2 - The Hunt

by Allison Brennan

  “It’s just Sam,” his father said from his desk in front of the large windows.

  “Richard” was all his mother said, but she gave him the look. The one that said, don’t argue with me. Ryan knew it well.

  Ryan put his video game away, closed the cabinets, and went upstairs. He opened and closed his bedroom door, because his mother listened for things like that. But instead of staying in his room, he tiptoed back to the top of the stairs where he could listen without being seen.

  The boy learned a lot that way.

  “I wish I were here under more pleasant circumstances,” Sam Harris said.

  “Is it about the girl who was kidnapped?” his father asked.

  “There’s no easy way to say this, which is why I asked my deputy to stay in the car. I felt you needed the opportunity to consider the situation first, without gossip and detractors using the information to damage your career, Judge.”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  Ryan knew that annoyed tone. His father didn’t like people who “kissed butt,” as he called it. It meant that they tried to be your friend because of what you did, not who you were. Since his father was a judge, an important position, he said a lot of people tried to kiss his butt, but he didn’t respect them.

  “I’ll get right to the point,” Sam said. “The FBI is on its way to interview your brother-in-law, David Larsen. He is now considered a suspect in the Butcher investigation.”

  “Davy? I don’t believe it,” his father said.

  Uncle Davy? The Butcher? Ryan slumped against the wall. That would mean he killed that college girl Ryan had found last week, the girl who wouldn’t leave Ryan alone in his dreams, eyes staring at him like a dead doe.

  Not Uncle Davy. He took Ryan fishing at the end of every summer. Mom went with them to their cabin by Big Sky Lake, but she didn’t like to fish. Uncle Davy knew everything about the birds, trees, animals. He’d taught Ryan how to figure out which berries were edible and which would kill you.

  Uncle Davy listened to him, really listened. Ryan couldn’t talk to anyone else about his parents, especially about his mother. Ryan didn’t think she really liked him. Oh, she probably loved him—all mothers did—but all the things she did for him, from baking cookies to washing his clothes to meeting with his teacher, seemed like things she just had to do. Like she had a “How to Be a Mom” checklist.

  His uncle understood. “Delilah doesn’t really like anyone,” he told Ryan once. And when Uncle Davy said it, he’d realized it was true.

  Ryan missed part of the conversation downstairs and he strained to hear. His mother had said something, her voice so low he couldn’t make it out.

  “I’m really sorry, Mrs. Parker. I know this comes as a shock to you, which is why I wanted to let you know before the press gets wind of it. I’m keeping it under wraps as long as possible, but you know these federal cops. They’re a bunch of media hounds, just aching to get their picture in the paper. And if they hurt good folks such as yourselves, they don’t care one iota.”

  “I’ll have my attorney be in touch. Consider Davy as having counsel, Sam.”

  “I understand.”

  The deputy left, and at first Ryan didn’t hear anything except mumbled voices.

  “Did you know?” His father’s voice was raised. His dad never raised his voice to his mother.

  “No!” his mother said. “Davy had nothing to do with what happened to those girls.”

  “Shit, Delilah, this is bad.”

  “You know how the FBI is. They’re always trying to railroad someone.”

  “You don’t really believe that.”

  “Davy has nothing to do with this.”

  “I wish I believed you. I need to contact my attorneys.”

  Ryan retreated down the back stairs and walked out the kitchen door, careful to ease it closed. He ran to the barn and didn’t realize he was crying until his vision blurred.

  Why would the police think Uncle Davy had killed that girl if he hadn’t?

  He’d seen Uncle Davy last night, camping in the back meadow. That wasn’t unusual; his uncle liked sleeping outdoors. He came up all the time and camped or stayed at the cabin. But Ryan usually knew beforehand when Uncle Davy was visiting.

  His mother hadn’t said anything about him coming last night. Maybe she didn’t know.

  Ryan quietly saddled Ranger and walked him out of the barn until he was out of sight of his house, then he mounted the horse.

  He didn’t know what he was going to do. He wanted to warn Uncle Davy, tell him the police had it all wrong.

