The suspect had likely followed the resident.
“Can you make me copies of all the hospital security feeds from three o’clock this morning until after the incident?”
“Already did.” Todd handed Seth a USB flash drive.
“Thanks.” Seth pocketed it. “Let me know if you find anything else of concern.”
“Will do.” Todd turned back to his monitors.
Seth left the hospital and drove to his office at the sheriff’s department, where he assigned a deputy to view the flash drive and dig up background information on Peter Green and Kandi Hollis. Then he took a two-minute shower and put on clothes that weren’t covered in blood. Considering the weather, he opted for tactical cargo pants, a black polo shirt bearing the sheriff’s department logo, and boots.
He called a police detective he knew in Portland and relayed the information about Peter’s and Kandi’s murders. Whenever possible, death notifications should be performed in person. Since the weather and distance prohibited Seth from getting to Portland, the Portland detective agreed to locate and notify any next of kin. He also promised to question family members and check out Peter and Kandi’s apartment as well.
Seth spent the next hour filling out reports and requesting information from the National Crime Information Center, also known as the NCIC, and the Center for Missing and Exploited Children. He had several hits on missing kids in Oregon, but none of the photos were a match. But then, he had no idea when the child went missing or where he was abducted.
If he was abducted.
The child had come from somewhere. Had no one reported him missing? Why not?
Seth called the owner of the house, who lived in California and had rented the property to Kandi through a Realtor in Hannon. Seth tracked the transaction through the real estate agent. The terms were month to month, with the homeowner accepting six months’ rent in cash in lieu of a longer-term contract.
No surprises there.
Seth’s phone rang. “Yes.”
“It’s Gabe. We have a report that a big black SUV with a broken taillight turned into the O’Rourke resort out in Solitude. Isn’t that where you live?”
“It is.” With the phone pressed to his ear, Seth grabbed his coat on his way to the door. While thrilled to have a lead to follow, Seth wasn’t excited that the information was taking the investigation closer to home.
“Watch the bridge,” Gabe said. “We’re getting reports of major flooding.”
“How long is this rain supposed to last?”
“A few more days at least,” Gabe said. “The storm front is huge, and it’s stalled right on top of us. I’ll meet you at the resort.”
“Isn’t your shift over?”
“With this weather, most of us are going to be pulling doubles. Plus, you need backup.”
“Thanks.”
The drive to Solitude took almost two hours. As much as Seth would have liked to have driven faster, torrential rain limited visibility to what seemed like two feet in front of his car. A thick layer of water sluiced from the blacktop, and when he drove across the bridge into Solitude, the engorged river churned frothy and white, an occasional wave splashing over the sides onto the road.
If the rain kept coming, the river was definitely going to rise over the bridge. Seth called a warning in to the sheriff’s department as he made his way to the entrance of the resort. The driveway and parking areas were a sea of mud. He prayed his car didn’t get bogged down.
He cruised the main lot without seeing the vehicle, then stopped at the log cabin–style office. The O’Rourke resort was a corporate retreat. Set along the Rogue River, the resort offered private cabins, conference space, and team-building exercises, all built around the usual Oregon outdoor activities: white-water rafting, fly-fishing, and hiking. The resort’s owner, Andrew Reynolds, was behind the thick wooden reception counter. Flames crackled in a huge stone fireplace.
His face turned grim as Seth walked in. “What’s wrong?”
Andrew had crappy luck. The resort had already experienced several crimes and a couple of fires.
“I’m looking for a black SUV.” Seth wiped his feet on the mat.
Andrew turned to his computer.
“Left taillight is out,” Seth added.
Andrew typed. “Can you tell me what’s going on? When I see you, it usually means my property has burned down.”
“No fires this time.” Seth unzipped his jacket and approached the counter.
“Good to hear. Though with this weather, I suppose flooding is more likely.” Andrew worked his keyboard. “I only have a few guests.”
“I’ll bet. It’s nasty out there.” Seth crossed the wide-planked floor to spread his hands to the fire’s warmth.
