by C. M. Sutter
“No matching fingerprints or DNA on file for any of them. As far as names, we don’t have any,” Renz said.
Sheriff Petrie scratched his chin. “Yeah, that’s right. They’re all John and Jane Does. No prints, no ID’s.” He raised his brows. “How about putting all five of their faces on the evening news?”
I pulled back. “Not with bullet holes in their foreheads, and when eyes are closed, it’s nearly impossible to ID anyone.”
“An expert can photoshop out the bullet holes and alter their eyes to be open with the correct color. I’ve seen it done, and they can do pretty amazing things.”
I was optimistic until I remembered how long brands took to heal. “That isn’t the worst idea, but the brands are old. Who knows how long those kids have been with their captor. We don’t know if anyone is even looking for them since we have no idea how long they’ve been gone.”
“And nothing in the missing persons database. That’s going to be a tough case to solve.”
Renz spoke up. “You’ve got that right. Our boss even double-checked the database before we left Milwaukee. No facial matches and, like we’ve said, no names to go by.”
“Wow, you’ve really got a mystery on your hands. I’ll admit, I don’t envy your job.”
I nodded. “Sometimes, I don’t like the job myself until a capture is made, and then it’s all worthwhile.”
Without any more questions and very few answers, we thanked the sheriff and left. It was time to move on to Kansas.
Once we arrived at the airport, I called Amber while Renz turned in the rental car. The jet was fueling up for the next leg of our trip, and so far, we were batting a big fat zero.
“Hey, Sis,” I said when she answered.
“You sound tired.”
“Nah, more frustrated than tired. I’ve had enough sleep. What’s the word back home?”
“Nothing much. It’s the beginning of a workweek.” She chuckled. “The bad guys slept in today from all the shenanigans they pulled over the weekend.”
“Anything good?”
She laughed. “Bashing in mailboxes with baseball bats. I guess opening day got their juices flowing.”
“Whatever. Bunch of morons. Anything else?”
“Yeah, you need to get your ass home so we can start grooming the yard and get the flower garden underway.”
I huffed. “That and a million other things. Just hire somebody.”
She chuckled. “You paying for it?”
“Hell no.”
“Then like I said, you better get your ass back home. Getting anywhere with the case?”
“Yeah, from Montana to Utah, and now we’re about to leave for Kansas.”
Amber groaned. “So that’s a no?”
“We’re chasing a ghost. Possibly a long-haul truck driver who might be transporting the bodies in his trailer, drives the interstates, wouldn’t have any fear of being pulled over or going through a weigh station, and likes to brand his victims.”
“Yikes. With a real brand, like, for cattle?”
“Uh-huh.”
“That’s more than disturbing.”
“I know, and now we have to come up with a profile for that type of person.”
“He’s a cattle hauler.”
“What?”
“A cattle hauler. Nobody is going to search his trailer when it’s filled with steers going to an auction.”
“How and why would that response just pop out of your mouth like that?”
“Normally, it wouldn’t have, but I saw one of those big rigs broken down along 41 yesterday outside Allenton. It was a huge mess, and all the steers had to be moved to another rig. I radioed for a couple of deputies to pitch in along the highway and slow the traffic down while the transfer to the other trailer was taking place.”
“You might be on to something, Sis. Gotta go. I love you.”
“Okay, and make sure to tell Dorothy hi for me.”
“Who?”
“You said you were heading to Kansas, didn’t you?”
I laughed and clicked off the call.
Minutes later, the plane powered down the runway, and I mentioned Amber’s suggestion to Renz. “Amber says our killer could be a cattle hauler.”
Renz frowned. “Why? Because he owns a brand? He could have bought it at a farm auction twenty years ago as a piece of nostalgia.”
My shoulders slumped. “Damn it, Renz, I think it’s something we should check out. Having a trailer full of cattle is a good way to avoid having anyone look through it, and if he actually owns his own spread and doesn’t use ear tags on his livestock, well, maybe he brands the steers instead.”
