Could it be a setup? In my unusually addled state the night before, that thought hadn’t even crossed my mind. Wonderful. Something new to worry about.
“Yeah, I guess it could be, but you know, I just don’t get the sense that they’re trying to fool me. They meant business.” As I turned the thought over in my mind, I knew for a fact that they wanted my help. The energy had been clear, if a little spooky.
“Watch your back, Em. I mean it.”
We fell silent as I followed Murray’s tire tracks, which were still visible from Wednesday night. We eased into the meadow and turned right, in the opposite direction of the enclave, toward the tree line. As we jolted along the rocky path that led through the copse buttressing the mountainside, Murray patted her pocket, checking her gun.
“If Clyde is out there hurt, we may be his only hope. I just pray that the Warriors won’t be there to greet us, because bullets won’t affect them.”
“We should be okay.” I glanced at the clock. Not quite ten. “I think they come out during the night.”
Just then, we entered the thin strip of meadow girding Klickavail Mountain. I stopped the car and we waited, looking at one another. After a moment, I took matters in hand and clambered out onto the grass. Murray and Jimbo joined me. The air was still, with only the whisper of a breeze. The drone of the bees and chirping of birds reverberated through the area, echoing with a torpid resonance.
Fighting the urge to jump back in the car, I cautiously rounded the fender and looked to my left, then to my right. No sign of the Warriors. Maybe they only came out if somebody mucked with the psychic energy field around here. Maybe they only came out in the dark. Maybe they really did want me to help them. Banking on luck, I hoped my balance was enough to prevent an overdraft.
I took a deep breath. “Now what?” Everybody jumped when I spoke, even though I’d kept my voice low.
Murray glanced at Jimbo, then at me. “We search.”
As a unit, we moved toward the mountain. Jimbo and Murray stepped back, letting me lead so that I could open up and try to pinpoint Clyde’s energy. Reluctantly, I let myself slide into trance, slowly dipping below the clear edge of consciousness. The droning of the bees became louder, and the hovering waves of heat intensified. Suddenly, I found myself heading toward a thicket of huckleberries and fern that covered a large boulder the locals called Turtle Rock. Mur and Jimbo followed close behind.
I let my feet follow the draw of the energy, skirting around a dense patch of brambles that jutted out from the woods, into the grassy meadow. Cautious, feeling like I was nearing something very cold, very dark, very—oh jeez! Up ahead, on the other side of the thicket, a biker was sprawled on the ground, his tank top covered with blood. And right beside him sat George, looking sick as a dog and totally out of it.
“Here!” I rushed forward. The biker wasn’t moving. George stared at me, bewildered, as I dropped to the ground by the body. I didn’t have to be a doctor to see that the man was dead.
“Clyde!” Jimbo hurried over to my side and grabbed the man’s wrist, trying desperately to feel for a pulse. He sat back, dazed.
Murray immediately pulled out her cell phone and began searching for a vantage point that would give her a clear signal. Jimbo glared at George, his eyes flashing. George cringed, but didn’t move. I scooted over next to the young man. He was sporting a purplish black eye and a few bruises, and he looked like he’d been through the wringer. Dried vomit covered his shirt, but I could see no other immediate visible damage. I looked around for his glasses, but couldn’t find them.
“Are you okay? Do you need help?”
He tried to fasten his gaze on my face, then blankly shook his head. I was about to ask him what happened when Murray tapped me on the shoulder.
“Em, can I speak to you over there? Jimmy, there’s nothing you can do. Clyde’s dead. Stay where you are please, so you don’t disturb the crime scene.” She led me aside, and when we were out of earshot said, “Did you ask George what happened?”
I shook my head. “I was about to when you came up. Why?”
She looked uncomfortable. “The M.E. is on his way. I need to question George. Officially, he’s going to be a suspect, and I don’t want anybody else bothering him until I decide whether I need to haul him in on a murder charge.”
