Murder in the Mist

by Loretta C. Rogers

  “All right. Let’s look at the facts, Friday. We have a group who admitted they’re dopers. If the tent was backed up to this wooded area, it’s possible Daisy was stoned enough to lose her bearings and went tromping through the weeds instead of heading in that direction toward the restroom.” He pointed. “Let’s take the trail that parallels where the rear of the tent should have faced, and see where it leads us.”

  Laura nodded. She lifted the trekking poles. “Lead the way.”

  “We’ve got all day. You stroll on the trail. I’ll go through the brush to see if I can spot where Daisy may have walked. Don’t push beyond your comfort level. If your leg gets tired, tell me.”

  After a mile, a bench looked inviting. Laura sat, stretching her leg.

  Mitch waded out of the thick brush to join Laura. “How is it?”

  “The trekking poles really work. My leg is tired, but not as much as I’d expected. I guess you’re not having much luck with spotting evidence, huh?”

  Mitch slapped his hand against his thigh. “This is damned frustrating. Not even a broken twig, or a piece of torn clothing.”

  They sat, neither of them speaking. Mitch lifted a finger to his lips to signal quiet as he pointed. Laura followed the angle of his arm. She lifted her camera and clicked. A doe with a fawn stood in the high brush. Laura offered Mitch a wide-eyed grin. “It’s beautiful here. Nothing like New York, where the only animals you see are the pampered pets at the end of a leash or police horses and carriage horses.”

  “Do you ever think of returning to your old job?”

  She turned toward him and sighed. “Once in a while, part of me gets an itch for the limelight. A small part. The rest of me likes my new life. It’d take a mighty big offer, with lots of money behind it, to entice me back to overpriced restaurants, shoulder-to-shoulder crowded sidewalks, noxious fumes, yelling, rudeness.”

  She lifted the camera again and adjusted the zoom lens.

  “Another deer?”

  “Mmm, no. How far are we from where the park property ends and the residential area begins?”

  “I’m not quite sure. Why?”

  She removed the camera strap from around her neck and offered it to Mitch. She showed him how to look through the display screen. “I see a rooftop.” She pointed to a button. “This controls the zoom.”

  Mitch moved the camera around until he spotted the barest view of a rusted metal roof. He zoomed in. “It’s off the path, and the going could get tough…”

  She interrupted his sentence, slipped her hands through the pole straps, and, gritting her teeth, stood. “I’m okay. Let’s go.”

  Wild blackberry bushes tore at their trouser legs. Mitch watched the ground as he walked. After a half hour, he held up his hand as a signal to halt. He stooped down and pointed. “Get a shot of this before I pick it up.” He reached in his front pants pocket and removed a pocket knife and a plastic evidence bag.

  Laura focused from three different angles. Mitch used the tip of his pocket knife to brush the leaves away and then to lift the blue rubber stub. He held it up. “What is it?”

  Laura snapped more shots before he dropped it into the bag. “May I?”

  She scrutinized the piece of rubber. “I’m not completely certain, but this looks like a toe post from a flip-flop.”

  A grin spread across Mitch’s face. “Good work, Friday. Sybella Dauzat said the victim was wearing flip-flops. If the shoes broke, that accounts for the cuts on the bottoms of her feet, and wading through this thick brush explains the multiple scratches on her legs.”

  “Maybe she spotted the rooftop and hoped to seek shelter from the storm. I wonder who lives there?”

  “We’ll soon find out.”

  The distance was farther than it looked through the camera lens. The park’s trail led away from the area Mitch and Laura traversed. After an hour of stepping over fallen logs, and wading through bushes that threatened to trap and hold them captive, Mitch and Laura stood at the edge of the woods and looked down at a small cabin. An old wooden boat with peeling blue and white paint lay keel up on two rickety sawhorses. The yard was littered with rusting appliances, car tires, and a bicycle frame. Other than junk and weeds, the place appeared abandoned.

  Mitch removed the backpack and unzipped it. He pulled out both bottles of water and handed one to Laura. He watched her drink deep and then stand as if trying to catch her breath. “How’s the leg?”

