years gone by, all the way up to the current ones. The older photographs were poor and grainy, but by reading the descriptions, we knew we weren’t looking at any designs that matched the tool our victims were branded with. That told me we were either looking at a blacksmith who made his own brand—and it wasn’t intended for livestock—or the brand was from years ago and not recorded. Neither scenario helped us.
I texted Taft and told her we were ready to move on to Utah and that we’d already sent John Doe’s clothing to the crime lab. They would have the items by tomorrow.
After thanking the sheriff and exchanging contact information, Renz and I headed to Butte, where our jet was waiting. We would fly into Green River Municipal Airport and meet up with someone from the sheriff’s office. Most towns in the area of each crime scene were small, which was possibly why the bodies had been left where they were. From our research, Green River had a population of less than a thousand, but luckily, the county sheriff’s office was located right in town. Because the interstate went through Green River, there were hotels and restaurants in the vicinity, and we didn’t have to drive far for a place to stay or eat. Our only hiccup was that the state medical examiner’s office was in Taylorsville, a southern suburb of Salt Lake City and nearly a three-hour drive away. I was sure our meeting with the ME would occur via video call.
We reached Butte in the afternoon and would have an hour-and-a-half flight to Green River. As soon as our jet took to the sky, Renz fired off a message to our contact at the sheriff’s office, saying we expected to land around five o’clock. Deputy John Gilbert replied that he would be waiting at the sheriff’s office to take us to the site four miles west of town.
With nothing but time on our hands while in the air, I tried to get into the killer’s mind. Our investigation wasn’t about finding the perp—he was mobile and not likely a resident of any town we were going to—but to collect data, conduct interviews, and pass on that information to our headquarters for analysis. Our best hope was to find DNA from the perp on each victim’s clothing. Although the brands already tied the victims to the same point of origin, finding a DNA match in our national database would tell us who the killer was.
According to the autopsy reports, all the victims were estimated to be under twenty. They were a mix of young males and females, so the perp didn’t seem to have a preference for one gender over the other, yet all were killed at a similar age, anywhere from their mid to late teens. I was stumped.
“This is going to be a tough case to solve, isn’t it?”
Renz raised his brow and grinned. “You aren’t doubting the FBI’s ability to catch the bad guy, are you?”
I shrugged. “He’s on the move, and that means we have no idea where his base is. We can’t surveil him, interview neighbors, or take him by surprise when he’s a ghost. None of his victims are necessarily from the area where they were found either.”
Renz held up his hands. “I can damn near guarantee that none of the victims are local to those areas. The towns are small, there aren’t any reports of missing teens, and because they all have the same brands that are at least six months to a year old, I’d say if anyone was looking for them, it had to be quite a while ago, and all the cases have long since gone cold.”
“So back to what I said, we might not solve these murders. Hell, we don’t even know why they’re being killed.”
“That’s true, but if we get a DNA hit, all of our questions will be answered.”
I shook my head. “And if we don’t?”
“Then it’s going to be a lot harder.”
I stared out the window and watched as clouds passed by and wondered if the black ones in the distance were an omen. As far as I could tell, the only way to catch the killer was to catch him in the act of dumping bodies. Without actually reading his mind, we had no way to know where he’d come from, where he was going, how many bodies he would move in one trip, how he was transporting them, or the location where the kids were being held before they were shot. Why they were killed at all was a question that burned in my mind just like those brands burned their skin, and at that point, we didn’t know a damn thing.
I must have dozed off, but I was awakened by disturbing dreams of dead kids being tossed to the side of the interstate. I jumped and opened my eyes, and Renz was staring at me.
“You okay?”
I sighed. “Yeah, just bad dreams of dead kids.”
Renz frowned. “We have another half hour to go. Want a coffee to help wake up?”
I smiled. “Thanks, partner. That sounds good.” I pulled two Snickers bars from my purse while Renz filled the cups.
He returned to his side of the table and grinned. “What’s this?”
“A snack. Between the coffee and chocolate, we should be alert for a good four hours, I’d think.”
“Thanks.” Renz tore open the wrapper and took a bite.
I’d already polished off half of mine, but there was more where that came from if needed.
Chapter 11
Bart swung the shovel over his head and gave the grave another smack to firmly pack the loose dirt. When he heard the four-wheelers approaching, he looked up. Shielding his eyes with his gloved hand, he squinted at the vehicles then jammed the end of the shovel in the dirt, clearly irritated that he didn’t see Cassie with his men. “Where the hell is she?”
“She’s in the wind, Boss, and we can’t find her.”
