He believed with all his heart that most people deserved their lot in life. Even if he hadn’t been tasked to do the job at an early age, he still enjoyed the thrill of the hunt, the kill itself.
Breathing out a low whistle, he looked out the plate glass window as the 737 pulled up to the gateway. He’d be home soon. He’d go back to his boring nine-to-five job and he’d make the best of things until he could…escape again…to do what he was meant to do…what he enjoyed doing more than anything else in the world.
There was such truth beyond pleasure in the kill. And he meant to savor every morsel of it until his next opportunity.
One
Present Day
Saturday morning
Bainbridge Island, Washington
Skye Cree looked out of her kitchen window into the rolling fertile hills that surrounded the old farmhouse she called home.
From her back door she could count the apple and cherry trees in the orchard. Her fruit trees had started to bud and blossom, bringing the sweet smell of March spring drifting in past the open windows. She’d planted a garden last year and picked the vegetables from it well into the fall’s Indian summer. She’d do it all over again this year.
When she wanted to take a walk, she could step out the door and follow the trail down to the tiny strip of beach, glistening with sand and sea glass. She loved to watch the turtles at low tide make their way onto shore and then burrow themselves into the sand. She could stare out at the water for hours and enjoy the view across Puget Sound. On a clear day she could make out the silhouette of downtown Seattle.
Her dream of building a greenhouse for round-the-year gardening had yet to see the light of day, mainly because she’d been a little busy lately.
The new mom glanced over at the fundamental reason.
Eighteen-month-old Sierra Cree Ander sat in the middle of the kitchen floor in a puddle, the result of dumping a bowl of milk and Cheerios into apple juice while sitting in her high chair. Not five minutes earlier peace had reigned supreme.
But not now.
Skye watched as Sierra kept trying to twist the lid off her sippy cup in order to add more juice into the mix. When that didn’t work, frustrated with trying, the toddler hauled off and tossed the plastic beaker across the room. It hit the island, bounced off that, and skidded on the hardwood floor. Content to swish the mess around with her hands, Sierra watched while Mama got down on all fours with a roll of paper towels and tried to mop it all up.
The family canine, a malamute named Atka, did her best to help by lapping up the mushy, soggy cereal along with the soupy liquid as fast as her tongue would work.
Sierra thought the whole scene was hilarious.
“Reminds me of dinner last night,” Josh quipped as he combed a hand through his black hair. His silver-gray eyes took in the chaotic mess, something that he termed, “Sierra’s topsy-turvy mealtime.”
He tried to help by slapping down his own portion of paper towels into the pool of soggy cereal. “Are we having fun yet?”
Josh Ander, game developer and owner of Ander All Games, looked over at his precocious daughter, who had her mother’s brilliant blue-violet eyes, black hair, and that fierce Nez Perce spirit that could demonstrate a temper when provoked.
But not this morning.
Sierra seemed to think the entire scene she’d created was the funniest thing since last night’s fiasco at supper. Dumping food on the floor had become her trademark.
“She’s going through this phase,” Skye began. “Lena tells me it’s normal. But I’m beginning to wonder if I should put down a plastic tarp just to get through mealtime.”
“Look on the bright side. This floor must get mopped more than any other part of the house. Sierra’s habit of getting rid of whatever she’s done eating and dropping it on the floor is keeping this area spotless.”
Sierra let loose a belly laugh and then proceeded to sing out like a little rock star. Although the serenade became something that only another baby might be able to decipher in like-minded code.
Except maybe for Kiya, the wolf spirit guide, who heard the baby jabber and responded by joining in the chorus. Sierra’s singing turned to howling and got so loud it was as if the wolf moon had risen right over the kitchen table.
Skye sat back on her heels. “A wolf that no one outside this room can see or hear but makes enough racket that you’d think a pack was after all of us.”
“I imagine Kiya’s trying to keep Sierra distracted while we do cleanup. It amazes me that she’s able to see her spirit guide at such a young age. You didn’t do that, did you?”