  When she didn’t answer, he said, “Your eyes tell me all I need to know. Let’s head back.”

  “No, Mitch. Give me a few minutes and I’ll be okay. The trekking poles help more than you’ll ever know. We’ve come this far. Besides, I want to know who lives in that cabin.”

  “Tell you what. You stay put. Rest your leg. Your aunt said there were several abandoned cabins up here. This could be one. If it’s occupied, let me check it out first. I’ll signal if it’s safe. Deal?”

  He read the relief in her expression. She drew in a long breath and released it. “Deal.”

  ****

  The minute Mitch turned toward the dilapidated structure, Laura allowed her shoulders to sag. She bit her lip against the throbbing white-hot pain that seemed to permeate her entire right side. Thankful for the support, she allowed the trekking poles to bear the brunt of her weight. She watched Mitch as he descended the slope and approached the cabin with caution. One hand on his service revolver, he walked to a window and stood on tiptoes to peer inside. From a distance, he fit the visual image of a dangerous cowboy. Mesmerized, she caught herself staring at him.

  A stab of anxiety pierced Laura when he disappeared around the front of the house. She clenched her hands around the poles. The air suddenly felt heavy. Heavy and damp and full of promise for rain. The weather, the pain—this entire situation made her edgy. She drew a deep, fortifying breath and reminded herself that she was fine, and that Mitch knew how to take care of himself.

  Relief washed over her when she heard him call her name, and spotted him climbing up the hill toward her.

  “Anything?”

  “Nope. Place looks like it’s been abandoned for years. No sign of any recent activity. In fact, all the floorboards have either rotted away or someone pulled them up.” He touched her on the arm. “How’re you holding up?”

  “Great. Where to from here?”

  “I see a trail marker. We’ll head toward it and hope it leads us to Ocean Path, and then on to the beach area at Thunder Hole. I’d like to get a look around the area and the cavern.”

  “You lead. I’ll follow.”

  “Friday, I can call and have Ranger Dorsey come get you.”

  She didn’t speak right away. She was tired, but in a different sort of way. This was physical fatigue, unlike being exhausted after too many sleepless nights from battered emotions. She liked this kind of tired better. She was pushing her body and knew she’d pay the consequences tonight and maybe tomorrow.

  He reached over and squeezed her shoulder. After a moment, she touched his hand. “Thanks for caring, Mitch.”

  He gave a nod and led the way up the steep incline. To take her mind off the ache, she said, “Have you created a profile of the killer?”

  She could almost see the muscles rippling through the back of his tan uniform shirt, and the way his glutes tightened as he strained up the incline fluttered her insides. She reminded herself he was leaving. He was running for sheriff in El Paso, and he needed to exact restitution on the men who had harmed his family. This thought solidified her resolve to remain detached emotionally. His voice interrupted her meandering thoughts.

  “We know his favorite kill method is to break the victim’s neck. He’s not a flashy killer or a serial killer, yet he certainly gets the job done. With the recent discovery of the animals, all with cervical fractures, this indicates our perp’s desire for taking lives is most likely increasing.

  “There was no evidence of sexual assault. This could mean the crime itself gives him orgasmic gratification, o
r he gets caught in a megalomaniacal fantasy which possibly means that if he was abused as a child, he’s punishing the person who harmed him, most likely a female relative. He is strategic and canny, intelligent and confident, but he might struggle with reacting appropriately to other people’s emotion-driven social cues.

  “The one thing I don’t want to happen is for the trail to grow cold. Every lawman knows the more time that passes, the more difficult it becomes to find a suspect. Also, is there a connection between Lynnette Braswell and Daisy Fuller?”

  Behind his back, Laura frowned. “Then this person could be a sociopath, living right under our noses, and we’d never know it.”

  Mitch grunted his response. “Exactly.”

  She huffed as she spoke. “I guess every case is like a jigsaw puzzle. It’s a matter of making all the pieces fit together to solve the crime.”

  He darted a quick glance over his shoulder. “Not altogether different from what a good investigative reporter does.”

