by Rita Herron
According to Derrick’s count, there would be ten more bodies, a dozen counting Penny. And he was no closer to finding the psycho than he’d been before.
The ranger stooped down, intently studying the tombstone marker. The fact that he’d found the body raised Derrick’s suspicions even more. Had McClain put it there to make himself look like a hero?
“How long have you worked SAR?” he asked the man.
McClain’s thick brows bunched together in a frown. “I’ve been with FEMA and the NPS for about ten years.”
About the same time Derrick became attuned to the possibility that the cases were connected. “In this area?” Derrick asked.
Cord gave a short nod. “I grew up hiking the trails. It was a natural fit.”
Again, although McClain would have been a young teen at the time of Kim’s death, he fit the profile. And it was possible he’d started a violent streak early on. It was more rare, but it happened.
But he needed something concrete before he tossed around accusations or shared his theory with Ellie.
“How did you get into SAR?” Derrick asked.
Cord jammed his hands in the pockets of his work jacket. But not before Derrick noticed dirt beneath his fingernails. His clothes were filthy, too, his boots mired in mud. A serious hunting knife hung on his belt.
“Volunteered once on a search team and realized I was good at it. Sheriff Reeves suggested I make it a career.”
The realization that he was tight with Randall Reeves was enough to make Derrick cautious about what he said around the man.
A gust of wind swept through the trees, tearing pine needles and cones from the trees and scattering the wildflowers across the ground. Ellie caught them and put them back on the grave, as if she couldn’t stand to see it bare.
Leaves rustled, trees dipping and bending beneath the force of the strong winds, limbs cracking and splintering. The scent of damp moss and a dead animal wafted toward them, followed by the sound of voices.
A moment later, two teams of investigators arrived to work the scene. Ellie sent one team to the cave. Then she introduced Derrick to Dr. Laney Whitefeather, Bluff County’s medical examiner.
The ME stooped by the grave to take a look, and Ellie stepped back while the ERT began to process the scene. Two of the crime techs combed the area looking for forensics while the other two photographed the gravesite, then began to gently dig up the grave.
“How long have you known McClain?” Derrick asked Ellie. Anything to distract him from the nauseating fear that they might be uncovering his sister’s bones.
“Since I was a teenager,” Ellie said. “Met him when I volunteered to help on a search and rescue mission for a lost boy.”
“What’s his story?”
Ellie pushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “He’s good at what he does. He’s rescued countless lost hikers and injured ones over the past twenty years.”
“What about family?”
Ellie shook her head. “None that I know of, at least none that he’s ever talked about. He’s pretty much a loner and keeps to himself.” She furrowed her brows. “Why are you asking about Cord?”
“He found the grave,” Derrick said. “Could have stumbled on it, or he could have put it there.”
“That’s a stretch.” Disbelief flickered in Ellie’s eyes. “Cord may be the brooding silent type, but he’s not a killer.”
“Are you sure? How did he know that body was buried here?”
“You heard him. Wilson led him to the grave.” Now her tone sounded annoyed. Maybe she and the ranger had a thing.
Hell, he didn’t care. Nothing would stop him from finding out the truth about what had happened to his baby sister.
Ellie looked as if she was going to say more, but voices cut her off.
One of the investigators tapped his shovel against a rock. “We found bones.”
38.
For a brief moment, the ground in front of Ellie blurred into a fog.
She was seven years old, wandering the graveyard alone. Night had fallen and the wind blew dead leaves across the brittle grass. The silk roses and fresh flowers that had been left on the graves by loved ones stirred and fluttered over the mounds, like multi-colored fireflies. Whispers of the dead called to her.
“I’m here. Find me.”
She turned in a wide arc and searched the desolate cemetery. Shadows floated in a haze, the ghostly images of the dead rising in the misty rain.
“I’m scared, Ellie. Help me.”
A shiver ripped through her, and she staggered through the rows of graves, careful not to step on them. Bony hands snaked through the dirt mounds, reaching for her feet. Faces of the ones who’d passed drifted in front of her, hands locked, hollowed eye sockets dark with pain, mouths opened wide in silent screams.
She paused to read the names on the grave markers. One by one, she searched. A shadow moved by the statue of the angel and waterfall. Mae?
Suddenly, her mother snatched her arm. “Ellie, what are you doing out here?”
Then her father. “Are you okay, honey?”
Ellie lifted her hand to show them where Mae was standing, but suddenly she was gone. Faded into the distance again, her wispy silhouette glowing in a white light as she ran through the cemetery.
Her father clasped her hand in his. “Come on, let’s get you home.”
“This obsession with Mae has to stop,” her mother cried. “Randall, we have to get her help.”
Another voice dragged her from the memory. Cord’s. “You okay, El?”
The world shifted back into focus, and she gave a little nod. Although she wasn’t okay. Nothing about Penny Matthews’ disappearance or a serial killer on the trail was okay.
The sight before her was gruesome. The dirt mount, hand-carved marker. The tiny grave, maybe four feet long…
Ellie held her breath as the ERT investigator brushed away soil from the remains.
Bones.