Renz let out a long puff of air. “Go on.”
“Think about all the cattle ranches in Montana and Utah, probably even the Plains States too. I remember a road trip to Dodge City once when we were kids. We passed an enormous stockyard filled with steer as far as the eye could see. The stench was horrific for miles, but there were cattle there by the hundreds.”
“Humph.”
“Also, what about that famous company that sells steak online?”
“That’s in Omaha.”
“Even better. We’re going to Nebraska, too, you know. And Kansas City is famous for steak, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, but I believe that’s Kansas City, Missouri.”
I waved away his comment. “And we’re going to Missouri as well, but you know the point I’m trying to make.”
Renz wagged his finger at me. “Take a breath, Monroe. So if the killer is just a driver, we’d have to search one way. And if he owns his own ranch and trucking business, we’d have to search a different way. Question is, do cattle haulers haul anything else? Meaning do they work for a trucking company and cattle just happen to be the product they’re moving at the time, or do they only haul cattle for trucking companies that specialize in moving livestock?”
I groaned at the enormity of the search we could be in for. Was I opening a Pandora’s box that had nothing to do with our murder case? “Good question, and I don’t have the slightest idea. I wonder about ranchers too. There have to be thousands of ranchers in the United States, but do they make a call and the trucker comes and picks up the animals that are going to auction, or do they haul the animals themselves?”
“I guess it depends. If a ranch owner has a lot of help, either they could make the drive themself, or a ranch hand could. It would likely save money, and if they were doing anything nefarious, nobody would know.”
“It’s something the team could work on. They’re supposed to be helping any way they can while we’re gone.”
“True.” Renz pulled his phone from his pocket. “I’ll get Taft’s take on it.”
I nodded. “And I’ll start a new list of questions to ask the locals and law enforcement. I’ll also email those same questions to the sheriff’s departments in Whitehall and Green River.”
Chapter 18
We had been in the air for twenty minutes. Renz finally ended his phone call with Taft, and I had written down the latest questions we would field to law enforcement at our remaining sites. I’d sent off those same questions and asked for opinions from the sheriff’s offices in Montana and Utah. Short of finding ranches in every state that bought and sold cattle at livestock auctions, I had no idea how to proceed. Even if we got a list of names, I doubted that the killer’s name would be on it. Someone who kept an unknown number of teenagers on their ranch and did who-knew-what to them had to stay under the radar, was a recluse, and likely dealt with few outsiders. That made me think the person in charge was hauling the cattle himself. Another thought popped into my head, and I needed to share it with Renz.
“Got a minute?”
“You mean from me catching an hour of shut-eye?”
“Sorry, but it’s important, and I need feedback. I have to write this stuff down and discuss it, or it’ll evaporate from my mind.”
Renz stretched, sat up straight, and gave me his attention.
I smiled. “Thanks, pal.”
“Sure, go ahead.”
“Several things. First, the whole cattle-hauling thing could be a ruse.”
“Aimed at who and for what purpose?”
“To avoid having a cattle trailer searched. Even if he said he was going back to wherever he lives with an empty trailer, do you think anyone is going to enter said trailer if there’s the chance of cattle crap everywhere? There could very well be a hidden compartment beneath the floorboards. I’ve seen things like that before on TV crime shows.”
“Sure, but if he’s only moving a few bodies at a time, he wouldn’t need to go to that extreme. He could be using a personal vehicle instead.”
I frowned. “I guess there is that.” I swatted the air. “Back to the cattle-trailer theory.”
Renz yawned. “Yep, go.”
“If the guy is a rancher, he’d likely own a shit ton of land, right?”
“Not sure how much qualifies as a shit ton, Jade. Is that three hundred, three thousand, or three hundred thousand acres? I hear ranchers in Montana own miles and miles of land. They even own mountains. Can you imagine that?”