Andrew pointed at his screen. “A black SUV is registered to cabin 12. Guests’ names are Lyle and Ethan Dodge. They’re brothers here to hunt elk. They live in Portland.”
Kandi and Peter also lived in Portland.
“How many other guests do you have on-site?” Seth asked.
“I have one other group here.” Andrew consulted his computer. “A corporation by the name of Knight Products booked a two-bedroom cabin for the CEO, Terry Reece, and a guest, Shawn Collins.”
“That’s all?”
“Everyone else canceled their reservations.”
Why would anyone come to the resort in this weather?
Seth turned away from the fire and went back out into the storm. Rain sliced through the muddy gravel parking lot. Water sloshed under his boots as he jogged back to his vehicle. He drove around to cabin 12. The black Chevy Suburban sat in front.
As much as it killed Seth to wait, he called Gabe and relayed the information.
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” Gabe said. “Don’t go rushing in alone.”
Two years ago, Seth probably would have done just that. But he’d wrestled his impulsiveness to the ground since then. He moved his vehicle two cabins down, in front of what appeared to be an empty unit. While he waited, he researched online records for Ethan and Lyle Dodge. Except for a few speeding tickets, Lyle’s record was clean. But Ethan had been arrested twice for burglary in Portland. He’d done six months in a county jail for the second offense. Nothing current, though.
Could the murders have been a burglary gone wrong? Maybe theft was how they funded a vacation at a fancy resort.
Impatient, Seth scanned the resort. The rain fell in a torrent, pounding the parking area into mud soup. His gaze drifted to a curl of smoke from a chimney at the end of the row of cabins. He moved his car to park in front of cabin 2 and got out.
He jogged up the porch steps and knocked. A man of about forty-five opened the door.
“I’m Detective Harding from the Rogue County Sheriff’s Office.” Seth showed his badge. “I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“Of course. Please come in.” The man stepped back and gestured for Seth to enter.
Seth shook the rain off his jacket and stepped over the threshold. “Thank you. Can I have your name?”
“I’m Terry Reece.” He walked to the round table that separated the kitchen from the living room areas and closed the lid on a laptop computer. A local news station played on a flat screen television mounted on the wall. Terry picked up the remote and muted the TV. “What’s this about, Detective?”
“I’m investigating a homicide.” Seth took off his jacket and hung it by the door. A fire blazed in the hearth. The heat slowly soaked into his damp clothes. Over the smell of wood smoke, Seth caught a whiff of tobacco. “Did you see the men from cabin 12 last night?”
Terry shook his head. “I stayed in and worked.”
“What about dinner? Did you go out?”
“No.” Terry gestured toward the kitchen. “Had a burger here and turned in early.”
“Any noise outside during the night?”
If the Dodge brothers had left the resort during the night, they would have had to drive right past Terry’s ca
bin.
“I slept well. Didn’t hear a thing.” Terry chuckled. “I did indulge in scotch and cigars after dinner. I’m sure that helped.”
“What about early this morning?” Seth asked. “Did you see them at all?”
“The rain was loud. I heard nothing over it, and I haven’t left the cabin today. We probably should have canceled the trip, but clearing my calendar isn’t an easy task.” Terry lifted his palms. “Besides, the weathermen so often exaggerate. Remember the blizzard they forecast last year? They closed the schools, and we didn’t see a single flake of snow.”
He had a point.
“But this time they were right on the money.”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Terry sighed. “But we’re hardly roughing it. The resort is well appointed. The Wi-Fi is still up and running. So we played chess instead of going hunting? It’s not the end of the world.”
The door opened and a man walked in, accompanied by a blast of wet wind.
“Detective Harding.” Terry pointed to the newcomer. “This is Shawn Collins.”
Tall and fit, Shawn had buzzed blond hair and flat eyes. Seth would bet a week’s pay Shawn was former military.
The smell that drifted into the room from the paper bag in Shawn’s grip could be nothing other than fried chicken from the local deli, Nell’s.