George, a suspect? I stared at her, unbelieving. “You’re kidding? You think that George killed Clyde? I can believe that Clyde could kill George, but look at that dude. He’s a wimp. And look at Clyde.” The biker had been wearing a tank top and jeans, but no jacket. Even in death, it was easy to see how much time he’d put into sculpting his arms into formidable shape. “Compared to George, Clyde was a giant.”
“Remember the story of David and Goliath, Em.” Murray let her gaze trail over the scene. “This is so bizarre. You know, I got a good look at Scar’s body. Clyde’s injuries are suspiciously similar.”
“What? Now you’re saying George might have killed Scar, too?” My mind refused to accept the thought that George could have overpowered even one seasoned biker, let alone two. Maybe a grandma, or a paperboy, but the rough-and-tumble twins? There had to be another explanation. But then, reason countered, why else would George be sitting by Clyde’s corpse?
Murray leaned against a nearby stump. “Em, Clyde is dead, and who should be sitting right next to the body? George. I’m not saying he did it, but I have to consider him a suspect. If he’s innocent, why didn’t he go for help? We have to consider the possibility that he killed Clyde and then, realizing what he did, went into shock. And remember—we found him out at Miner’s Lake, near Scar’s body. He could have already known Scar was there.”
True, very true. And Murray was right, out-of-character acts could send a person into shock. So could some forms of psychosis, and if anybody seemed on the edge right now, it was George. I glanced back at him, he was casting looks at the dead biker to his left and at the very alive and angry biker to his right. “You’d better call off Jimbo or he’s likely to throttle the guy.”
Mur gave me a bleak smile. “Thanks. Would you go out to the main meadow? Keep a watch out for Deacon and Sandy? Show them the way here when they arrive. Meanwhile, I’ll go rein in Jimmy.”
Her cell phone rang and she flipped it open. After a few, brief words, she snapped it shut, looking stoic. “That was Chief Bonner. It appears that I’m now in charge of the investigation. Coughlan went into surgery for his broken leg this morning and he just had a heart attack on the table. They’re going to have to perform a triple bypass, and the doctors say his prognosis doesn’t look good.”
“Holy hell. What next?”
Shaking her head, Murray pulled out her notebook, and headed over toward George. I trudged back through the patch of woods that led to the main valley, trying to fit all the pieces together. Scar had been killed, even if Coughlan insisted on labeling his death as accidental. Now Clyde was dead. Surely, there had to be some connection between the two deaths?
And just how did George fit into all this? True, Jimbo had seen him get into a fistfight with Clyde, but had he known Scar? Coincidences happened, but something told me that everything going on here was interconnected. I just couldn’t see the threads yet.
I plunged out of the thicket right as the squad car pulled up. A line of bikers stretched across the entrance to their enclave, watching as the police arrived. Though their expressions were shaded from where I stood, their energy hailed loud and clear. Not happy. And they’d be even more unhappy when they found out their leader was dead. Of course, one of them might already know. One of them might just be the murderer.
Deacon Wilson was driving the cruiser, with Sandy Whitmeyer riding shotgun. I led them back through the thicket, where Murray filled them in on what was going down. Deacon glanced at Clyde’s body. “Stryker will be here in a while. He’s having brunch with his country club buddies.”
Murray nodded. “That figures. Okay, get George on his feet, if
you would. Sandy, start looking around the scene for evidence.”
Deacon helped George to his feet, steadying the young man as he swayed and almost toppled over. George muttered something incoherent as Sandy bent over where he’d been sitting. Abruptly, he straightened and snapped on a pair of latex gloves, then took a picture of something lying in the grass before he picked it up. “Detective? I found a knife,” Sandy said, holding up the object he’d found. The blade was covered with a reddish substance. Blood. I knew it was blood.
Deacon frisked George and pulled out a plastic bag filled with tablets out of his left pocket. “Add to that a bag of roofies, and it looks like there’s blood on his jacket.” He said something to George, then helped him take off his jacket. I could see red splotches on the hem and one elbow as Deacon carefully folded it and placed it in the paper evidence bag. Uh oh, that couldn’t be good.