  But what if they didn’t?

  The camp was a mile from the house. Uncle Davy had camped there before, so Ryan knew exactly where it was. But as he approached, he saw no one.

  He spotted gear neatly packed and stowed in the rotted-out trunk of a ponderosa pine. He frowned. Why hadn’t his uncle come up to the house for breakfast this morning like he usually did when he camped? Where was he now?

  Boot prints headed down toward the canyon that formed the western border of the Parker Ranch. Ryan wasn’t supposed to go down there, but he’d done it many times. There was a really cool boulder field at the bottom. He, Sean, and Timmy went there whenever they thought their moms wouldn’t find out. But steep slopes and sudden drop-offs made it dangerous, especially for Ranger.

  Still, he knew the area. He’d be careful.

  He was about to dismount when the sound of movement stopped him. Someone was walking up the steep slope.

  “Uncle Davy?”

  His uncle came into sight at the same time he reached for the rifle slung across his back.

  That’s when Ryan noticed the belt buckle Uncle Davy wore. Why did it look strange?

  Then he knew. Uncle Davy had always worn the bird buckle. Just like the one Ryan had found in the woods near the dead girl. Only now, Uncle Davy’s bird belt buckle was gone.

  CHAPTER

  29

  Quinn called Miranda while driving from Bozeman to the Parker Ranch. He tapped the steering wheel, eager to get there, hating that it seemed to take forever. There was a lot of ground under the “Big Sky.”

  He told her about David Larsen’s family connections. She didn’t say anything for a long minute. “Are you sure?” she finally asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And they didn’t know?” Her voice caught.

  “He didn’t live with them; it’s very likely that they didn’t know about his activities. But—” He paused. How much should he tell her?

  “But what?”

  He had to trust her with the truth. It would all come out sooner or later.

  “Larsen was arrested for rape when he was eighteen. The charges were dropped when the victim refused to testify. His sister, Delilah, was his alibi.”

  “And you think he was guilty.”

  He took a deep breath. “Yes, I do.” Then he told her why. “The girl had her breasts cut.”

  “And his sister lied for him?”

  “We don’t know what happened then. She could have been threatened by him, manipulated. Maybe she lied because she thought he was innocent but didn’t have a good alibi. We can’t know until we talk to her. That’s where I’m going right now.”

  “I can’t believe that a woman would protect a rapist. She’d have to be sick, just like him.”

  “Are you still at the University?”

  “No. Booker drove me to the Lodge an hour ago. I was going stir-crazy. We’re going to take a section south of here. I need to do something.”

  “You can communicate with all the search teams, correct?”

  “We have a dedicated radio band.”

  “Good. If I get anything from the Parkers about where Larsen might be keeping Ashley, we’ll change course and send everyone into a new area. Hang at the Lodge for a while longer, okay?”

  She paused. “You don’t want me to go out?”

  “Not because I think you can’t handle it, Miranda, but because I ne
ed to be able to contact you.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  “Keep the Parker connection quiet for a while. I think Sam Harris might have already spilled the beans, but I’m going to give it a shot.”

  “Harris! What did he do?”

  Quinn told her about the fax. “He’s not answering calls from dispatch and I’ve told every cop if they see him to arrest him or I’ll have their badge. Harris is obstructing justice and I’m not going to let him get away with it.”

  Miranda wasn’t surprised Harris had gone off on his own. He’d always been a loose cannon. She wished Nick had had a better second-in-command.

  She filled Booker in on the details as they walked from the dining hall to her cabin. She was too antsy to sit still. She hoped Quinn would call soon.

  She heard the hooves of a horse galloping on the path, heading right for her. She turned and saw a kid on a very tired horse.

  Ryan Parker.

  “Whoa!” Booker said.

  Ryan slowed down and slid off the horse. He was panting almost as hard as the poor animal.

  “What’s wrong?” Miranda asked. The vast Parker holdings almost surrounded the Moore property, but the ranch itself was several miles south. “Did you come all the way up here from your house?”