Seth’s stomach rumbled.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t be more helpful.” Terry showed Seth to the door.
“Thank you for your time.” Seth shrugged into his rain gear and went out onto the porch.
As Seth scanned the area, his Spidey senses tingled. A movement in the window of cabin 5 caught his attention. Seth blinked hard and looked again. Nothing. Had he imagined it?
Seth walked off the porch, climbed into his vehicle, and drove closer to unit 12. He parked in front of the adjacent cabin. A sheriff’s cruiser turned in to the lot, water spraying from tires as the car bounced through a deep puddle. Gabe slid his black-and-white into the space next to him.
Seth got out of his car, put up the hood on his rain jacket, and walked around to Gabe’s lowered window. “The SUV is owned by Lyle and Ethan Dodge. Elk hunters.”
“Perfect,” Gabe said dryly. “They’ll be well armed.”
“Yep.” Seth retrieved his still-damp body armor from his trunk and put it on. “Let’s go.”
They approached the cabin just as they had the house the night before and flanked the entrance. This time Seth took the lead, banging on the door.
Footsteps sounded inside. But instead of the front door opening, Seth heard another door open, followed by the splash of footsteps. “They’re running out the back.”
CHAPTER SIX
It was two o’clock in the afternoon before Carly parked in front of the house. She turned off her wipers, and rain obscured the view and thundered on the roof of her Jeep. It was too windy for an umbrella, so she pulled her hood over her head and opened the back door for the boy and Bruce. They dashed up the walk to the porch together. As she opened the front door, she could hear her mother’s Irish setter, Trina, barking from somewhere behind the house.
Inside, she shook off her coat and hung it on a peg. Bruce shed his own jacket and turned to the child. His clothes had been taken as evidence, and he wore the hospital pajamas and slippers. Bruce had wrapped a blanket around his shoulders. Carly locked the front door, a rare precaution in Solitude.
Carly led the way into the empty farmhouse kitchen.
Bruce walked in behind her. “Where’s mom?”
She went to the window. “The barn light is on.”
The boy grabbed Bruce’s hand, tugged him to the window, and pointed.
“You want to go see the animals?” Bruce asked.
The boy nodded, and his eyes showed the first gleam of interest.
“Okay.” Bruce picked through the jackets hanging on a row of hooks by the back door. He chose a coat, squatted, and held it out. “My nephew’s coat and boots should fit you.”
The boy slid his arms into the coat. Putting a hand on Bruce’s shoulder, he stepped into the rubber boots Bruce set in front of him.
Bruce flipped up the hood on the coat. “Let’s go see some animals.”
Carly and Bruce put their jackets back on and led the way out the back door. Rain fell at a steady and depressing rate. The boy stuck close to Bruce as they crossed the backyard. Brianna’s rescue pygmy goat, Prince Eric, shot out of the barn and kicked up his heels in the rain.
“Prince Eric! You come back here,” Brianna called from the wide barn aisle, her hands on her hips. Her hood was pushed back, her hair soaked, and her cheeks pink from the cold. The hems of her dirty jeans were tucked into mud-encrusted rubber boots.
Carly walked into the barn. The warm smell of animals and hay soothed her. Brianna hugged Carly’s waist. “Hi, Mama.”
“Hey, pumpkin.” Carly wrapped her arms around her daughter.
Brianna slipped out of Carly’s embrace. “I helped Grandma feed and water all the animals. We brought Prince Eric into the barn because of the rain.” The goat had his own pen and house. “But he doesn’t like to be cooped up.”
“I’ll catch him,” Bruce volunteered, turning to the boy. The sight of the child clinging tightly to his hand clenched Carly’s heart. “This is my niece, Brianna. I showed you her picture, remember? I’m going to catch the goat. You can watch, and I’ll be right back.”
The boy let go of his hand.
“Hey,” Brianna said. “What’s your name?”
The boy slunk backward.