Not Penny Matthews. Her body wouldn’t have decomposed to this extent. These bones were old. Crumbling. Fragile. Void of hair and skin and muscle tissue.
Which meant the child had been dead for some time. The ME would have to determine approximately how long.
Derrick’s erratic breathing turned into a pained sigh.
“Poor baby,” Dr. Whitefeather murmured. “We’re going to find out who did this to you.”
“Damn right we are.” Ellie explained they might be dealing with a serial killer, and that Derrick’s sister might have been among the victims.
Laney’s expression turned to sympathy.
Derrick cleared his throat. “Can you tell if the remains are male or female?”
Dr. Whitefeather yanked on latex gloves, headgear and lamp, then brushed away enough dirt to see the skull, chest and pelvic area.
“A girl,” she said, her tone somber. “But I’ll call in a forensic anthropologist to perform the autopsy.”
“I’ll have my sister’s dental and medical records sent to your office.” Derrick’s voice emerged as a whisper.
Compassion filled Laney’s eyes. “I’ll take good care of her.”
“Whoever left her here must have cared for her,” Ellie offered. “Or else why the flowers?”
Cord knocked dirt from his hands onto his work pants, but he remained silent.
Derrick’s dark gaze settled on the ranger. “The grave is fresh. The perp must have killed her somewhere else and kept her, then moved her here recently.”
Her father’s accusation echoed in Ellie’s head. Was it possible Mr. Fox had done something to his daughter, then faked his death? That he was the killer they were looking for? That he’d buried Kim here for Derrick to find?
“Let’s get her to the morgue.” Dr. Whitefeather stood. “Then you can figure out who’s to blame.”
Derrick walked by the river while the team began to carefully excavate the bones from the ground. One by one they laid them on the tarp to recreate the child’s body.
“Look at this,” Laney said, glancing up at Ellie.
Ellie crouched down beside Laney as she pulled an object from the damp earth.
Ellie’s breath caught. It was a hand-carved wooden doll just like the one she’d found in the cave.
A doll that the killer must have made and given to the girls.
39.
Somewhere on the AT
He hadn’t wanted to move the little girl.
But those damn dogs and the law were all over the mountain, sniffing and digging and getting way too close.
He’d had to wait until they headed in another direction, then he’d scooped up the child, hauled her to the ATV and zipped through the woods off the trail, the storm swallowing the sound of the engine.
“Shh, don’t make a sound,” he’d warned her when he’d tied a scarf around her mouth.
Tears leaked from her eyes.
“Don’t be a crybaby,” he’d hissed.
She’d cried anyway.
The cold blustery wind felt good on his cheeks as he’d put distance between him and the law. The weather wouldn’t slow him down. He thrived here in the wilderness, as if he was born to it.
Loud barking boomeranged off the ridges. Those fucking dogs were smarter than the humans, nipping and chasing his scent.
They wouldn’t find him though. They never did.
He knew the ins and outs of this mountain because he’d lived here most of his life. If you’d call what he was doing living.
Sleeping in the woods and the AT shelters. Making a bed out of leaves and vines. Stealing food from campers. Hiding in the shadows. Living like a ghost.
Watching. Searching.
Finally, he reached his destination and carried the little girl inside. She kicked and beat at his chest, but she was so tiny he barely felt her fingers digging at him through his winter coat.
“This is going to be your new playhouse,” he told her as he set her in the special box he’d built just for her. He laid a blanket on the floor and scattered little wooden dolls across it.
She looked up at him with big teary eyes, as if he was a monster.
But he wasn’t. He was just like her. He’d wanted a mommy and a daddy to love him. But they hadn’t. No one had.
Not like the pretty little girls they’d doted on.
“I’ll be back,” he whispered.
She screamed and he considered gagging her again.
But there was no one to hear her. Let her scream her little heart out.
He closed and locked the door, and she beat at the wooden slats as if they were prison bars. A chuckle rumbled from him at the fact that she had fight in her.
Once he’d had that same kind of grit, until it had been beaten out of him. He’d had to learn his lesson, the fosters said. That’s when they’d locked him in the cage in the dark basement.
Remembering the search teams, he hurried back outside and parked the ATV deep between some trees. Wind bit at him as he dragged branches and vines over the vehicle to shield it from sight. Not that the search workers would come this way. They’d stay close to the trail, as if they expected him to leave breadcrumbs for them to follow.
Idiots.
He gathered wood for a fire, then crawled inside the home he’d carved himself in the mountain. The old mine shaft made a perfect escape and safe haven during the worst of the bad weather.
The little girl cowered against the wall of the big dollhouse he’d made for her, her knees drawn up to her chest, her arms around them. Her head was bowed, and her body jerking with sobs.
Fear clouded her angelic little face. “I want Mama,” she whined.
He cracked the door just enough to shove a cup of water and some crackers toward her. Her hand shook as she snatched them and wolfed them down. Then she turned up the water and sucked it down, spilling half of it down her face. It dripped off her quivering chin like raindrops, splattering her pink t-shirt.
He stooped down in front of her and brushed her hair from her face.
