Finding Answers

by Kathi Daley

  “Ten-four,” I answered.

  Dani called in the coordinates and Wyatt took out his compass to set a course. She’d indicated we were a half mile out, which in this terrain was likely to take a good twenty minutes to traverse. The red object that appeared to be a jacket was, thankfully, on our side of the river. With the annual runoff in full force, there was no way we’d be able to cross it.

  “Something on your mind?” Wyatt asked after we’d been hiking to the river for about ten minutes. “Besides the obvious, that is.”

  I glanced at him but kept walking as briskly as the terrain would allow. “There’s something off about this. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I have a bad feeling about things.”

  “Because you haven’t been able to make a connection?”

  “Yes, partially. But also because when I did sense something earlier, it was fragmented. I don’t think the fear and pain I picked up were coming from either Diane or Teresa.”

  “So, you think there’s a third victim?”

  I paused before I answered. I wished I felt more certain about things. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’ve been having dreams about a woman who’s being held in a cold, dark place. It could be just a dream, but I feel like it might be more. I don’t have enough evidence either way. I guess all we can do is find the women we have been tasked to rescue, then see how it all works out.”

  “Did you tell Jake about your dreams?”

  I nodded. “Last night. We discussed the various things it could mean, but that’s all we could do at this point.”

  As we neared the roaring river, I put Yukon on the lead. I hoped he’d be smart enough not to venture into the water, but better to be safe than sorry. After we exited the tree cover and entered the large clearing Dani had indicated was to the north of the jacket, we went south, paralleling the quickly flowing water. Shortly after we reentered the trees, we spotted the jacket. Just as Dani said, it was laying at the water’s edge.

  “Wyatt to Jake,” Wyatt said into the radio. “We have the jacket. So far, there’s no sign of the jacket’s owner. We’ll look around a bit to see what we can find.”

  “Chances are the jacket belongs to a hiker or rafter who lost it somewhere upstream,” I said. “The river widens here, and there are a lot of rocks around. I’m willing to bet the jacket became snagged on a rock, or maybe a tree branch, then ended up in the shallower water that eventually led to it getting tangled up on the shore.”

  Wyatt walked up and down the waterline, looking for additional debris. “Yeah. I don’t see anything.”

  I picked up the wet jacket, holding it away from my body to avoid becoming soaked by it. I tried to hone in on its owner but wasn’t getting anything. I put my hand into the pocket and was immediately overcome with a feeling of terror I had to struggle to control.

  “What is it?” Wyatt asked.

  “Terror. Cold. Darkness.” I gasped as I tried to slow my breathing. “Hopelessness.”

  “Can you see who? Or where?”

  I shook my head. “No. It’s quiet. I don’t hear the water, so I don’t think it’s nearby.”

  “Do you think you’re picking up on the owner of the jacket?”

  “No. Not the jacket.” I held out a necklace. The thin gold chain was broken, but the solitary diamond in the center of a gold heart was intact. “This.”

  Wyatt looked at it and frowned. “So you’re picking up on the owner of the necklace, not the jacket. Does that mean they belong to different people?”

  I closed my hand over the necklace again. “I’m not getting anything from the jacket, but the necklace is special to the person who owns it. I don’t know who owns the jacket or how the necklace came to be in its pocket, but the owner of the necklace is in trouble.”

  “What kind of trouble?” Wyatt asked.

  “I don’t know. It’s dark and cold. Maybe a cave. But not here. I don’t sense that she’s here by the river or even at the falls.” I opened my eyes. “I think this necklace belongs to the person in my dreams.”

  “Jake to team two.” The radio on my belt crackled while Wyatt and I were discussing the necklace.

  “Go ahead,” Wyatt said into his radio.

  “We found Diane.”

  “She’s dead,” I whispered before Jake confirmed what I knew to be true.

  “How long?” Wyatt asked.

  “Not more than a few hours. We’re at the top of the falls. I don’t have cell reception, so Dani will need to contact Officer Houston.”

  “I’m on it,” Dani confirmed and then rang off.

  “Any sign of Teresa?” I asked as regret for a life cut short settled into my heart.

