Skye Cree 03: The Bones Will Tell

by Vickie McKeehan

  “There’s the tunnel and the railroad tracks. The rails are supposed to lead to a dock.”

  A different time and she would have liked to explore the tunnel with its colorful graffiti and rusted railway from a forgotten era. “Out here? Don’t we need water and a shore for that?”

  “Due west.”

  “Too bad we’re headed east.”

  A salamander chose that moment to run across her boot. To her credit, she didn’t shriek out an expletive. Instead, she charged ahead through the yellowcress that dotted the slope surrounding them. Even though they’d left the paved path some time back, they surveyed the jagged landscape looking for anything out of the ordinary.

  “Kiya hasn’t picked up anything since we got here. What about you?”

  “Only that the land has seen its fair share of bloodshed.”

  “Historic or more recent?”

  “Both.”

  “Are we in the wrong area?”

  Josh shook his head. “Just because we haven’t found anything yet, doesn’t mean it isn’t here.”

  When they came upon one of the empty buildings Josh had mentioned earlier, they went on alert. Standing outside the copse of sturdy western larch and Douglas fir guarding what used to be a train station.

  “We have to check this place out,” Skye whispered.

  “We’ll circle around back.”

  The wood frame still had a faint trace of paint on it that had to go back decades. Since no one had bothered to board up windows or doors, they were able to get a look inside. Nothing remained, except a lopsided floor, rotting and unsteady. The last owner, whoever it had been, had left the place to the elements and the wildlife. Once they deemed it was only a shell and that it hadn’t been used for anything other than a marker for hikers, they moved on.

  A mile later they decided to rest near a shallow basin. Skye sat down on a rock and dug into her backpack for a bottle of water. She chugged down half before handing it off to Josh who drained what was left.

  “Kevin Holt was right. This is like looking for a needle in a haystack. Why do you let me do these crazy things?”

  “Because hunting is what you do. It’s in your blood.”

  “God, I love you. Who else would put up with this insane life we lead, or more to the point, put up with me?”

  “Right back at ya.”

  “So what do we do now?”

  “We head back home and go through the case binders, again. Look for a better place where this guy could set up shop,” Josh decided, drawing in a tight breath. “What else can we do?”

  “Then I guess we’d better start back. We’re losing the light.”

  He took her hand, brought her closer. “The realtor called today to tell me we close on the house tomorrow. Are you ready for this?”

  “I’m more than ready. I want this new start, mainly because my brain feels like mush. If we don’t solve this thing soon, I think I’m looking at burnout, Josh, full-scale burnout. For the first time in eight years, I feel exhausted, both mentally and physically.”

  “Me too. Maybe it’s because we aren’t getting enough sleep.”

  “We might need to cut back on the nights of the week we hit the streets, consider taking a break from all this. Maybe it’s just too much. Sometimes I think what we need is an army instead of just two people.”

  “We have troops,” Josh declared. He thought of the stellar team he had back at work and Skye’s eager new recruits. “We just need to utilize them better.”

  Through binoculars, he watched the pair’s movements. He wasn’t afraid or worried. He’d never been that. The fact that Skye Cree and her bumbling partner had gotten so close might have rattled a lesser person. But it didn’t bother him. After all, getting close wasn’t the same as finding. He had to remind himself that the inept couple hadn’t been successful on much of anything. Let alone their jaunt from their swanky penthouse in the city to where the common man lived and worked.

  He wasn’t ashamed of who he was, even though he’d slid out of a meth addict. He’d never known the bastard who’d fathered him. His mother had become a painted whore who’d sold herself for pittance. She’d overdosed a week before his fourteenth birthday. If he’d followed in mommy’s drug-addled footsteps, he’d more than likely be dead by now, too. So he’d carved out a better life for himself by recognizing opportunity and seizing his chances.

  That’s why he didn’t intend to spend two minutes of his time worrying about the Cree woman and her sidekick or how they had ended up so near his turf.