Bart cursed the lack of effort and spewed the brunt of his anger at Malcolm. “You have no excuse to come back empty-handed. I believe I said to stay out there until you had her in your possession—dead or alive. Did you all forget how to hunt? Game is game. It doesn’t matter if they run on four legs or two.”
“But we never caught sight of her after she reached the rocks. That’s vast country out there, and on foot, there’s no way to tell what direction she went in and no tracks to follow.”
“Then get a drone up in the air. I don’t care how you do it. Just find her. If that bitch reaches a road and gets help, she’s going to start naming names. She might not know how to get back here, but law enforcement will figure it out.”
Malcolm looked at the sky. Thunderclouds had moved in, and spring rainstorms were wicked and dangerous in mountain country. Not only that, but the temperature had dropped significantly in the last fifteen minutes.
“Boss, she isn’t going anywhere, and it’ll be dark in an hour. She’ll hunker down under a bush or outcropping and try to stay warm and dry. If sh
e wanders out in the rain, she’ll slip on those slick rocks and go right over an edge. I for one don’t want that happening to myself or any of the guys.”
Bart pierced the dirt with the blade of the shovel again. “All of your lives will be on the line if you don’t find her tomorrow. Do each and every one of you understand that clearly?”
They assured Bart that they did. The last thing any of them wanted to do was piss off their boss more than he already was. They could easily be digging their own graves right next to Jolie’s.
“Make the call, Malcolm, and get a drone and operator out here first thing in the morning. Have him show you how to operate it and then send him on his way. Tell him we want it for a twenty-four-hour rental.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll get right on that.”
“Good. Justin, get over here and finish packing down this dirt and then throw a tarp over it. I don’t want the rain washing anything away. Make sure you place rocks on the tarp to hold it down.”
“Roger that, sir.”
“Donny, give Clint a hand corralling the kids. It’s about to start raining, and I want all of them accounted for and locked up for the night. You know how those flash storms hit. You can’t see more than a foot in front of you, and even rifles are useless in those conditions. You can take some grub out to them later.” Bart stared at the mountain range in the distance. “I don’t know where you are right now, Cassie, but once the storm has passed and the sun comes up tomorrow, you’re going to be in a world of hurt.” Bart yelled out to Donny as he walked away. “Make sure you remind the others of what happened to Jolie! Every one of them will meet the same fate if they try to run.”
Chapter 12
Cassie took a long, hard look behind her and didn’t see a thing. She scanned left to right along the mountainside and couldn’t see any movement, not even from an animal. It was oddly quiet, and as she looked to the sky and saw the dark, threatening clouds, she assumed the animals had found places to hunker down. If only she were that intuitive. She was sure the men had left because of the storm heading that way. If they didn’t get below the rocks and loose shale before the rain hit, they would be stuck up there overnight, just like she was.
Cassie hadn’t hit the highest point yet, but she was getting close. Tomorrow, she would reach the summit and look over. She prayed to see something other than a continuous mountain range ahead. Cassie needed to see a road or town in the distance, something to give her hope. She hadn’t eaten much since she needed to ration the food she had with her, and the journey over the mountain was taking too long.
What was I thinking? I had no idea where we’d end up, only that we needed to get away before Bart made us disappear like the others have in the past. This mountain is taller and wider than I ever imagined and much harder to cross. Damn it, I didn’t give the plan enough thought.
She wondered how many graves were on Bart’s property and how many kids had never returned from the mountains. There were times the men came back to the ranch with bodies, and sometimes, they returned with only their rifles. Some of the teens would be loaded in Bart’s cattle trailer, he’d drive off, and she’d never see them again. She couldn’t recall how many of them had disappeared over the years, but she knew one thing for sure—she would either get away for Jolie’s sake or die trying.
The rumble of thunder was getting closer, and Cassie felt the vibrations. Lightning strikes cracked through the air like the bullets had that morning. It wouldn’t be long before the rain pelted her body and chilled her to the bone. She needed a dry place to take cover until the storm passed, and with the temperature dropping quickly, she couldn’t afford to get wet. She’d stepped up her pace to find shelter when the raindrops began. It wouldn’t take long before she was soaked to the core, and if that happened, she would surely die of hypothermia during the night.
I can’t lie under a tree. Lightning might hit it, and I’d get wet anyway. I need to find another rock outcropping or a bunch of boulders I can crawl under, and I need to do it fast.