  “No,” Jake answered. “Landon is going to wait here for Officer Houston. I’m giving Sitka Teresa’s scent. Do the same with Yukon. I know he wasn’t picking it up before, but I don’t see how we can leave until we know for sure.”

  I looked toward the sun, which wouldn’t set for hours. At least we didn’t have to worry about getting caught in the dark. “Okay,” I answered. “Harmony out.”

  I didn’t have a lot of faith that Yukon would be any better able to pick up Teresa’s scent now than he had before, but if she was out here, Sitka would find her. He always found his target if it was there to find.

  Chapter 8

  Later, at the debriefing, we learned Diane’s throat had been slit, the same as Pastor Brown’s. And, like Pastor Brown, it was determined she most likely died slowly. Her clothing too was wet, but she hadn’t been left in the water to die.

  While we’d been looking for Diane, Houston had been able to track down Teresa at her sister’s. She told him she’d planned to go hiking too, but Diane had canceled at the last minute, so she’d gone to Fairbanks to spend a couple of days there. Her sister had picked her up early on Tuesday morning. Teresa didn’t know why Diane would have gone ahead with the hike after canceling with her, and she agreed with my assessment that Diane wouldn’t have tackled the hike alone. According to Houston, Diane had been dead long before I tried to connect with her on Wednesday afternoon. I was pretty sure none of the flashes I’d been getting were linked to her.

  A chill worked its way up my spine as I reached into my pocket and grasped the necklace I’d found in the pocket of the red jacket. I probably should have given it to Houston along with the jacket, but I had the feeling it could be the key to identifying the person I’d sensed but had been unable to really connect with.

  It was after five by the time I got home from the rescue, so it was too late to go dog supply shopping with Houston. I called to reschedule, and when I did, he’d said he had something to talk to me about. He asked if it would be okay if he brought takeout over to my place. I was exhausted, but I was curious to hear what was on his mind, so I agreed. I had time to take the dogs for a quick walk and then feed everyone. I had just finished cleaning the cat boxes when my doggy alarm system went off and a chorus of barks alerted me that Houston had arrived.

  “Relax,” I said before opening the door. I eyed each dog as they obediently sat and waited for me to answer the knock.

  “That’s quite an alarm system you have,” Houston greeted.

  “It’s the best kind. Come on in.” I stood aside.

  Houston eyed the dogs warily as he tentatively took a step into the cabin. He glanced at each dog in turn, settling on Denali, who was sitting quietly, as he’d been told to do, though he hadn’t quite quelled the deep growls coming from his chest. “Are you sure it’s okay?”

  “It’s fine. They’ve been told to stand down. They’ll do as they’re told.” Once Houston, who was dressed casually in jeans and a sweatshirt, was completely inside, I introduced him to the family who, except for the always-on-guard Denali, began to wag their tails, accepting him as a new friend who’d come to play. “Why don’t we dig into whatever smells so good before it gets cold? You can fill me in on whatever you wanted to talk about while we eat.”

  “Fine by me. I’m starving.”

&nb
sp; We divided up the cheesy pasta dish Houston had picked up at Neverland and we took seats at my small dining table. Then he slid a photo across the table. It was a man in his forties with light hair cropped military style. Gray eyes and chiseled features devoid of even the slightest warmth or animation seemed to demonstrate that he was a serious man with a singular purpose that wouldn’t be denied. A chill crept up my spine as I continued to study that face. “Who is he?”

  “His name is Damian Ragland. After you told me the man who’d picked up Silvia had been driving an Avis rental, I began my search for a male who’d picked up a dark blue Ford Focus in the days preceding Silvia’s abduction. Apparently, it’s a popular rental car; the list was longer than I’d anticipated. I was, however, able to narrow things down quite a bit when I took in to account that the man had most likely been alone and would probably have already turned in the vehicle. Eventually, I came up with this man.”

  I looked at the photo again. “Why would he kidnap Silvia?”