  He told himself he wasn’t getting sloppy. He knew where sloppy got you.

  Letting his hands drape from his sitting position, he took in the view of the pretty valley below. Remembering another time, another place, a bad place, he’d sworn to never go back there again or anyplace like it. Nothing they could do to him could make him go back there again. Ever. If he had to, he’d fight to the death if that’s what it took to stay out of jail. Recalling his time spent in that depressing, closed-in space was his salvation. A person had to want to crawl up through shit to get out of the sewer.

  He’d climbed kicking and screaming through the waste of his life.

  He’d been young and foolish the first time. He wasn’t either of those things now. Youth and foolishness rarely garnered accolades unless there was a special talent involved. He had a special talent. It was that reassurance that had him getting his priorities straight.

  Glancing to his right, he brought the dark-haired woman into the curve of his arm. Ignoring the fact that Selma was naked, cold and battered, he stroked the top of her head, patting her like a dog.

  Without preliminary, he unzipped his pants, picked up her stiff hand and stuffed it down into his crotch and began working her fingers around his shaft.

  And remembered back to the time he’d been seventeen.

  He’d been horny as hell then, too. He also remembered being head over heels in love with Margo Jamison. At the memory of how his youthful heart used to race each time he saw Margo in the hallway between classes, he smiled.

  He recalled how he’d stood like the weak dumbass he’d been at the time, waiting for Margo to show up at her locker.

  If he was honest with himself it was during that time with Margo that had made him what he was today. If the bitch had just given into him sooner, given him what he’d wanted then, he’d never have had to travel down this road in the first place.

  Probably.

  He smiled at himself and his soppy mood. What was it about getting older that made a man reminisce about their misspent youth? After all, he couldn’t keep his mind wandering so much in the past, revisiting his every flaw or the times he’d messed up. That was for fools.

  “I can’t keep you, baby,” he proclaimed, placing a kiss on Selma’s cold, blue lips. For some reason, I can never keep the ones I truly care about. But I promise to put you some place real nice. You deserve real nice.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Thirty minutes west of Seattle across Puget Sound, Skye was sure she’d found her own personal sanctuary. Bainbridge Island, with its bucolic countryside and gentle slopes, sand dunes and a forest of trees, had an old world feel to it. A mix of Native American history combined with a European heritage, she decided she could feel right at home here.

  From the back door of the farmhouse Skye could see the jutting coastline and rocky outcrops that made the land so diverse.

  The furniture truck had already come and gone. The delivery men had already carted heavy bedroom furniture, mattresses, and a new flat-screen TV upstairs. They’d arranged the living room for her with the new sofa and love seat—several times, in fact.

  She wandered outside to walk the grounds. Their ten acres included rolling hills, wooded patches that stretched to the rear of the property and a small shallow pond the previous owners had let grow in knots of creeping ivy and ragwort. Skye intended to fix that.

  When she heard a vehicle turn into the long drive, she dashed ar
ound the corner of the house in time to see Josh and Tate crawl out of a rented truck.

  “What took so long?” Skye wanted to know.

  “Had to wait forty-five minutes for the truck and then another thirty to get aboard the ferry. Did the furniture show up yet?”

  “All set up, just waiting for you and Tate to bring in our treasures.”

  Josh swaggered over and planted a kiss on her mouth. He scooped her up off the driveway and into his arms, started heading toward the front of the house.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You’ve been married so long you forgot a man always carries his bride over the threshold. That’s a good sign.”

  “But you did that when we checked into the hotel in St. Kitts and again when we got home to the loft.”

  Toting her through the front door and into the entryway, Josh covered her mouth again before setting her on her feet. “Then I guess the third time is the one that counts.”

  Tate followed them inside and looked around. “Wow, this is some hacienda. Next thing we’ll hear is that you’ve decided to start a family? Imagine, having little Anders running around this place.”

  Skye met Josh’s eyes. “We’re getting us a dog, maybe two.”