  “My, my uncle.”

  Ryan’s uncle was David Larsen.

  “What about him?” She was surprised her voice sounded normal.

  “I knew, I knew,” Ryan repeated. “When I saw his belt buckle.”

  “Slow down.” Miranda reached into her backpack and pulled out a bottle of water, handing it to the boy. “Drink this.”

  He did, coughed some out, then drank more. He sat on a small boulder that lined the path and poured the rest of the water over his head. Miranda sat next to him.

  “What happened, Ryan?”

  “I heard. Sam Harris told my parents that Uncle Davy was the Butcher. But I didn’t believe it. I mean, he’s my friend.”

  Miranda’s heart went out to the poor kid. His world was crashing around him just like hers had.

  “I saw Uncle Davy last night. Camping in the south meadow. He does that sometimes. Or at the cabin.”

  “Cabin?”

  “We have a cabin right at Big Sky Lake. We go fishing and stuff. Uncle Davy stays there.”

  “Do you know where it is?”

  “Of course.” He rattled off an address.

  “Maybe he’s there,” Miranda said to Booker. “We need to call Quinn.”

  Ryan shook his head vigorously. “No. No, he’s not. I saw him. And the buckle.”

  “What buckle?”

  “I thought it looked familiar. The bird. But I didn’t remember. Then I saw him coming up from the canyon, and I just knew. I looked at his belt, and it wasn’t there. He had a horse or something, not the bird he always wore.” Ryan pulled a broken belt buckle from his pocket. “Just like this one.”

  Miranda was confused. “You took this from him? Why?”

  Ryan looked down at his hands, turned the piece of metal over and over. “I didn’t take it. I found it near the body of that girl who was killed. The next day I went back and watched you all.”

  His voice was rough with tears and he backhanded his face to wipe them away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to take it, I just found it. I wanted to tell my dad, but I thought he’d be mad that I went back there. So I hid it in my room.

  “But after I saw my uncle today and realized the buckle was his, I ran home to get it.” Ryan sniffed. “He was acting so strange. He wasn’t happy to see me. He had his rifle. And a knife. I think he killed her.”

  Miranda’s stomach lurched in her chest. “Where is he now?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. I told him I was just riding and saw his gear and had to get back home. My mom and dad were fighting, so I came here because it was the closest.”

  “You did good, Ryan.” She stood. “Can you take us to where you saw your uncle?”

  Ryan nodded. “You can drive most of the way there.”

  “Good.” She pulled out her cell phone and dialed Quinn’s number.

  Quinn answered, but his voice was cut off.

  “Dammit!” She tried again, and this time got his voice mail. “Quinn, call me. I have Ryan Parker with me and he knows where Larsen is.” She looked at Ryan. “Where?”

  “The south meadow. About a mile behind my house. There’s a path.”

  “South meadow behind the Parker house. I’m going there now. Meet me there, Quinn.” She slapped her phone shut. “Ryan, I know where that is. I don’t want you coming. It’s too dangerous.”

  “But—”

  “No. Stay here. I’m going to take you to Gray so you can take care of your horse.” She stared at him. “Anything else?”

  He nodded. “Uncle Davy came up from the canyon on the far side of the meadow. At the very bottom there’s a boulder field and creek.”

  “I’ve been down there.”

  “I don’t know why he’d go down there.”

  Miranda did.

  Sitting in Parker’s living room, Quinn Peterson explained to Richard Parker his theory about David Larsen.

  “But why do you need to talk to Delilah? We see Davy at holidays and for the occasional fishing trip, but Delilah never talks about her brother. They had a difficult childhood and they aren’t that close.”

  “Did Delilah ever tell you her brother was arrested for rape?”

  Richard looked stunned. “No.”

  “Sixteen years ago in Oregon. The charges were dropped when the victim refused to testify, and Larsen had an alibi: his sister.”

  “So Davy must have had nothing to do with it.”

  “The woman’s breasts were cut.”

