“He’s a psychiatrist.”
“Still a medical doctor. When Doc Simpson isn’t around, folks have to drive all the way into Hannon to see a doctor.”
“Or they can use that new urgent care center on the highway.”
Patsy frowned. “Not the most personal service.”
“No, but the days of one doctor treating town residents from birth to death are coming to an end.” Carly stepped out into the rain.
“That’s sad.” Patsy and Trina followed her out of the barn, and they rolled the heavy double doors closed. “At least that goat will be contained in the barn if he makes a break for it.”
“Here’s hoping he doesn’t let all the other animals out of their stalls.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Patsy trudged up the back lawn toward the house.
Carly followed her mother. “Thank you for letting the boy stay here.”
“Of course he’s welcome,” her mother said. “There are some clothes in the laundry room that should fit him. James’s boys had quite a time in the mud here yesterday.”
“I’ll bet they did.”
Children who carried the Taylor DNA attracted dirt like wild flowers drew bees.
They walked into the kitchen and hung their dripping coats on the pegs by the door. Patsy dried Trina with a towel. Carly stepped over a row of muddy boots on her way to the laundry room. She grabbed a stack of clean child’s clothes and followed the sound of Bruce’s voice to the bathroom.
Bruce started the shower. “Do you need help?”
The boy shook his head.
“Okay,” Bruce said. “There’s shampoo and soap in the shower. Holler if you need anything. I’ll be right outside the door.”
Carly walked in and set the stack of clothes on the vanity. “Here are some clothes. Pick whatever you like.”
Retreating to the hall, they left the door open a few inches.
Carly waved at her shivering, mud-soaked brother. “I’ll stand out here in case he needs anything. Go get cleaned up.”
“Thanks.” Bruce disappeared down the hallway.
Sinking down to the floor, Carly nearly fell asleep to the sounds of the shower spray and her mother banging around in the kitchen. The boy emerged in less than fifteen minutes. The jeans and hoodie were a decent fit. He sat on the floor and tugged on a pair of gray socks.
Carly climbed to her feet. “I smell food. Hungry?”
He nodded and followed her back to the kitchen.
Brianna was setting the table for five. “Grandma made grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup.” She moved her crayons and drawings aside to make room.
Bruce walked into the kitchen. He’d dressed in clean jeans and a sweatshirt, but Carly could see the outline of his sidearm under the bulky shirt. The boy latched onto him immediately.
“That smells incredible.” Bruce bent down to kiss their mother on the cheek. All four of the Taylor siblings were tall like their father had been and towered over their petite mother.
Patsy propped a hand on her hip and peered around Bruce at the boy. “You look hungry.”
“She’s the best cook in the county.” Bruce sniffed the air.
“Sit down. It’s ready.” Their mom turned back to the stove.
The child slid into a worn wooden chair, then pointed to a cooling rack in the center of the table. “Pie,” he said in a small voice barely more than a whisper, then repeated, “Pie.”
“My mom likes to bake when the weather gets gloomy.” Bruce set a glass of milk in front of him.
As unsettled as Carly was after the morning’s events, she sat down and ate. The soup and sandwich soothed her empty stomach.
When lunch was finished, Carly cut three slices of pie. Brianna and Bruce wolfed theirs down in seconds. But the boy ignored his, leaning over a piece of paper with a crayon instead.
“You must be full.” Carly covered the plate with aluminum foil. “You can eat it whenever you like.”
Brianna picked up a crayon and began to draw.
Carly cleared the table. When she turned back to the table, the boy had uncovered his dish and was working on his dessert with one hand and drawing with the other.
Small Town Rule #1: There’s always room for pie.
Bruce leaned over the boy’s shoulder. “Nice drawing.”
The boy lifted and dropped a skinny shoulder, then slid off his seat and wandered into the den. Clearly intrigued, Brianna was right on his heels. Trina trotted after the children.
Carly approached the table and examined the picture. A plump black animal ate carrots inside what appeared to be a cloud. “Prince Eric?”