“You’re getting off track, Renz. So if said rancher owns so much land, then why not bury the bodies on his own property? Who would ever find out?”
Renz cocked his head. “Good question.”
“Right, so hear me out. If he really does have a cattle ranch, he’d need a lot of helpers to maintain it, and when a helper pisses him off, he might possibly kill them, load them up with the cattle, and dump them in a different state. The chances of getting caught are nearly zero.”
“So you don’t think we’ll catch him?”
I shook my head. “That isn’t my point, Lorenzo. I’ve been on cases where bodies were buried on the person’s property. Sooner or later, the landowner gets caught. Dumping bodies on the side of a quiet highway late at night as he’s passing through anyway makes sense to me.”
“Yeah, I guess it does. What was the other point you wanted to make?”
“Okay, if that guy actually buys or sells cattle at livestock auctions, why not stick to his own state? Why would anyone travel through five different states to sell their livestock?”
“Better prices?”
“No, dummy, because he wants to keep a very low profile and stay under the radar. He doesn’t want the locals to know who he is. It isn’t like the person who runs an auction house in Kansas is going to shoot over to Mr. Killer’s ranch in Montana and yack it up over a beer.”
“You’ve got a point.” Renz chuckled. “As much as your brain is always on overdrive, I can’t believe you don’t solve cases before they even happen.”
“Asshole.” I rolled my eyes. “Seriously, don’t you think some of those ideas have merit?”
“Sure I do. Write all of that down, and we’ll discuss it with Taft.” He pointed his chin at my laptop. “Meanwhile, pass that bad boy over here, and I’ll see where the auction houses are located in those five states. That’s probably the best place to start.”
I couldn’t help grinning. Renz was a good joker, but I believed he was taking me seriously and found my ideas valid. For everyone’s sake, I hoped they were. I knew one thing—if the whole cattle-hauler angle was right, Amber was going to get a side of beef for her birthday in two weeks.
We landed in Wichita at three o’clock with a nearly forty-mile drive to Wellington, Kansas, which was south and a few miles west of Interstate 35, or the Kansas Turnpike. Once we were settled in our rental, I pulled the contact information from my briefcase and looked up the deputy’s name.
“You know it isn’t a coincidence that all the cases go through the sheriff’s office instead of a police department.”
“Right, but that’s to be expected,” Renz said.
“Because the bodies are dumped along the interstate?”
“Yep. Most interstates pass through the outskirts of town, not directly through them unless it’s a big city. Don’t forget, the killer plans his dumps. He knows how far away from towns he’ll do it, he waits until it’s late at night and the traffic is really low, and he chooses areas around small towns, not big cities.”
I shook my head. “Then why bother? If he lives far off the beaten path, he can still get rid of the body even if it’s twenty miles from his home. He can do it one at a time in his own vehicle, like you said.”
“A messed-up personality combined with crazy makes for good murderers. They’re risk takers, adrenaline junkies, plus they’re all nuts. Mix that with a demented personality and somebody who was likely abused as a kid and you’ve got the killer cocktail. Why do easy and boring when you can do risky and exciting?”
I grinned. “You do realize you’ve begun a profile, don’t you?”
Renz shrugged. “Maybe, but we’ve got a long way to go.”
I found the name of our contact—Deputy Jerry Bales. “Looks like he was one of the first deputies on scene.”
Renz frowned. “And he’s meeting with us now? He obviously works the overnight shift.”
“Don’t know. Maybe the sheriff called him in so we could talk to him.” I glanced at the map on my phone to see the approximate time we would arrive in Wellington. “Looks like we’ll get there around four fifteen. I’ll give the sheriff’s office a call now and let them know. The report says the body belongs to a male and the dump site is six miles south of town. As long as Bales is ready to go, we can knock out that location today, get some feedback on my new list of questions, and go from there.”
Renz looked out at the flat farm fields as we made our way south. “Sounds like a plan.”
