“Do you have a security system installed at your house?” he demanded.
She shifted on the seat. “My father arranged to have new locks on the doors and windows when I moved in.”
There was an edge in her voice when she mentioned her father that Nate had noticed before. He wondered what sort of relationship Ellie had with Judge Guthrie. Families could be complicated.
“You need a dog,” he told her.
She released a startled laugh. “Are you kidding? I can’t keep a house plant alive, let alone an animal.”
Nate was distracted by the unexpected sound of sirens wailing in the distance. Slowing the truck, he pulled onto the shoulder and watched as the ambulance zoomed past him, followed by a dark vehicle with a flashing light, going at top speed.
The coroner?
Ellie leaned forward as the emergency vehicles turned onto a narrow dirt road.
“There must have been a wreck.”
Nate pressed on the gas and hurried after them. “Let’s find out.”
She sent him a startled glance. “What are you doing?”
“Following them.”
“No,” she protested.
He sent her a startled glance. “Don’t you want to know what happened?”
“I’m a lawyer,” she said in dry tones. “I try to avoid the appearance of chasing ambulances.”
His lips twitched. He loved her humor. Probably because she so rarely shared it with him.
“I might be able to help.”
“You have medical training?”
“I have many talents.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re nosy.”
He was. The reason he’d been such a good investigator was because he was fascinated by people and why they did the things they did.
“Neighborly,” he corrected.
They bumped down the narrow road, seemingly headed into the middle of nowhere. It was nearly a quarter of an hour later when they rounded a sharp curve and suddenly the darkness was lit by a dozen flashing emergency lights.
There were cop cars, fire trucks, the ambulance that had passed them, along with the coroner.
Nate pulled off the road, studying the line of vehicles to the empty field, where he could see a large group of people gathered in the center.
“I don’t think it was a wreck,” Ellie muttered.
Neither did Nate. By the glow of the lights he could see a shadowed man draping police tape across an opening in the barbed-wire fence.
“Stay here,” he muttered, shoving open his door.
“Excuse me?”
He flinched at her sharp words. He was so used to giving orders to civilians when he’d been with the Bureau that he’d spoken before he could think.
“Habit,” he told her.
She sniffed, climbing out of the truck. Together they walked toward the deputy, who was now standing near the side of the road. Presumably he was there to protect the crime scene.
Nate’s gaze moved toward the group that was gathered in a semicircle a hundred feet away. He had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.
The men looked grim, but there was no urgency in the movements of the EMTs who were carrying the stretcher across the field. They moved with the slow formality of pallbearers.
Halting in front of the deputy, he nodded his head toward the knot of officials.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
The young man hesitated, clearly aware that he shouldn’t be speaking with the local gawkers. Then, Nate’s time as an FBI agent paid off. The deputy glanced around to make sure no one was looking in their direction, and then leaned toward Nate.
He spoke in a low voice, lawman to lawman.
“A 911 call came in an hour ago, saying that there was a dead body found in the middle of this field,” he said.
He heard Ellie give a faint gasp, but he kept his gaze focused on the deputy. He’d already suspected what the deputy would say. He was just glad there was only one body.
Murder/suicides had become far too common in areas that had been hit hard by the opioid epidemic.
“Do you have an ID?” he asked.
The man gave another hesitant glance over his shoulder before answering.
“Daniel Perry.”
“Jesus.” Nate’s breath hissed through his teeth.
He’d known that Walter was troubled when he’d talked to him this morning. Had the older man realized that Daniel was spiraling out of control? Or had it been the sixth sense of a father who loved his son regardless of the choices he made?
“Yeah.” The deputy offered a somber nod of his head. Daniel had been a pain in the ass, but it was still a tragedy for such a young man to die.
“Was there an accident?” Nate asked.
The deputy grimaced. “I didn’t see any injuries. My guess is that he died of an overdose.”
Nate would have made the same guess. His gaze swept the area, absently noting the emergency vehicles that blocked the road. Where was Daniel’s car? It couldn’t have been towed yet.
“Was someone with him?”
The deputy shrugged. “Nope.”
Nate’s gaze shifted back to the field. They were miles from the nearest house.
“Then who called it in?”
“Don’t know. They didn’t leave a name.”
“Can’t you trace the call?”
Another shrug. “Probably.”
Nate hid his grimace. He was used to thinking like an FBI agent, not a local deputy who was convinced the death was a tragic accident.
“Any idea how long he’s been here?” he asked.
“The coroner can’t say. We’ll ship the body off to the medical examiner’s office.” The deputy glanced over his shoulder as someone called out. “I have to go.”
Nate hesitated before turning to head back to his truck.
This was none of his business. Whether Daniel had been out here alone, or partying with a bunch of friends who’d abandoned him after he’d OD’d, it was the sheriff’s problem to clean up.
“So sad,” Ellie breathed as they climbed into the truck.
Nate nodded, cranking the engine. Her words summed up the situation perfectly.
So fucking sad.
He turned his vehicle around and they drove to Ellie’s house in subdued silence. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t shake a strange sense of unease.