“Brianna,” Carly called. “Help Uncle Bruce catch your goat.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Brianna ran into the rain, pausing to hop on both feet into a deep puddle. Water splashed up her legs. Bruce stopped to laugh at her. While his back was turned, the goat sprinted across the yard and rammed into the back of his legs, sending him sprawling into the mud.
“Oh my. Never a dull moment around here.” Carly’s mom, Patsy, came out of the tack room and leaned on a pitchfork. Trina, her Irish setter, sat at her side. A smile spread across her mom’s face as she watched Bruce scramble to his feet in the slippery muck and race after the goat. The goat effortlessly evaded his attempts to snatch him, scampering away with a happy bleat.
“Think we should help?” Carly asked.
Patsy shook her head. “Let the goat have some fun. Maybe the chase will tire him out.”
“At Bruce’s expense.” Carly laughed.
“A little mud never hurt anyone.” Patsy set the pitchfork aside with a chuckle. Her mother wore jeans, rubber boots, and a waxed canvas barn jacket that was older than Carly. Patsy’s curly, brown-and-gray hair was damp and pulled back in a loose ponytail. In the first year after their father’s death, her mom had lost weight grieving. But over the past few months, she’d gained some of that back, and Carly was happy to see that her mom no longer looked frail.
“This is my mother, Mrs. Taylor,” Carly said to the boy, but his focus was on Bruce and the goat.
“Is there anything else that needs to be done?” Carly asked her mother.
Patsy Taylor’s farm served as the overflow for the county animal shelter. At the moment, in addition to Prince Eric, Brianna’s pony, and Seth’s horse, Mom was housing three chickens, a few rabbits, and a potbellied pig.
“I appreciate that you and Seth try to do all the heavy lifting around here, but I’m perfectly capable of tending to the animals. I’ve been doing it since before you were born.” Her mother took a deep and contented breath through her nose. “It felt good to do some physical work. Animals are good for the soul. Sometimes I wonder if I’m rescuing them or if it’s the other way around.”
Carly watched the boy, who had wandered to the barn doorway to watch Bruce and Brianna chase the goat in ridiculous circles. What the pygmy goat lacked in size, he made up for in agility and sheer spunk.
Bruce finally took hold of Prince Eric’s horns. “I’ve got him.”
He led the goat into
the barn, and Patsy directed him to an empty stall.
Brianna’s pony, Maximus, craned his head over the half door of his stall and nickered softly. Carly crossed the aisle to scratch his head. A scuff in the dirt behind her caught her attention. The boy had shuffled toward the pony.
“Come pet him. He’s very friendly.” Carly stepped aside.
The boy walked to her side and stretched a tentative hand toward Maximus. The pony lowered his head so the child could reach. Brianna’s fat pony was bombproof. Nothing startled him, not even Carly’s rambunctious nephews.
“He’ll do anything for a good scratch under his forelock.” Carly demonstrated.
The boy copied her technique. Maximus bobbed his head in approval, and one corner of the boy’s mouth turned upward.
Carly stepped back and let Maximus work his magic.
Brianna skipped over. “I’m hungry. My grandma is going to make grilled cheese sandwiches. Do you want one?”
The boy nodded.
“Come on.” Brianna skipped out of the barn, oblivious to the rain, mud splashing under her boots.
The boy shot a questioning glance at Bruce.
“I’m coming.” Bruce followed the children.
“You all need to get cleaned up before lunch,” Patsy called after the trio. “Especially you, Bruce.”
Bruce tossed a wry grin back at them.
“We’d better go help him.” Carly added an extra snap to the latch on Prince Eric’s stall. “We’ll see how long this holds him.”
“We should have named him Houdini,” Patsy said.
“It’s getting late.” Carly checked the time on her phone. “I want to get the boy cleaned up and fed. Did you know we have a new psychiatrist in Solitude?”
“Nell mentioned him when I was in town the other day. She said he was fii-iine.” Patsy drew the word out into two syllables.
Carly laughed. “Nell said that?”
“She did.” Patsy shook her head. “I think it’s nice to have a doctor in town.”
Twisted Truth (Rogue Justice Novella Book 1) Page 5