  Laura smiled through gritted teeth. She tried not to think about the sweat pooling under her arms or trickling between her breasts. Then, one moment she was using the poles as stability and the next moment the tip of one of the rods slipped on a rock and her foot slid out from under her. She teetered precariously before she grimly fell forward. She squealed as she reached for a handful of bushes and dirt to keep from sliding backwards.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Laura was aware of Mitch calling her name. A buzzing roared in her ears, and sparklers burst in front of her eyes. She blinked and took a moment to regain her senses. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth where she had bitten her bottom lip. “Oh, damn.”

  Mitch came crashing down in front of her. Before she realized he’d grabbed her, she was sitting next to him. Her chest heaved. She was hot. Her legs trembled. He removed a bottle of water from the backpack and wet his handkerchief to wipe the blood from her lips and chin. He handed her the bottle. “Here, swish some around and spit it out so I can see if you need stitches.”

  The water was tepid. She did as instructed. He gently folded her bottom lip down. “You’ll need some ice to reduce the swelling, and to be on the safe side, let’s get you to a doctor.”

  She ran a hand through her short-cropped hair. “I must look a total mess.”

  He merely grinned. “I haven’t seen a girl with a fat lip and dirt on the tip of her nose and cheek in a while. Kinda cute.”

  She offered him a lopsided smirk. “You’re a real pal.”

  After another moment she brought the water bottle back up and drank a long, deep swallow. “What time is it?”

  “A little past noon.”

  “Where are we?”

  “We’re about a hundred yards from the marked trail. Can you stand?”

  He placed his arms around her to help her upright. She took a step, only to have her right leg fold beneath her. “Stay put while I check the trail number.”

  Something scuffled in the underbrush not far away. Her attention snapped into gear. Nothing appeared. It was broad daylight and she was jumping at shadows. She thought about how Daisy Fuller must have felt wandering around at night…sopping wet…lost.

  Mitch stood before her, holding out his hands. “Ranger Dorsey is on her way.”

  ****

  Mitch knelt down and lifted Laura in his arms. He stilled with the strange feeling her simple contact stirred within him. He hadn’t been touched intimately by a female since his wife died.

  Laura nestled against him. Her supple body invited thoughts he hadn’t entertained in a long time. Like how much he missed spending the night in a soft bed with a woman he could devote hours to pleasuring. Warnings inside his head reminded him that she needed a man who wasn’t as cold and dead inside as he was.

  He hadn’t realized until this moment how much he’d missed that connection with a woman. The sound of the four-wheeler approaching jerked his mind back on track. He stepped out of the brush and onto the trail, and set Laura on her feet.

  “So what are we going to do now?”

  He turned his thoughts inward to shake away those feelings and to focus on what was important. “You need a doctor. We’ll call it a day and return to town.”

  He lifted his hand and waved as Ranger Dorsey pulled to a stop. She handed Laura a small package. “I brought the ice pack Mitch requested for your lip. Looks like a whale of a bruise is forming on your cheek, too.”

  Laura groaned. “Great. Just great. Every person I see will ask what doorknob I ran into, or some such idiotic remark.”

  As soon as Mitch had Laura settled in the front seat, Dorsey put the vehicle in gear. “Sorry about your fall, Ms. Friday.”

  “Yeah, it’s a bummer. I hate cutting the day short, but Mitch insists I get medical attention.”

  Keeping her eyes on the trail, the ranger said, “My shift ends in about twenty minutes. I’d planned to do a bit of shopping in town, and I’d be happy to drive you to the doctor.”

  Laura didn’t answer at first. Shifting around to look at Mitch, an aching pain bit her hard in the hip. “Mitch, as much as I’d like to explore the beach and cavern with you, it’s not going to happen today. Besides, you said the more time an investigation takes, the colder the evidence gets. I won’t have you wasting any more time on me when it can be better spent searching for more clues.”

  Mitch watched her with an assessing gaze. He nodded, accepting her offer with mixed feelings. “Ranger Dorsey, how far to the beach area?”