Not just the disquiet that came from learning that someone he knew was now dead. But a heaviness that filled his heart with anxiety.
It was an anxiety that only intensified as he pulled into Ellie’s driveway and glanced around the empty darkness that surrounded her house. Statistically speaking, she was much safer in this remote area than in a large town. The violent crime rate in Curry was almost nonexistent. But it was hard not to react to the knowledge that she was completely alone in such an isolated spot.
She pushed open her door and was jumping out of the truck before he could get out to help.
“Thanks for the lift.”
He leaned across the seat, angling his head to catch a glimpse of her profile visible in the glow from his headlights.
“Ellie.” He waited for her to turn her head and meet his gaze. “Make sure you lock up tight once you’re inside.”
She gave a sharp nod before she was closing the door and hurrying toward the house.
Nate waited until she was inside and she’d flicked on the lights. Even then, he found himself reluctant to pull away. If there were someone lurking in the dark . . .
Muttering a curse, he shoved the truck into reverse and pulled back onto the gravel road. Ellie was safely tucked in her house. If she needed anything from him she would call.
He snorted. He was fairly sure that hell would freeze over before Ellie dialed his number.
* * *
Nate was up before dawn. Not an unusual occurrence.
After six or seven hours in bed his old wound felt like someone was shoving a hot poker through his hip. The only cure
was to get up and spend a half hour in a hot shower, relaxing his knotted muscles. Then he would pour himself a cup of coffee and head out the door to stand on his back porch.
He enjoyed watching the sun crest the horizon, the colors of dawn brushing over the flat prairie as his livestock stirred in preparation of a new day.
Leaning against the railing, he sipped his coffee and glanced toward the north. He couldn’t see Ellie’s house, but she often enjoyed an early morning jog along the road. He took great pleasure in watching her progress.
Hey, he was a man.
He liked to look, even if he couldn’t touch.
He’d just switched on his old-fashioned coffeemaker when he heard a vehicle pull into his driveway. He felt a stab of surprise as he headed toward the living room. It was early for a visitor, even in an area where most people were up at the crack of dawn.
Pulling open his door, he initially assumed that whoever was there must be lost. At first he didn’t recognize the shiny new truck that was parked in front of his garage. Then a slender man climbed out of the vehicle and Nate’s heart squeezed with pity.
It’d been less than twenty-four hours since he’d last seen Walter, but in the early dawn light he looked like he’d aged fifty years.
The man’s shoulders were slumped and his head hung low, as if it was too heavy for his neck. He was wearing the same clothes as yesterday, and his cheeks were bristled with his unshaved whiskers. Even worse, there was a shell-shocked expression on his narrow face that made him look like he’d just wandered off a battlefield.
Nate walked to the edge of the porch as his unexpected guest climbed the stairs.
“Walter,” he murmured.
“Nate.” Reaching the top step, Walter cleared his throat. “I know it’s early.”
Nate couldn’t imagine what had brought the grieving father to his house, but right now it didn’t matter. First, he wanted to get the man off his feet before he collapsed.
Grasping his arm, Nate steered him across the porch and into the house. Walter shuffled at his side like a zombie, allowing himself to be pulled through the living room and into the small kitchen.
“Have a seat.”
Nate pressed him into one of the wooden chairs that matched his table. He’d carved it with his own hands. Just as he’d carved all the furniture in the old ranch house. He’d discovered an unexpected peace when shaping and polishing wood after his early retirement.
Moving to the counter, he poured a large mug of coffee and added several teaspoons of sugar before placing it in Walter’s shaky hand. Wasn’t sugar supposed to help with shock?
“Thanks.” Walter absently sipped the steaming liquid.
“Have you eaten?” Nate asked. “I have some fresh muffins or I can scramble some eggs.”
“No.” Walter shook his head. “I couldn’t eat. Not today.”
Nate grimaced. “I really don’t know what to say except that I’m sorry as hell.”
“It’s crazy.” Walter shook his head. “I’ve spent years waiting for something bad to happen to Daniel. I thought he’d end up in jail. Or dead in a drunk driving accident.” There was a painful pause. “Not this.”
“No one can ever be prepared to lose a child,” Nate murmured, then he flinched. Jesus, the words sounded so trite.
Walter seemed to agree. He released a sharp, humorless laugh.
“That’s what I told folks for thirty years. But now the shoe is on the other foot and it doesn’t fit so well.”
“How can I help?”
Walter set the coffee mug on the table, the cresting sun slanting through the window over the sink to expose the man’s unnatural pallor.
“I want the truth.”
“The truth?”
“I want to know who murdered my boy.”
Nate studied his companion, not sure he’d heard correctly. “You think someone deliberately killed him?”
Walter jutted his lower jaw. “That’s exactly what I think.”
Nate tried to ignore the questions that had nagged at him when he’d been observing the field where Daniel’s body had been found. He was a rancher, not an FBI agent. And Walter was a father who was in the first brutal hours of his grief. Encouraging any wild fantasies could only cause Walter more pain in the long run.