Cassie had to change course. Straight up was too dangerous because of the slippery, wet rocks and the lightning, and the rain was coming down harder. She continued on but more sideways than up. In her frantic search for a place to take cover, Cassie slipped on pine needles and slid thirty feet downhill. She came to rest against a fallen tree, scraped up and rattled. After giving herself a minute to regain her composure, Cassie got to her knees then stood. She screamed in pain when her right ankle buckled beneath her. She was in trouble. The slightest amount of weight she put on that leg shot searing jolts all the way up to her knee. Panic overtook her, and she couldn’t think straight. Cassie looked around frantically for a place to take shelter. She was running out of hope and time, then she saw it. She had a distance to go, but she had no other choice. She grabbed two downed limbs that looked strong enough to support her weight then hobbled to what looked like a small cave carved into the mountainside. Once inside that black hole, if she stayed dry, she might have a fighting chance.
Chapter 13
The jet landed at the Green River Regional Airport within minutes of our estimated arrival time. We picked up the rental and headed to the sheriff’s office. As Renz drove, I called Deputy Gilbert and told him we’d be there in a few minutes. It would be dark in just over an hour, and I wanted to get a sense of where the body was dumped while we still had daylight left. I planned to snap a few pictures of the surrounding area, the interstate, and the terrain too.
Deputy Gilbert said he’d be waiting outside for us, and Green River was such a small town that it took only a few minutes to reach the sheriff’s office. Renz pulled up to the curb. A man dressed in tan sheriff’s office garb waved and approached my passenger-side window. I powered it down and showed him my badge so there was no question about who we were. The man, about thirty and clean-cut, introduced himself as Deputy Gilbert and said his squad car was in the lot right around the corner. He pointed in that direction, said we would be driving west, then after a pat to the window frame, he walked to the parking lot. Renz made a U-turn and waited in the street. When Gilbert turned left out of the lot, we followed him out of town.
I sighed as we passed signs for the upcoming interstate.
“Whatcha thinking?”
“I doubt that one site will be much different than the next.”
Renz disagreed. “Sure it will. Do you think there’s anything in Kansas that resembles Utah?”
“Well, no mountains of course, but next to an interstate is next to an interstate, and away from town is away from town. Without buildings near any of the locations, there’s no cameras, and no cameras mean we’ll never know what kind of vehicle transported the bodies to the sites.”
“Unfortunately, that’s true.”
A few miles west of town, the deputy clicked his right blinker and stopped on the shoulder. He engaged his lights so passersby would be cautious of our presence.
“I guess we’re here,” Renz said.
“And it looks just like I thought.”
“Not quite.”
I frowned. “Why?”
“Because it’s daylight and there are cars zooming by. Picture the same area late at night when it’s as black as tar outside and not a car in sight. I don’t know about you, but that gives me a creepy feeling.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” I unfastened my seat belt and climbed out. We met up with the deputy at the front bumper of our car. “So the body was on this side?”
“It was. We’re assuming the killer was heading west, but—”
Renz cut in. “But you can never assume anything because as soon as you do, you’re proven wrong.”
“Boy, if that isn’t a fact.” Deputy Gilbert rubbed his brow with the back of his hand. “And I’ve been proven wrong more times than I care to admit.” He tipped his head to the left, and the dusty ground alongside the freeway coated his shoes as he walked. He pointed at an area thirty feet from the paved shoulder of the interstate. “Right there was wher
e the body was found.”
Several fist-sized rocks marked the spot. There wasn’t anything special about the location, just a desolate area of interstate away from town, away from lights, and away from the chance of anyone seeing the culprit do what he did. I pulled my phone from my pocket and snapped pictures of what was to my left and right, what was across the interstate, and what was on the side where the body was located. The mountains weren’t tall and green like I’d imagined. They were more sandy, rocky, and red. Tints of green popped through the brown surface grasses, likely because it was April and things were springing to life. The name Green River had made me think of a town with lush greenery everywhere. I knew Utah was beautiful, and I remembered seeing calendar images of parks like Zion and Moab with their massive rock formations. Along most interstates, though, there wasn’t much to see except billboards and an occasional sign showing the distance to the next city. I took pictures of the rocks that indicated the spot where the female was found. A typical Jane Doe with no identification, we were told. According to the coroner’s report, all she had was her tattered clothes, a bullet hole in the head, and a brand on her hip.
We thanked Deputy Gilbert for his help and returned to town. Tory had reserved a decent hotel for us that had an adjoining restaurant. The Green River Inn would be fine as long as the shower water was hot and the bed was comfortable. We would check the restaurant’s menu, see if we liked it, and go from there. The town had several restaurants to choose from. Tomorrow, our prearranged Zoom meeting with the state medical examiner was scheduled for nine a.m.
“Hmm…”
“Interpret, please,” Renz said.
“I just thought of something, and although it’s a long shot, it could help.”
“I’m all ears.”
“Our crime lab will be testing the items of clothing for the perp’s DNA.”