“Nope. Not till I was three, or maybe it was four. Dad says the stronger the connection, the earlier it happens.”
“Travis would know. Although I’m still surprised it happened to Sierra before she could walk.”
“Travis believes it’s because of you.”
“Me?”
“Because of your transformation with Kiya, wolf blood runs stronger in you now than in me. Even my Native roots don’t have a chance competing with that. Go figure. Hey, no one will ever be able to accuse this family of being the dull and boring type,” Skye pointed out. “Right, Sierra?”
The baby clapped her hands gleefully while the song proceeded in a louder, more raucous tone. The toddler bobbed up and down where she sat, singing to her spirit guide.
“Does she even know what she’s doing?” Josh asked.
“She knows enough. She’s obviously able to see her spirit guide, and that means she’s able to decipher its power. Wolves, like hawks, are considered to hold the most influence in the spirit world. For as long as I’ve known the wolf, Kiya has rarely been viewed as weak.”
“Even more powerful than the crow that belongs to Travis?”
“Yep. More than.”
“But he’s an adult. His spirit guide must be stronger than yours or Sierra’s. It’s been around longer.”
Skye shook her head. “You’d think. But the truth is there are no guidelines when it comes to spirit helpers. No one truly understands how powerful the spirit world is within one’s self, one’s heart. The wolf runs strong in Sierra probably because the wolf runs strong in you.”
“And you,” Josh echoed.
“Yes, and me. Double whammy for our little cherub here.”
“Our little cherub needs changing. Want me to get her into some dry clothes?” Josh offered.
“Would you? There’s a stack of clean tops and bottoms ready to fold in the laundry room. See if you can find the little two-piece, peach-colored outfit with the green lizard embroidered on the top. That’s one of her favorites.”
“I’ll take a look,” Josh promised, disappearing into the depths of the utility room.
Skye looked over at her daughter. “I hope you appreciate the fact that Atka’s licking up your mess. Your latest food bomb is particularly tasty so thank the dog for her help. And you, little Miss Doodlebug, need a bath. Daddy’s gonna take you upstairs and clean you up when he comes back.”
“I couldn’t find the lizard top,” Josh admitted from the doorway. Leaning against the doorjamb he held a substitute ensemble up to his chest for approval. “How about this one instead? The light purple top with the orange elephant and the matching pants?”
“Ef-i-lant, ef-i-lant,” Sierra chorused, raising her hands in the air. “Want!”
“We have a winner and a new favorite. That’s right, elephant. Daddy picked a pretty lavender outfit, didn’t he? What’s an elephant sound like, Sierra? What sound does it make with its trunk?”
Sierra made a screeching noise.
Josh scooped up the toddler despite her wet pants and sticky hands. “Hey, Peanut. Let’s let Mama finish cleaning up in here and get you into a bath.”
The doorbell rang.
“Oh, jeez. Is it that time already? I forgot Harry sent me an email this morning saying he planned to drop by.”
“No one from the mainland just drops by,” Josh pointed out. “Y
ou’ll have to remind him we’re not taking any new cases right now.”
With that, Josh cruised upstairs carrying Sierra like a sack of potatoes, much to the child’s delight.
Skye had to raise her voice to be heard over the giggles. “I’ve made it clear to Harry we’re taking the time off to spend with Sierra. There’s no debate. He knows that. This is just a friendly visit.”
But when Skye reached the front door she stared through the peephole to see a determined Harry Drummond standing on the front porch. The look he had on his face was more like the dogged detective she’d known for years rather than the friend she expected to chat up.
Atka pranced in place in front of the door until it opened. The dog sniffed Harry’s pants leg and decided it was okay to let the former cop come inside.
“Hey, how’s it going?” Skye said to the man she’d first set eyes on at the age of twelve. “Come on in. A bit chilly on the ferry today, I bet. How’s retirement treating you?”