  Quinn watched the realization hit Richard then. “But—Delilah? Protecting him? I—I just don’t see it. My wife isn’t an affectionate person, Mr. Peterson. She’s hard to get close to. I don’t see her lying for anyone, even her brother.”

  “What about to protect herself?”

  “Excuse me?” Parker’s tone bordered between angry and confused.

  While driving to the Parker Ranch, Quinn had talked to Hans Vigo, the FBI profiler. Vigo’s gut feeling was that Delilah Parker not only had protected her brother when he was accused of rape in Oregon, but also was aware of his crimes in Montana.

  “He hunts in his sister’s hometown, while he lives hours away,” Quinn told Parker, repeating what Vigo had told him. “Either he does it to torment her, a threat to keep her mouth shut, or he does it because this is his home. If your wife doesn’t know for sure, she’s definitely suspected from the beginning.”

  Parker buried his head in his hands. “My son—I let my son go fishing with that bastard. I let him eat at my table and sleep in my house! I gave him a cabin to stay in, paid for his education, took care of him like a brother.” He pounded a fist on the coffee table hard enough to cause several knickknacks to jump.

  Quinn zeroed in on an important point. “Judge, you gave him a cabin?”

  “Thirty minutes south of here. Almost to Yellowstone.”

  “I need to see it. Now. Can you take me there?”

  “Absolutely. Anything to help.”

  Quinn’s cell phone rang. “Peterson,” he said.

  “He . . . anda.”

  “Miranda? You’re breaking up.” Then the phone went dead.

  “It’s the house,” Parker said. “You can go outside and get reception.”

  “Where’s your wife now?”

  “She left after Sam Harris came by. She was very upset by this whole thing with Davy.”

  “Sam Harris was here?”

  Quinn listened to what Harris had told Parker. “I’m sorry, Judge, but I need to bring her in. Either she has information we need about where her brother is, or we need to protect her. I can’t let her walk the streets. Not until I have her brother in custody.”

  He stepped out of the house and dialed dispatch t
o issue a detain order for Delilah Parker and find out if Sam Harris had called in. He hadn’t. Dammit. He told the dispatcher to tell all on-duty cops that Harris was oficially removed from the Butcher investigation and wanted for obstructing justice. Quinn couldn’t allow Harris to further screw up their search for Larson.

  Richard Parker followed him out. “Ready?” Quinn asked the judge.

  “I’ll take you there.” They climbed into the police-issue SUV that Deputy Jorgensen drove. Parker gave him directions.

  “Tell me exactly where. I’m going to call in a team to meet us.” Quinn needed everyone he could get.

  Ten minutes later he’d finished his calls, including one to his boss to fill him in on the status. When he slammed shut his cell phone, his voice mail beeped. He dialed in and listened.

  “Turn around,” he told Parker, his voice strained.

  “What? Why?”

  “We’re going back to your house. The fastest you can get us there, Jorgensen.

  “Your son saw David Larsen there less than an hour ago.”

  CHAPTER

  30

  Davy Larsen watched from an upstairs window as Miranda Moore and a cop walked around the outside of the house. Then they left.

  But they didn’t go back down the drive. Instead, they headed toward the meadow.

  Ryan, his own flesh and blood, had ratted him out.

  How could the kid do that? Hadn’t he loved him like a big brother? Ryan had the perfect life, the life Davy never had. But that was okay. It wasn’t like Davy was jealous or anything. No.

  Why did he go to her? To tell Miranda where to find him?

  No good. He couldn’t let them get his girl. Ashley was his, and he wasn’t done with her yet.

  The Bitch was leaving, and that was fine with him. He didn’t need her.

  She’d never understood. She’d stood there and watched, excited and agitated, never interfering with him when he had the stage. But she gloated and made cryptic comments.

  “Do you feel better now, Davy?” she’d say afterward, as if talking to a child.

  He wanted to shoot the smug look off her face, that self-satisfied grin. As if she knew something he didn’t. She’d stolen even this from him, his women. When she watched, she claimed part of them, as if she were the director and he were a mere puppet.