Chapter 19
Cassie had been descending the mountain for what seemed like hours. Her calves ached, and her injured ankle throbbed. She couldn’t focus on that. Getting to the road safely was her only objective. From what she could tell without stepping into the clearing, she had neared the halfway point.
Voices below made her freeze. They were heading her way. She didn’t know how many of them there were and whether she was being surrounded. As still as stone, Cassie turned only her head and looked around. She didn’t see or hear anything behind her. Any wrong move could give away her location. Slowly, Cassie knelt, curled up behind the boulder she had been standing next to, and stayed as small as possible. She was afraid to take a breath. She saw them in the distance, around fifty feet away as she looked through the sliver between the rocks. Their rifles, as always, were slung by straps over their shoulders. She saw two men but had no idea if more were out of view.
“She’s up here somewhere and not too far away. Charlie said the drone had her right in this area.”
Donny was speaking, and it looked like Malcolm was with him. Cassie would be shot on sight if they saw her, or worse, they could take her back to Bart, where he’d take pleasure in killing her himself.
A ruckus sounded just out of view, and a familiar growl sent shivers down her spine. Cassie couldn’t see what was going on, but by the screams coming from Malcolm, something horrible was happening. Three gunshots went off then silence. Seconds later, she heard Donny yell to Bart through his radio.
“Boss! A damn mountain lion came out of nowhere and pounced from a rock onto Malcolm. The poor bastard didn’t have a chance. That cat had him by the head. I took a few shots, and they both went over the edge.”
Bart’s response was choppy at best. Cassie couldn’t make out what he said other than the few curse words she recognized, but seconds later, Donny and the drone disappeared from sight. She remained behind the rock for another half hour before gaining the courage to stand up and cautiously go out. Keeping a close eye on the sky and not seeing the drone, she walked to the bloodstained area in front of her. Only a few feet farther away were signs of a scuffle in the dirt and a sharp drop-off behind it. She wasn’t about to get close to the edge and look over, but Donny and the drone were probably searching for Malcolm’s body below that ridge.
The fateful accident gav
e Cassie the opportunity she needed to continue on while Donny and whoever else might be there were preoccupied. Cassie headed right and walked a half mile before she continued downward. The road, in plain view, was only a few miles away. If she was lucky, she would reach it before nightfall then hunker down until daylight. She wouldn’t take the chance of darting out into the road when headlights happened by. In the dark, she would have no idea whose vehicle was coming her way.
Chapter 20
Renz had found nearly forty livestock auction sites throughout those five states. I was pretty sure the team back in Milwaukee was checking into how close any of them were to the interstates that our killer traveled. Still, assuming he was a cattle hauler was a gamble, and being right was a long shot, but we needed some traction to move the case along.
We had gone to the dump site with Deputy Bales, and the killer’s MO was just the same as at the other sites—thirty or so feet from the shoulder of the interstate and four to six miles from the nearest small town. The only difference in Kansas from Montana and Utah was the lack of mountains and the abundance of farmland—plus it was a bit warmer there.
I did as I’d done at the other locations and took pictures of the surrounding area and where the body had been found in relationship to the freeway. We sat in a small conference room with the sheriff, Tim Wright, Deputy Bales, and two other deputies, Mike Saunders and Toby Arnold. In addition to our typical questions about locals with felony records, crazy people in the area, or suspicious activity on the night the body was dumped, I added questions about the area’s cattle haulers, ranchers, farmers, or truckers in general who had a large parcel of land and were somewhat reclusive. The responses we got were that most farmers there were dairy farmers and not livestock farmers, but there were plenty throughout Kansas. Toby did mention a large cattle farm only four miles north of Wellington.
“The farm is on North Ridge Road and is at least a few hundred acres with probably the same head of cattle. I doubt if they’re trying to hide from anyone, though, because when the wind is just right, well, that stink travels for miles. Like I said, it’s on North Ridge Road, but I couldn’t tell you who owns it or if they raise dairy cows or steer.”