  “I’m still not certain of all the details, but I’m beginning to put together a profile. It seems he was born right here in Rescue to Todd and Betty Ragland. Betty passed away after a short illness when Damian was nine. Her husband was a rugged outdoorsman, but, based on a police report I was able to dig up, had no idea how to raise a child. He was a hard and rigid man who went from ignoring the child to taking out his frustrations on him. When Damian was twelve, one of his teachers noticed bruises on his arms, legs, and torso, which she reported to the police. The officer on duty spoke to the boy’s father, but that only seemed to make him angrier. The beatings became more frequent and severe. The court ordered counseling services for both father and son, but it didn’t seem to make much of a difference in their relationship. When Damian was thirteen he was taken from his father and sent to live with an uncle in Anchorage. From what I’ve been able to uncover, Ragland was a difficult child who had trouble fitting in with a traditional family. Eventually he was removed from his uncle’s home and put into the foster care system. He was too angry and too aggressive to find a placement with one of the foster families in the area, so he spent most of his teens in group homes. When he was eighteen, he joined the Army, where he seemed to thrive and was recruited by Special Forces. Ragland was good with a gun and didn’t mind using it, which served him well over the course of his career. By the time the war in Afghanistan rolled around, he was a highly decorated sniper.”

  “What does Silvia have to do with any of this?” I asked.

  “Hang on; I’m getting to that. In 2008, Ragland was involved in an ill-fated mission that resulted in civilian casualties. His entire team was subjected to an in-depth review to determine whether there had been negligence involved in what can only be described as a tragic error. While Ragland was never brought up on official charges—due, I believe, to a lack of conclusive evidence—it’s my opinion, based on what I’ve been able to find out, and the opinion of others who looked in to the case, that it was his decision to act outside of the designated plan that led to the rampage that resulted in the civilian deaths. In the end, it was Ragland’s choice to leave the Army. After he was discharged, he simply disappeared, and to the extent that any man is able to, became a ghost.”

  “What do you mean by ghost?” I asked.

  “Basically, that while he seems to make a living as a hitman, he never stays in one place for long, which has made him impossible to track down.”

  I took a deep breath and let Houston’s words sink in. “Okay, this is a very tragic story, but why would you think he kidnapped Silvia?”

  “I not only think Ragland kidnapped Silvia, I think he’s responsible for both Pastor Brown and Diane’s murders as well.”

  I’d had a feeling the three deaths would come down to a single perpetrator. “Say you’re right. Why these three individuals?”

  “They were all connected to Ragland and, in some way, contributed to his being removed from his home when he was a teen. Diane Fullerton was the teacher who called law enforcement when she noticed he had extensive bruises on his body. Pastor Brown knew the family and the situation and tried to intervene. He tried mentoring him but ultimately testified against Damian’s father at the custody hearing. I can see how he would feel betrayed by this.”

  “And Silvia?”

  “Silvia White was the doctor who saw him after his teacher noticed his injuries. She also testified at the hearing that resulted in his removal from his father’s home.”

  “You think this man has come home after all these years to punish the people who took him from his father?”

  Houston nodded.

  “But why? If a child is being beaten by his father, you’d think he’d be glad to be removed from the home.”

  “In my experience, as illogical as it may seem, many children have deep affection for their abusive parents. At times, the violence serves to deepen the bond beyond that of a normal parent-child relationship. Additionally, Ragland was tossed from the pot into the fire. From what I can tell, his life became a hell on earth after the removal. I have no doubt the people who worked to have him removed from his father’s care had the best of intentions. Unfortunately, their actions only ended up making things worse for him.”

  I sat back in my chair. Suddenly, my appetite was nonexistent. “Okay, say Damian Ragland is the one who killed Pastor Brown and Diane Fullerton and intended to kill Silvia White. Why now? He has to be, what, forty?”

  “Forty-two. I’m not sure why he decided now was the time for him to right what he probably perceived to be a great wrong. I’m going to assume something occurred to set him off. His actions here seem to have been carefully planned and executed.”