“Roofies?” I whispered to Jimbo, who was standing next to me. “What are those?”
He leaned close enough to whisper in my ear. “Rohypnol. Roofies. Commonly known as the date rape drug. Some of the boys… well… some of them aren’t all that choosy when it comes to how they make their money.”
I shuddered. I’d heard of roofies, all right, but never knew their name until now. I dreaded the day Randa started dating. There were so many dangers in the world.
Murray handed the camera to Sandy and looked at the knife, then at the bag of pills. “Bag these and mark them.” She asked George for his wallet and, still looking thoroughly confused, he handed it to her. Money spilled out onto the grass as he pulled the tri-fold out of his pocket.
“I think it’s about time to put Mr. Pleasant here under arrest. Read him his rights, Deacon, and make sure he understands them.” She slipped on a new pair of gloves and began picking up the money that had scattered onto the ground. “Sandy, count with me.”
After they’d sorted through all the bills, Murray jotted down a note in her book and the cash went into yet another bag. “About a thousand dollars here,” she said. I motioned to her and we moved aside.
“You really think George did it?”
She shrugged. “That’s not up to me to decide. But Em, the fact that they got into a fight last night and Clyde blackened George’s eye… well, it looks bad. He’s got a lot of answers to come up with, and so far, he’s barely said a word.”
“What about one of the other bikers? Now that you’re heading up the case, you can question them.”
With a curt nod, she said, “Don’t worry. We’ll question them, all right. But Em, face it. A bloody knife? Blood on George’s jacket, and a bag of pills? Toss in a thousand bucks, which is just about what those drugs are worth? I’m looking at this and the pieces are starting to add up.”
I stared at her. She’d shifted into that professional Murray-as-cop status I knew so well. Resigned, knowing she was following procedure like she should, I flashed her a tight smile. Just because my intuition was screaming that George was innocent, didn’t mean it was true.
“What do you think happened?” I asked.
She shrugged, motioning for Deacon to take George out to the squad car. “Looks to me like a drug deal gone sour. The kid decided he didn’t want to pay for them after all, so he killed Clyde and planned to take off with the roofies.”
“What’s wrong with George, though? He seems really sick. Why would he have stuck around if he killed Clyde?”
Mur gave me a gentle smile. “Emerald, I thought you could tell. George is hopped up higher than a hot-air balloon. He’s stoned out of his mind and I’m surprised he didn’t OD, he’s so high. Of course, they’ll do a drug test at the station, but ten to one, he’s had his fingers in the candy jar. There could be a dozen reasons why he’s still out here—I’m sure we’ll find out eventually.”
Stoned? Of course, it would explain George’s strange behavior, but a niggling suspicion of doubt worked away at my brain. Yes, George was annoying, and yes, he was a downright nuisance, but I had my doubts that he was a hardcore drug user. Then again, logic countered, you never could tell with some people. At any rate, there wasn’t much more to do here except wander around, waiting for the medical examiner.
Murray had Sandy take statements from Jimbo and me, but we couldn’t add much to her official report since she’d been with us when the body was found. We finished up by the time Stryker arrived. As they clicked away with their cameras, I felt my stomach lurch and excused myself. I hightailed it to the bushes, where I said hello to my breakfast again. With my mouth tasting like sour coffee, I poked around in my truck for a bottle of water and then popped a couple of breath mints. Jimbo gave me the first smile I’d seen since we found Clyde.
“Can’t handle the rough stuff, can you? Just like a broad.”
I glared at him. “Next time you need somebody to go ghost hunting, look elsewhere, would you? I’ve found just about all the dead bodies I care to, thank you muchly.” I stared at the technicians who were working up their report. “I wonder if Bear might know anything about what happened. He was out in this part of the meadow the other night when Murray and I came out here and he says he lives out here in the woods.”
Jimbo looked mystified. “I still can’t figure out which one of the guys you’re talking about. Here comes Anna.”
Murray wandered over. “Clyde’s wallet is missing,” she told us. “He’s not wearing a jacket, either, and though the days have been hot, it gets chilly out here at night.”