Her mother peered over her shoulder. “Looks more like a sheep to me.”
Carly flipped to a second drawing. “I don’t know what this is. A flying saucer maybe.”
“That’s odd.” Patsy frowned at the picture “Where would a child today see a flying saucer? That’s so 1950.”
“Right?” Carly set the paper down.
Her mother got up and followed the children into the den.
While her mother watched the children, Carly and Bruce checked all the windows and doors. Again.
Then Carly called Seth to give him an update. He didn’t answer his line, and she left a message. “We’re home. Everything is quiet. I have to take the boy to the psychiatrist’s office in Solitude in a little while. I’ll call you afterward.”
She went upstairs and entered the room she shared with Seth. Her own handgun was in a lockbox on the top shelf in the closet. She added the holster to her belt and tugged a loose sweater over the weapon.
It was best to be prepared.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Seth sprinted around the side of the unit, boots sloshing and slipping in the mud puddles. Ahead, a man in jeans and a red flannel shirt ran toward the woods.
Oh no you don’t.
Seth went after him. Gabe kept pace next to him for fifty yards then fell back. His stocky frame wasn’t built for speed.
The man ahead staggered up a steep path into the trees. Seth ran up the slope after him. Pushing off a rock, he launched himself through the air and tackled the man around the waist. They landed in the mud, and Seth scrambled onto the man’s back.
“Hey,” the man shouted into the mud. “Get off me.”
Seth turned out his pockets and found a folding knife.
“I ain’t done nothing.”
Seth cuffed his hands behind his back and hauled him to his feet. “Then why did you run?”
The man looked away, his mouth set in an obstinate line.
“What’s your name?” Seth asked.
“Ethan Dodge.”
“Why did you run, Ethan?”
“I don’t have to tell you anything.”
Seth herded Ethan back toward the cabin. Halfway there, they picked up Gabe. By the time the three of them reached the porch, Seth was soaked straight through to his skin. Again.
Ethan fared worse. He’d landed on the bottom. Mud coated his jeans and shirt and streaked the side of his face.
Ethan’s brother, Lyle, was waiting on the porch. “I told you to play it cool, dumb ass.”
Ethan glared. “Shut up.”
Gabe patted down Lyle. “He’s clean.”
“Handcuff him anyway,” Seth instructed. “I’m not chasing anyone else in this rain.”
“You can’t do this,” Lyle complained as Gabe cuffed his hands behind his back. “I didn’t do anything. It was my dumb-ass brother who ran away.”
Ethan’s teeth chattered. “I’m soaked and freezing my nuts off. Can we go inside?”
The invitation was music to a cop without a search warrant’s ears.
“Yes.” Seth really wanted a look inside the cabin. He led the small party through the front door into a living room and kitchen combination. The fireplace glowed with a small fire. Pizza boxes, an empty bottle of whiskey, and paper plates littered the kitchen countertops. Two rifles lay across newspapers on the kitchen
table, surrounded by cleaning supplies and boxes of ammunition. The sharp scent of gun oil carried over the smell of stale alcohol. After looking under the cushions and couch for additional weapons, he sat both handcuffed men on the sofa.
Gabe checked both rifles. “Not loaded.”
“Are those your only guns?” Seth pointed to the kitchen table.
Lyle nodded.
“Where were you two early this morning?”
“We’ve been right here,” Ethan said. “Where else are we gonna be in this rain?”
“You were here all night?” Seth asked.
Ethan nodded. “We went out hunting early. Couldn’t find any damned elk. Got back around three started in on a bottle of Wild Turkey.”
“Given the weather, why didn’t you cancel your reservation?” Seth asked.
Lyle snorted. “Do we look like city folks?”
Small Town Rule #2: Real men hunt in the rain.
Seth continued. “What time did you fall asleep?”
“I don’t know. I was drunk.” Lyle shook his head, as if Seth was the stupid one.
Seth turned to Ethan. “How about you? Do you remember what time you fell asleep?”
Ethan shook his head. “No.”
“Then why was your vehicle spotted at a crime scene?” Seth asked.