  The more I thought about it, the more Houston’s theory fit. Pastor Brown had told Jolene he couldn’t stay to watch a movie with the family because he was meeting an old acquaintance. Silvia took a last-minute ride with an old friend. And Diane canceled her plans to go hiking with Teresa at the last minute. Most likely Ragland had contacted her, asking to meet. “Is that all?” I asked. “Are there others?”

  “I’m afraid there might be.” Houston took a piece of paper from the folder he’d been carrying when he’d arrived. I hadn’t noticed it until after he sat down and began to speak. “After I discovered Ragland was our suspect, I made a list of everyone who’d been involved in the hearing that resulted in his being removed from his father’s home. Diane Fullerton was the teacher who saw his extensive bruises and went to the police. Phillip Osgood was the officer who first responded to her complaint. He had Ragland checked out by a doctor, Silvia White. She reported that he had not only suffered a recent beating but there was evidence of broken bones and extensive scarring going back years. Both Ragland and his father were required to undergo counseling. The counselor they were assigned to was Jennifer Walton, who was unable to do much to change the dad’s outlook on life, but she saw promise in the boy and enlisted the help of Pastor Brown. She felt Ragland would benefit from having a positive male role model and hoped the pastor would fill that role. When things continued to escalate at home, Walton recommended to the court that Ragland be removed. All the people mentioned testified at the hearing that was arranged. Judge Frank Noltie transferred the boy’s custody to his uncle, who eventually claimed he was unable to meet the needs of the rebellious teen. Ragland was then placed in foster care and lived out his adolescence in a group home.”

  “Diane and Pastor Brown are dead, and Dr. White is in the hospital. Do you know what became of Walton, Officer Osgood, and Judge Noltie?”

  “Officer Osgood is retired and living in Florida. Judge Noltie died after suffering a heart attack eight years ago. Jennifer Walton lives in Fairbanks. Her husband reported her missing last Saturday. Apparently, she received a phone call at around eleven a.m. and told her husband she needed to run out to meet an old client but wouldn’t be more than a couple of hours. When she hadn’t returned by eight that night, he called the police. I was able to determine that Ragland arrived
in Fairbanks and rented the Ford on Friday evening. It seems likely he arrived in Rescue to meet with Father Brown by midday on Sunday. I don’t know for certain Ragland abducted Walton, but I have good reason to suspect he did. What I don’t know is whether she’s still alive. As best I can tell, it’s Ragland’s MO to kidnap his victims, hold them overnight, and then kill them the following day.”

  My heart was pounding, my palms sweaty. I had a million questions I felt needed to be asked, but my mouth was so dry I couldn’t speak. I reached for my water glass and took a long swallow. It did seem like Ragland was following a pattern. Pastor Brown was meeting him on Sunday evening. It was most likely he was abducted then, and the ME believed he died on Monday morning. Silvia was abducted and left in the cave on Tuesday. It seemed reasonable to assume Ragland planned to come back to kill her on Wednesday, but we found her before he was able to do it. Diane was kidnapped on Wednesday. While I didn’t know what would be in the ME’s official report, we’d already assumed she’d been killed this morning. Given the pattern, if Jennifer Walton had been abducted on Saturday, she would have been killed on Sunday, but I had a feeling she was still alive.

  “Do you have a photo of Jennifer Walton?” I asked.

  Houston slid one across the table to me. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Somehow, I knew she was the woman in my dreams. “I think I’ve been connecting with her for days. I just didn’t know it was her. We have to find her.”

  “Any idea where to start?” Houston asked.

  My mind was racing, which would only hinder my ability to focus and make a connection. “I need to get something from my room. Call Jake. Tell him to come over. Tell him to put the rest of the team on alert.”

  I ran into my room and grabbed the necklace I’d found. I returned to the living room, sat down on the sofa, and clutched it in my hand as I tried to pull up an image of the woman in my mind. Nice smile. Dark, warm eyes. Thick dark hair that flowed over her shoulders. Initially, she’d seemed so weak. I’d felt the woman in my dreams was close to death, but with every day that passed it seemed she grew stronger. More determined. I remembered her thinking she would need to make a move. Try to escape. I wondered if she had. I wondered if her valiant efforts had gotten her killed.