  She pointed as she braked to a stop. Then she glanced at her watch. “We’re at low tide. High tide at four fifty-four p.m. Don’t linger, Deputy. There’s a storm brewing, which means the tide will roll in fast. Predictions are for eighteen feet.”

  Mitch stepped out of the vehicle. He thanked Ranger Dorsey for driving Laura to town, then lifted his hand in a wave. “I’ll check on you later, Laura.”

  “Be careful, Mitch.”

  He stared as the 4x4 disappeared, then followed the short path to the coastline area. For several moments, he stood taking in the serene beauty of gentle waves lapping against the pebble-strewn beach and, in the distance, colorful sails of bobbing boats. At the bottom step his boots sank into the sand. He walked along the pebbly shore area in a grid pattern, scouring the sand and clumps of seaweed for any unusual objects, and when the beach ended he climbed atop a craggy table of rocks. Careful not to slip and fall, he searched crevices and found nothing of importance. He continued along the granite ledges until he reached the sheer stone walls of Thunder Hole and could go no further.

  Standing with hands on hips, frustration rode him like the wild waves washing in and out of the cavern and sending bursts of foamy spray skyward. Whoever killed Daisy Fuller knew the area. He had to agree with Bryan Cole’s assumption that the killer’s intention was to dump her body in the ocean and let the predators destroy the evidence. Except the waves had turned the tides on him.

  A small ball of fire sparked in front of him, followed by a vibrating boom of thunder. The electrified air caused the hairs on his arms to stand on end. He looked at the leaden sky. It was time to heed Ranger Dorsey’s warning. With a storm approaching and the way the waves were kicking up, he needed to make tracks to higher ground.

  He raced along the surface of uneven rocks. At the rate the tide was rolling in, if he didn’t get across the beach area soon, he’d have to risk battling the current in order to swim to safety.

  A splat of rain hit his shoulder. The breath was sucked from his lungs when an unexpectedly large wave crashed over him. His boots slipped on the boulders’ wet surface. He scrambled to maintain his balance, and fell to one knee. Another wave rushed at him. He dug his fingers into small crevices and held tight. The force of the breaking surf felt as if it were a beast trying to swallow him. Unable to regain his balance, he called on the strength in his arms and legs to pull himself across the slippery stone.

  A thundering roar warned him that another cascade of water was a
pproaching. The knees of his pants ripped as he scrambled to the rocky rim. What had been an easy climb thirty minutes ago had become a life-and-death struggle. The wave washed him off the ledge and dragged him into the frigid water. Beneath the roiling surf, he held his breath, worrying he might be caught in a riptide. At the moment he feared the air had run out, his lungs near exploding, a wave lifted him up and spit him out. Gasping for air, he managed to stand. Running through waist-deep water was no easy task. He moved his arms back and forth in a swimming motion to help propel himself forward. The tide continued to rise; it reached his chest now.

  He struggled. The steps to safety were within fingertip reach. He leaned forward and stretched. Another wave crested, grabbed hold, and sucked him under. His boots and service gear weighed him down.

  He fought until he surfaced. Salt burned his eyes. He sucked in large gulps of air and then heard his name.

  “Mitch…Deputy Carter…Here.”

  The water had reached his chin and was inching toward his nose. He swirled around to see Ranger Klopper standing with a life ring tied to the end of a rope.

  “Grab hold.”

  Mitch prayed the current wouldn’t sweep the lifeline out of his reach. Watching the white ring sail through the air, he crouched on his knees and used the force of the water to surge his body upward as he jumped—and landed with a splash, face down in the briny sea. His last thought was how glad he was that Laura wasn’t with him.

  And then he was skimming through the water, his right arm hooked through the ring. Strong hands pulled him to safety.

  Mitch coughed and gasped his thanks. “How did you know I was here?”

  “Ranger Dorsey reported that you had come to the area to do some investigating. I got worried when you didn’t answer your walkie-talkie. Sure hoped you weren’t in trouble but thought I’d better check.”

  Mitch accepted the blanket the ranger handed him, and wrapped it around his shivering body. “You saved my bacon, Ranger. I won’t forget it.”