Harry removed the bucket hat from his head and clutched it in his hands as he stood in the entryway. “What retirement would that be? Elizabeth gives me my daily long list of chores to do. She sees to it that I stay busy five days a week. That woman always has me doing something. I’m beginning to think it’s a plot against me.” In a mimicked version of his wife’s voice, Harry added, “‘Get outside to trim the grass,’ she says. ‘Wednesdays you’re supposed to clip the hedges.’ I’m sick of puttering around in my workshop. If I’m lucky, I maybe get the weekends off to watch the Mariners or the Seahawks depending on the time of year.”
Skye smiled at his protests and ushered him into the living room. “I didn’t realize you were such a sports fan.”
“I could be if given the opportunity. I’m going nuts fiddling with the yard, making myself stay busy with power tools in that damn workshop. Tinkering is boring, drilling holes in stuff is not exactly my thing.”
“I see. Does Elizabeth know how you feel about this?”
“She’s pissed at me,” Harry admitted as he settled back on the sofa. He glanced around the cluttered den. “For an old farmhouse, you guys have done some major upgrades in here.”
Skye let out an audible sigh and prepared for what she thought was building. She dropped into a side chair. “We haven’t upgraded a thing since you were here last. Which tells me you must’ve done something really dumb to get Elizabeth mad at you. Let me guess, you need a place to hang out until she cools off. Fine. But I know you. You didn’t come all this way on a Saturday to admire my Pottery Barn choices or to get out of mowing the lawn. And you aren’t exactly a fan of the rustic countryside, either. You don’t like leaving the mainland or the city. So what brings you out this way, Harry? What do you want? This isn’t a friendly visit where we chat about old times, is it?”
Harry sent her an uneven smile. “You’re not gonna like what I have to say.”
“No, we probably won’t,” Josh said from the base of the staircase with a cleaned-up Sierra, dressed in her purple outfit and smelling like girly vanilla and lavender.
“There’s the little munchkin now,” Harry noted, taking hold of the toddler’s foot. “You get bigger every time I see you. She’s growing faster than a buttercup, just as pretty as one, too.”
Josh traded knowing glances with Skye. When the baby wanted down, Josh set her on her feet to explore the room.
“What gives, Harry? Why are you really here?” Josh asked. “You know we love seeing you, but if you’ve come to ask us to help you on a case, those days are…”
“Before you go turning me down, hear me out,” Harry urged. “This one is unlike any other.”
“That’s what you said the last time.”
“And wasn’t I right? It took three days for you guys to find that butcher Ryan Carpenter. Seventy-two hours to take a killer off the street isn’t asking a lot. After it was done with, you guys went right back to your lives here with Sierra. As I recall, in time to get her ready for bed and read her a bedtime story. Am I right?”
“What’s so special about this one?” Skye wanted to know.
“Don’t encourage him,” Josh muttered.
Harry gave him a long look. “I’ll tell you what. The fact that Emmett Cannavale is seeing a killer he’s never seen before. He’s worried this guy won’t be stopped.”
Josh cut his eyes back to Harry. “Name-dropping the FBI profiler isn’t that impressive anymore. Besides, Emmett has access to plenty of agents in the field.”
Josh led Sierra over to her toy box in the corner and added, “Emmett doesn’t need us to solve his caseload for him. If he’s stumped he should—”
Harry interrupted. “He’s a consultant who still has ties to the behavioral unit. This analyst reached out to him and he’s been intrigued ever since.”
Skye let the men go back and forth before she angled her head to study Harry’s demeanor. “Do you intend to tell us what’s so special about this case? You seem bummed enough to come all this way to talk to us about it so…it must be significant for a reason.”
“Elizabeth always knew when I retired I’d dabble with a few of my unsolved cases for something to do. If you remember back to that time, we talked about it quite a bit, you and me. Don’t deny that we didn’t.”
“I’m not denying anything,” Skye professed. “I just want to know why you’re really here.”