Her eyes widened, big saucers in her tiny oval face. She reminded him so much of the first one he’d taken.
The one who’d gotten away.
The one he still wanted.
40.
Crooked Creek
The wind pounded Ellie’s Jeep, forcing her to clench the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip to keep it on the road. Rain splattered the windshield, a thick fog blurring her vision as if it was a premonition of what was to come.
Fear engulfed her, sending her back to the night she’d been lost. A storm had brewed that night, too. She’d curled into a ball and listened to the wind rip branches from the trees. Part of the dirt roof above her had been shaken loose and rained down on her face.
The chime of her phone dragged her back to the present. Seeing her boss’s name on the screen, she pictured him pacing his office and running a handkerchief over his sweaty bald head. She answered and quickly filled him in on what she’d found.
“Is it Penny?” he asked.
“No,” Ellie said. “These remains have totally decayed. The girl has been dead for a long time.”
“Jesus Christ,” Captain Hale bellowed. “The mayor is going to go apeshit over this. And the town will be in a complete uproar.”
They had a reason to be.
“Matthews has not been out of sight,” Captain Hale said. “Do you think he did this?”
“No. I think Special Agent Fox is right. We’ve got a serial predator.” Which meant they were back to square one, with no suspect.
She was snapped out of her thoughts as the Jeep skidded on the asphalt. Remembering to turn into the skid instead of fighting it, she managed to maneuver the vehicle back between the lines. Water spewed from her tires, falling pinecones hitting her windshield.
The sound of paper ripping echoed over the line, and Ellie imagined her boss opening up another pack of mints and popping one in his mouth. Ever since he’d decided to quit smoking, he’d been chain-eating them. “So what’s the next move?” Captain Hale asked.
“I left investigators combing the woods nearby for forensics, and another team is working the cave. Identifying the victim should enable us to notify the family and nail down the timeline of how long the child has been missing.” She described the dolls and relayed that she was on her way to the Matthews’ house. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and he left a print on it.”
“You’d better hope so,” he said, clearly agitated. A hesitation. “Shit, Mayor Waters is calling. I have to put out fires now. Keep me posted.”
Derrick remained silent as she ended the call, a deep-seated pain seemed to be simmering just below the surface of his calm. At one point, he closed his eyes and laid his head back against the seat, and she thought he might have fallen asleep.
How many times had he and his mother raised their hopes only to have them crushed? Had Mrs. Fox imagined bringing her daughter home and watching her grow up? Picking out homecoming dresses and comforting Kim over break-ups with boys? Planning her wedding?
How many times had she imagined burying her daughter?
The family wanted closure, but every parent of a missing child held out some grain of hope they’d find their loved one alive.
As sympathy flared through Ellie, her phone buzzed. Her boss again.
She braced herself for another blessing out as she connected.
“Ellie,” Captain Hale said, his voice shrill. “Did you talk to Angelica Gomez?”
Ellie turned the wipers up full force. “Not recently. Why?”
“I’m sending you a news clip. Just watch.”
Anxiety slithered through Ellie and she pulled to the shoulder of the road. She tapped the link Hale had sent and a news clip appeared on screen.
“This is Angelica Gomez reporting to you from the edge of the Appalachian Trail only a few miles from where Penny Matthews disappeared. Although the search continues for the missing little girl, this evening search workers discovered the remains of a child bu
ried near Rattlesnake Ridge. The identity of the child has yet to be determined, but rest assured, I’ll be bringing you the answers as soon as police release the information.” Angelica’s soft voice was appropriately solemn, the earnestness in her eyes almost touching.
Ellie wanted to scream.
Fuck. If Stan and Sue Matthews saw this before she had a chance to talk to them, there’d be a shitstorm.
She clicked back to the captain. “That information did not come from me, sir.”
“Then who the hell fed her the story?”
Ellie’s mind raced. “Did you tell my father?”
“Of course. I had to. He’s the sheriff, for crying out loud. The search teams needed to know to look for more graves.”
Ellie dropped her head into her hands with a groan.
“Had to be Bryce Waters. He’s in campaign mode now.”
“Son of a bitch,” Captain Hale muttered. “I’ll call Randall and tell him to get his deputy under control or I’ll lock the little fuckwad up myself,” he said, hanging up.
Ellie ground her molars, grateful her boss had seen through Bryce.
Derrick opened his eyes and looked up at her. “What’s wrong?”
She handed him the phone and let him watch for himself as she pulled back onto the road.
A litany of curse words spewed from his mouth. “This is why I hate dealing with small town cops and the press.”
She wanted to defend small town law enforcement but bit her tongue. She was pissed herself.
Heaving a breath, she turned the corner to the Matthews’ neighborhood. The last thing she wanted was for the couple to hear a body had been found and to believe it was Penny.
As soon as she turned onto their street, she spotted a news van parked in front of the house. Rage boiled her blood as she parked and climbed out. If Angelica had told the Matthewses, she might just kill her.
The reporter and the cameraman ran toward her, mic extended. “Detective Reeves, have you identified the remains of the child you found today?”