  “Even better,” Tate returned. “Have you decided what kind?”

  As all three lifted and hauled in their share of boxes, they stacked them in every room of the house. Many trips back and forth gave them time to kick around the best dog breeds.

  “I’m fond of border collies myself. They’re supposed to be smarter than all the rest,” Tate threw out. “There’s a no-kill shelter in Snohomish that’s so overcrowded right now they’re begging for people to adopt. I know because Maggie was planning to go down there and pick out a dog for herself before she was…” Tate’s voiced trailed off. He couldn’t bring himself to utter the word, murdered. “Maybe she should have. Maybe a dog would’ve saved her somehow.”

  Skye took his hand in hers. “We don’t know that, not even the circumstances of what really happened. I’m so sorry about Maggie. I still feel Josh and I have some degree of responsibility.”

  “Why? You shouldn’t feel that way because the sick son of a bitch who did those despicable things to her picked her out of all the other employees. It could’ve just as easily been Terry in accounting or Jeanie in marketing. I’m the one who blew her off that Sunday. I’m the one who didn’t go by her place to check on her until Monday. I was trying to teach her a lesson. What kind of boyfriend thinks that way?”

  “Oh, Tate,” Skye said, wrapping her arms around him. “It’s not your fault.”

  Josh slapped Tate on the back. “I already told you to let go of that guilt. None of us have a crystal ball.”

  “I want to help you guys catch this bastard. I’ll do anything you want me to do.”

  “You really want to help, volunteer at the Foundation,” Josh suggested. “Skye could use all the help she can get going through case binders we’ve put together. Another pair of eyes couldn’t hurt.”

  When they had finished unloading the van, they dropped into the comfy living room chairs, exhausted.

  “How about I call in pizza?” Skye offered. “I found a pizza flyer mixed in with all the junk in our mailbox. How about we order takeout?”

  “That’ll work. Hard to believe they deliver pizza to the boonies.” Tate joked. “Do they deliver beer, too, if not I’ll take the biggest bottle of Coke they have.”

  “We aren’t that far from downtown Bainbridge,” Josh explained. “Less than four miles from downtown, that means we fall into their delivery guidelines.”

  Skye laughed. “We checked before we signed the paperwork on the house. Do you believe that? But you guys go ahead and argue the point while I go dig the ad out of the trash.”

  After she took off for the kitchen, Tate looked over at his former brother-in-law. “Should we tell her she could just look up the phone number on the cell?”

  “And miss the five-dollars off coupon that probably came with the advertisement? No way.”

  Tate grinned. “She is a sweetheart the way she always watches out for your money. That Foundation is barebones, Josh. She refused to spend excessively to outfit the place. I mean, it does the job but… That sure isn’t like any woman I’ve ever known. And that’s including my sister. We both know Annabelle loved to spend your money. ”

  Josh nodded his head in agreement reminding himself it was wise not to get into a rant about Annabelle’s spending habits, which boarded on extravagant. All he said was, “Don’t I know it.”

  The pizza guy showed up about the same time a cloudburst decided to break open in a downpour, which earned an additional tip for him.

  They stuffed themselves on pepperoni and Italian sausage and told funny stories about dogs they’d owned, steering clear of any more mention of Maggie.

  A couple of hours later after Tate said goodnight, Josh braved the rain to go out to the back and bring in firewood. He built up a blaze in the fireplace as they listened to the steady rain coming down on their new roof. When the fire caught, Josh settled back, propped his feet up in Skye’s lap to the sound of Bach coming from their iPod docking station.

  But just as they got cozy, the landline rang, Skye got up to answer it with all the enthusiasm of a teenager waiting for that special person to finally ring.

  “Our first phone call in our new house,” she said, excitement dripping from her voice as she snatched up the receiver from its cradle. “Hello?”

  “Skye, I’ve got news.”

  Because Harry was the first person who’d called on the brand-new landline, Skye told him as much. But even on a Saturday night the detective was in no mood for small talk. Harry’s demeanor was all business.