“Come on. We talked about one day bringing Josh’s hacking team in on a single venture that would become a cold case unit. If we all got together as a team on a regular basis at the Foundation, we could get these hackers involved with our enterprise so that we have all our skills in one place. If that ever became a reality, we’d be a formidable investigative team. Emmett would continue to be our go-between with the FBI. It could work.”
“Harry, that was just wishful thinking on my part, way before I had Sierra, way before I became a mother. Things have changed. These days I don’t even have time to spend at the Foundation other than a cursory visit every now and again. Lena and Judy Howe have generously picked up the slack there.”
Before she could continue listing the reasons it wouldn’t work, Harry cut her off. “I know that. But I don’t think you lost your ability to find the bad guys because you gave birth. Just hear me out before you kick me to the curb, okay? Do you remember the case two years ago when we found that entire family murdered? The Maldonado family, five in all. But there was a sixth family member in the house that night who went missing, their teenage daughter. The other detectives in my department immediately wrote off the missing girl as the suspect. That is, everyone but you. You didn’t for one minute buy the fact that the troubled sixteen-year-old killed anyone, especially five members of her own family.”
“Sure. I remember Christy Maldonado, hard to forget when your so-called cohorts believed she’d become a spree killer overnight. I tried to convince them otherwise. Even though Christy had issues—she’d run off several times before that one awful night—the girl didn’t have that kind of evil inside her. She wasn’t a murderer. Your detectives laughed in my face.”
“Yep. They did. That’s a fact. You remember how that made you feel? You didn’t think Christy did it and said so.”
“I still don’t. For a variety of reasons. The night she went missing she texted her aunt that she thought someone had followed her from the mall. I tried to tell those idiots that the text was significant because Christy didn’t text a friend. She didn’t have a lot of those at the time. The girl had been bullied at school for several years, and didn’t much like going. She had problems, but she trusted her aunt enough to reach out and mention that something wasn’t right. Your coworkers wanted me to believe Christy went home after that and killed her family. No way. Christy wasn’t capable of that kind of violence. Your buddies in homicide shot down every point I made. Convincing them that an unknown intruder entered the house and killed them all and took Christy with him was simply an impossible route to get them to take.”
“
And do you still feel that way?” Harry asked.
“Sure, I guess. Unless you know something I don’t.” Skye narrowed her eyes. “Unless Christy surfaced in Florida still hanging on to the murder weapon, I still say she didn’t do it. Even if the family car, a Chevy, if I recall correctly, went missing with the girl. Your detectives had a field day with that information. They said it proved she’d taken off after the murders. But I stand by my original theory that the killer kidnapped her and forced her to go with him.”
“Yeah, well, a month ago a group of kayakers getting an early start came across remains left near the south fork of the Snoqualmie River. Two weeks in, the medical examiner was able to pick up a few fingerprints, enough to put them into the system. They got a hit. The fingerprints matched to the Maldonado crime scene. They came back to Christy.”
Skye made a guttural sound from her throat. “They were lucky to get fingerprints at all after two years. That’s why I love forensics.”
“As I understand it, the coroner used tissue layering to get the print. But get this, those same old detectives who thought Christy had murdered five people were still convinced she likely headed up to the recreation area near the waterfall to hide out there and died from exposure. That is, until the coroner’s autopsy report came back.”
“You’re killing me here, Harry.”
“Christy died from a gunshot wound to the back of the head, execution-style.”
“Bullet wound to the head, just like all the other members of her family,” Skye stated. “That’s a neat trick to kill your parents and siblings, even your grandmother, and then run off to the most dangerous wilderness range in the state with little or no experience dealing with that type of terrain, and then shoot yourself in the back of the head. Christy wasn’t a hiker, or a survivalist wannabe. She was a city girl who liked living where she had access to nightlife. Music and dancing, that’s what Christy lived for. It saddens me they found her like that, dumped like garbage, didn’t even get a proper burial beside her folks. I’m guessing no gun was found near the body or you wouldn’t be here now.”
Truth in the Bones Page 2