Gabe circled the kitchen.
“Not possible.” Kyle shook his head. “We were both passed out all night.”
“Seth?” Gabe pointed to a set of keys on the counter. Dark red smears marred the silver. “Check out the car keys. Could be blood.”
“It can’t be!” Ethan protested.
“Gotta be pizza sauce or something,” Kyle added.
The crusty red substance did not look like pizza sauce to Seth, but he would make sure.
“Hey, Gabe. I’m running out to my car. I have a rapid stain identification kit in my trunk. Let’s make sure this is human blood.” Seth didn’t process many of his own scenes, but he liked to be prepared. Who wanted to haul a man into jail for having a smear of pizza sauce on his keys?
Seth ran out to his car for the test kit. When he returned, he donned gloves, swabbed the blood, and prepared the sample. While he waited for the results, he filled out the chain of evidence paperwork. When the timer on his phone beeped, he checked the results.
“Bad news. It’s human blood.” Not surprised, Seth waved to the two parallel lines in the test window.
“That’s impossible!” Lyle shouted.
“So how did it get on your keys?” Seth asked.
Lyle shrugged. “I have no fucking idea. I told you, we were drunk last night.”
Seth checked their hands and arms for cuts and found none. “Did you lock the door of the cabin?”
“I don’t remember,” Lyle said.
“Why would we do that?” Ethan answered. “There’s no one around.”
Because someone could take your keys and vehicle while you are passed out?
But who? Seth pictured the moving curtains in the supposedly empty cabin.
“I know a frame job when I see one. We’re not saying anything else without our lawyer.” And with one sentence, Ethan shut down the interrogation.
“You already have an attorney?” Seth asked.
“Yep,” Ethan said with a smug frown.
Seth turned to the window, where water poured down the glass. How long would it take a Portland lawyer to get to Solitude in this weather? It was a long drive on a good day. Would the Solitude bridge still be above water by then? Of course, the Portland attorney might refer the Dodge brothers to a local firm. But there would still be a waiting period.
The nasty fact was that, if the rain continued, Solitude would likely be isolated within twenty-four hours.
Getting a forensics team to process the cabin was going to take a while too. Until then, he would hold on to the Dodge brothers as long as he could without charging them. But he wasn’t hauling them all the way into Hannon if there was an alternative.
While the storm raged, Seth was going to stick close to home. He didn’t want to risk being separated from his family.
He called Zane Duncan, the Solitude police chief. Zane was married to Carly’s sister, Stevie, who was a Solitude patrol officer.
There was no town smaller than Solitude.
Zane answered on the first ring.
“Hey, Zane. I need to borrow your holding cell.” Seth explained the situation. “Is it occupied?”
“It’s empty, and you’re welcome to it,” Zane said. “Want me to send Kenny over to pick them up?”
“Yes. Thanks.” Seth ended the call. “You can call your lawyer from the local police station.”
The Solitude cop showed up in fifteen minutes and took the protesting Dodge brothers away. But Seth didn’t have any options. He wasn’t letting them go, not when their car had been seen at the scene of a murder and their keys were smeared with human blood.
Gabe sealed the SUV and cabin with crime scene tape.
Seth called Andrew Reynolds and let him know not to let anyone inside. “Only two of your cabins are occupied, right?”
“Right,” Andrew said.
“I think I saw movement in cabin 5. Can I get a look inside?”
“Of course.” Keys rattled on Andrew’s end of the connection. “I’ll meet you there in a couple of minutes.”
Seth and Gabe ran through the rain to cabin 5. Andrew drove over from the office, parking his SUV in front of the unit. He hurried up the steps and shook off his rain slickers on the porch. Andrew unlocked the door and stepped back. Seth and Gabe drew their weapons and went through the doorway.
“Empty.” Gabe slid his weapon into his holster.
Seth walked through the rooms. He stopped at the rear door and squatted down. The tile at the entryway was smeared with a thin layer of dried mud, as if someone had tried to clean up but had been interrupted—maybe by the presence of the police in the parking lot.