  “Dawson got a match to the bones you were sent. They’ve been identified through DNA and came back a match to Trisha Danes.”

  “The young soldier’s wife? But the note said they belonged to a Janie or a Julie, he couldn’t remember which?”

  “He was obviously way off. He either planted a false lead early on or maybe he just couldn’t recall her name after so much time had passed. Either way, now we know. Look, I’ve got to get back to the living room. My wife popped in a movie already and she’s waiting for me to come back from the bathroom. I wanted to tell you as soon as Dawson gave me the word.”

  “You’re in the bathroom? What movie?” Skye wanted to know.

  “My wife says if I don’t sit still for two hours to watch some chick flick with her called The Big Wedding, she’s cuffing me to the chair or filing for divorce. I forget which. By the way, when did Robert De Niro start doing fluff stuff?”

  “About two decades ago,” Skye told him.

  “Well, the wife tricked me with that one, didn’t she? Promised me De Niro. I’m thinking gangster, or cop, definitely drama. And what I get is silly and stupid.”

  She got a kick out of Harry’s take on the movie. “Such a critic. Go have fun with the wife. But hey, if you play your cards right that handcuffing thing could be a lot less expensive for you than a divorce.”

  Josh was laughing when she hung up. “I don’t even want to picture detective Drummond and the missus like that.”

  “Me either.”

  “So Dawson identified the bones?”

  “Yeah, but the guy’s note said they belonged to a Janie or a Julie. Trisha doesn’t sound like either one.”

  “But the DNA doesn’t lie,” Josh replied. “Maybe he didn’t know Trisha’s name.”

  “That’s what Harry said. But it bugs me, is all. I’ve been searching for missing Janies and Julies all up and down the Pacific Northwest. I can’t believe I fell for a false lead.”

  “It happens.” He didn’t like the troubled look he saw on her face. They’d been having a nice evening and now she seemed preoccupied. Harry’s fault, he thought now. “Okay, do you plan to tell me what’s bothering you for real?”

  “Yesterday, after we got the keys to the house, I made
contact with a former FBI profiler named Emmett Cannavale.”

  “The obvious question isn’t why but why another one? You know the task force already talked to one.”

  “Yeah, but that one shut us out. I want to know how this guy thinks, Josh. The only way to do that is get our own guy on board. Cannavale has spent time with serial killers on death row. He might bring a different perspective to the case than what you and I do. I want to pick Cannavale’s brain, get a bead on who we’re dealing with.”

  “When?”

  “I set up a meeting with him for next month. He’ll be in town then for a seminar.”

  “A month is a long way off. I hope we nab him long before then. But let me know when and I’ll be sure to clear my schedule to make it to the appointment.” He picked up his beer and chugged it down, stared into the fire. “At least tonight we can go to bed knowing Trisha is no longer missing.”

  “Yeah. After such a long time, she’ll finally get to go home to Charlotte.”

  The first night in their new house Skye spent tossing and turning. She listened as the old house creaked and cracked, settling in with disturbing pops and groans. Twice since going to bed she’d gotten up to recheck the locks on all the windows and doors, which was unlike her. It was now five-thirty and she hadn’t closed her eyes for longer than sixty minutes straight.

  She did her best to attribute her restlessness to the new house, a new environment. But try as she may, she knew that wasn’t it. She’d hoped their new refuge would give them something else to think about other than the string of murders and autopsy photos she’d seen lately. She couldn’t deny the circumstances were getting to her.

  She made her way to the kitchen, a large rectangular space with white cabinets, slate-blue walls and contrasting wide-plank cypress floors.

  While they hadn’t unpacked every dish yet, they had taken care of getting the kitchen squared away for breakfast by bringing a few necessities from the loft. She went through a reusable grocery tote until she found the bag of coffee. Tearing into the beans, she breathed in their deep aroma. Even the smell woke her up a little. Once she’d located the grinder, she started the brew.