“I think George’s glasses are missing, too,” I said.
She jotted another note in her book. “Are they? I didn’t realize he wore glasses. Listen guys, we’ve got a lot of work to do here, so why don’t you head back to town? I’ll ride in with Stryker.”
Jimbo gave her a long look, and I knew it was the best good-bye they could manage with other people watching them. As he and I headed back to my Mountaineer and we pulled out of the woodland, I gave a last look backward. An inescapable feeling that we were being watched rushed over me. I glanced from side to side, but could see no sign of anyone—human or spirit—observing us. Glad to be leaving, I started the car and we headed out of the woods.
Chapter 15
I MANAGED TO get back to work by one-thirty. After brushing my teeth and changing into the spare outfit I always kept in my office, I kept myself busy until Joe came in at around three. He held out his arms and I rushed into them, eager for the warmth of his embrace. He stroked my hair, then kissed me soundly. I motioned him into my office.
“We found another dead biker,” I blurted out when we were alone.
He coughed, eyeing me warily. “This ought to be interesting.”
After I gave him a rundown on my morning, he shook his head. “Emerald, you get into the weirdest predicaments. What’s next on the list?”
“You mean you aren’t going to tell me to stop poking my nose into dangerous business?” I didn’t know whether to be flattered or indignant. Up until now, Joe had pointedly emphasized my need to develop a suitable sense of self-preservation.
He laughed. “Ha! First you complain because you say I’m too protective. Now you think I’m not being protective enough. That about the size of it?”
Sheepishly, I nodded. “I guess it does sound a little stupid.”
“Would you back out of this if I asked you to?”
I shook my head. “No, probably not.”
“Then why should I waste my breath? Nope, I’m just going to beg you to be careful. I love you, and don’t want to lose you.” After another short but sweet kiss, we headed out to the tearoom. Joe piled cookies on a saucer while I decided I’d better have some lunch. After leaving my breakfast out in the meadow, I was starving. I chose a tuna fish sandwich.
As I unwrapped my sandwich, Joe said, “I agree with you on one thing, though. George isn’t a killer, especially when we’re talking about one of those bikers. He’s a weenie, he doesn’t have the backbone for it.”
“I
know, but then again a number of murderers don’t seem to fit the stereotype. Look at Ted Bundy. He was charming, from what everybody says. And yet, he turned out to be a monster.” I bit into my sandwich.
Joe shrugged. “Yeah, but your intuition tells you that George didn’t do it. One thing I’ve learned over the past few months is that you’re usually right on the money. I trust your hunches.” He paused to wolf down a Russian tea cake. “By the way, I think I saw Andrew on the street the other day.” He said it so casually that I let down my guard.
“Uh huh, he showed up on my doorstep Tuesday night.”
Joe’s face clouded over. “He was at your house? What did he want?”
Oops, the green-eyed monster had struck. I cleared my throat. “Uh… he just wanted to say hello.”
“You’re lying.”
Anytime I tried to gloss over something, Joe seemed to pick up on it. I leaned back, trying to sound casual. “Joe, nothing happened. Andrew came in, we talked and about five minutes later, he left. End of story.”
“If nothing happened, then tell me what he said.” Joe stared at his plate, looking more upset than I expected him to be.
“Don’t you have to go to work?” I glanced at the clock.
He leaned over the table and took my hand in his. “Not until you give me a straight answer.”
I bit my lip. Harlow was right. I had to tell him the truth. “All right. Andrew’s fling with the starlet went bad. She dumped him, so he came crawling back to ask me for a second chance. I told him that you were my boyfriend now and I was happy with you. He didn’t want to hear what I had to say and he left. End of story.”
Joe exhaled. “Really? You told him about me?”
“What do you think I’d do? Fall back into his arms? Give me some credit, Files. You’re my man. I’m not letting you off the hook.”
“Honey, I just don’t like him hanging around your house.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Especially if he’s nosing around you.”
Murder Under a Mystic Moon Page 17