“Do you have all the cabins cleaned when guests check out?” Seth asked Andrew.
“These cabins should be spotless.” Andrew walked over to stare at the tile. “Someone was in here.”
“When forensics processes the Dodge brother’s cabin, have them process this one too.” Seth stood. “Sorry, Andrew. It might take a while to get a team out here.”
“It’s not like I’ll have any new guests checking in, not with this storm,” Andrew said on his way out the door.
Seth and Gabe sealed off cabin 5. Then they jogged through the slop back to Seth’s car. He pulled the door closed, brushed rainwater off his forehead, and started the engine.
Gabe slid into the passenger seat. “Now what?”
Seth filled out the search warrant application on his dashboard computer. “Can’t search the cabin until the warrant comes through.”
“Can’t question the suspects without their lawyer.” Gabe took off his hat and set it on his lap.
Frustrated, Seth searched motor vehicle and law enforcement databases for Ethan and Lyle Dodge but found nothing to link either one of them to Peter or Kandi, except that they were all from the Portland area.
He mapped out their addresses. Peter and Kandi’s address was on the outskirts of Portland. The Dodge brothers lived on the other side of the city. A loose link at best.
Seth’s phone buzzed. He checked the display. “It’s the ME.” He answered. “Hank, do you have anything interesting for me?”
“I recovered two bullets, both 9mm,” Hank said. “I’ll send them to ballistics. The trajectory of the wounds indicates the shooter was standing when he fired the gun.”
“Can you tell how close to the mattress he was?” Seth asked.
“I’d say he was at the foot of it.”
Exactly how Seth had pictured the shooting in his mind.
Hank coughed. “Most of my preliminary report on Peter Green repeats what I said at the scene. I won’t rehash it for you. Kandi Hollis also died of exsanguination. The bullet nicked her renal arte
ry. That’s the one that carries blood from the heart to the kidney. But the most interesting thing about her autopsy is that she never gave birth.”
“So she’s not the child’s mother.” Seth let that information sink in.
“No,” Hank said. “I didn’t see the normal cervical changes that accompany a vaginal birth. Nor did she have any type of surgical scar on her abdomen that could suggest a cesarean delivery. I thought you’d want to know that right away.”
“Yes, that’s definitely helpful.”
“Have you had any luck identifying the boy?”
“Not yet. He won’t speak. Carly is taking him to a psychiatrist today. She’s hoping the doctor can get him talking.”
“Good luck,” Hank said. “I’ll e-mail you my preliminary report.”
“Thanks.” Seth ended the call, lowered the phone, and relayed the information to Gabe.
“If we can find the weapon, we can get a ballistics match.”
“Big if.” Seth called the forensics department. A three-minute conversation verified that only Peter’s and Kandi’s fingerprints had been recovered at the scene and that the two bullets Hank did not find in the bodies were recovered in the mattress. Both of those were also 9mm in caliber.
Frustrated, Seth said, “Let’s get back to the boy. I feel like he is the key to the murders.”
“If Peter and Kandi weren’t the boy’s parents, what were they doing with him in their basement?” Gabe asked.
“Kidnapping seems to be the most logical answer,” Seth said. “Or human trafficking.”
“Maybe his family was warned not to report the incident to the authorities.”
A gust of wind blew heavy rain and wet leaves against the windshield. Seth stared through the glass. The white SUV that had been parked outside Terry Reece’s cabin was gone. “At least one of them went somewhere.”
Seth summed up his interview with Terry Reece and Shawn Collins for Gabe.
“Maybe back to Nell’s for another fried chicken run,” Gabe joked.
“There’s something weird about those two. Let’s see what we can find out about Knight Products.” Seth flexed his cold fingers over the keyboard. “They’re here for a reason. Maybe hunting isn’t it.”
“If the Dodge brothers were really passed out last night, then borrowing their SUV wouldn’t have been too hard.” Gabe took out his phone. “I’ll call in background checks on the company officers.”
Twisted Truth (Rogue Justice Novella Book 1) Page 6