Nate, however, couldn’t restrain his fierce curiosity. He had to know why Walter thought his son had been murdered.
“What about the sheriff ?” he asked. “Does he suspect murder?”
Walter curled his lips in disgust. “That man has the investigative instincts of a turnip.”
Hard to argue with that. “Have they determined a cause of death?”
A muscle ticked at the base of Walter’s jaw. As if he was clenching and unclenching his teeth.
“Nothing official, but everyone assumes Daniel died of an overdose.”
“But not you?”
Walter instantly looked defensive. “I’m not a fool. I know Daniel did more than just drink. From what I heard he was willing to experiment with anything that could get him high. Hell, he was caught trying to steal painkillers from the local nursing home.”
Nate studied the older man. “So why don’t you believe he died of an overdose?”
“If he had enough drugs in his system to kill him, then how did he get thirteen miles outside town?”
Nate stilled. The question proved that Walter wasn’t blindly grasping at someone to blame for his son’s death. He was thinking as a lawman on some level.
“Where is Daniel’s vehicle?”
“They found it parked behind the tavern.”
“Which one?” Nate asked. There was a grand total of three taverns in town.
“The Lodge.”
Nate leaned against the counter. The Lodge was the largest bar and it attracted a younger, rougher crowd than the others.
“He could have hooked up with friends and then headed out to the field to party with them in private. If something happened to Daniel, they might have bailed on him,” Nate said, unable to think of a kind way to describe the life of an addict. Lost in the grip of their habit, they had no morals or principles.
Without warning, Walter slammed his open hand on the table. The mug bounced to the side from the force of the blow, slopping coffee onto the glossy wood.
“But why there?” he snarled.
Nate frowned. Was that fear in the man’s pale eyes?
“What do you mean?”
“Why that field?”
It was a question that Nate hadn’t really considered. Not until this moment.
“It’s isolated,” he at last said.
“There are a lot of fields closer to town that are just as isolated,” Walter snapped. “Besides, Daniel has his own trailer that I bought for him. Why not party there?”
Nate paused. He wasn’t sure why Walter was obsessing over where Daniel had gone to party. Maybe it was because he’d grown up in a city, but one field was like another as far as he was concerned.
“What do you think happened?” he demanded.
Walter abruptly looked away, his chest expanding as he sucked in a deep breath. It was like he was swallowing some huge emotion.
Then, with an effort, he forced himself to answer Nate’s question.
“Two months ago, I caught Daniel dealing drugs out of my basement. That’s why I kicked him out,” he said. “I wasn’t going to tolerate having a line of losers going in and out of my own damned house.”
Nate had a vague suspicion that Walter wasn’t being completely honest with him. Or rather, that he was leaving out information.
A typical response.
Even people who were desperate to learn what had happened to their loved ones would often be less than truthful. Sometimes it was to protect the reputation of the recently dead. Or to hide a family secret. Or sometimes, it was a reflexive action when talking to law enforcement.
Nate didn’t try to press the older man. Right now, he was more interested in Walter’s gut i
nstincts about his son and the people who might have been with him when he died.
“You think it might have been a drug deal gone bad?”
“It’s possible. Or . . .” His words trailed away.
“Or what?”
Walter hunched a shoulder. “I just want to know if someone deliberately lured my boy to that field and killed him. Will you do that for me?”
Ah. So, Walter wanted more than just to vent his frustrated grief. He actually expected Nate to investigate his son’s death.
Nate parted his lips to say no. The last thing he needed was to aggravate the local officials by sticking his nose in where it didn’t belong.
Then he remembered Ellie’s flat tires, and his belief that someone had deliberately slashed them. It was far-fetched to think the two events could be related, but until he could be 100 percent certain he was going to be worried.
“I’ll check around, but if the sheriff decides there was a crime committed, he’s not going to want me butting into his investigation,” he warned the older man.
Walter snorted. “That lazy jackass won’t give a crap. He’s already decided to call it an accidental death and nothing short of someone coming into his office and confessing they killed Daniel is going to change his mind.”
Nate held up a hand. He agreed with Walter; the odds of Gary Clark actually doing his duty were slim to none. Still, he didn’t want to get Walter’s hopes up.
There was a good chance there was nothing to investigate beyond a tragic accident.
“I’ll do what I can,” he said.
Walter rose to his feet and reached to grab Nate’s hand in a tight grip.
“Thank you.”
Chapter Five
Barb Adams cursed as she tossed her cell phone on the sofa and paced across her living room, which was cramped and dark. Dammit. Where was Eloise? No, wait . . . she liked to be called Ellie, right?
When Ellie had first returned to Curry, it’d been hard for Barb to think of her as a grown woman with her own law practice. In her mind, she was still a precocious toddler who’d zipped around the office whenever Colin Guthrie would bring his daughter to work. But after Barb had gotten caught driving with a suspended license, she’d had no choice but to ask Ellie to represent her. She’d long ago burned her bridges with her old acquaintances, and there wasn’t anyone who would lift a finger to help her.
You Will Suffer Page 5
