by Keaton, Elle
“Why? Not that, you know, I’m not glad.” Niall was still getting used to the fact he had a living family member. And yes, he’d called Shay for help, but there were extenuating circumstances.
“Claribel’s not getting any younger. I’m not retiring, just slowing the pace a bit. It feels like the right time. I might actually enjoy having a social life—who knows?”
“Where are you going to live?”
“For now, I’ve rented a place out past Killegen’s Point, kind of on the way to Brooch Resort. I’ll have you and Mat out when you get back. Eventually, I’m planning to build a house on the land I inherited from my dad. It’s just been sitting empty all these years.”
A half smile formed on Niall’s lips. “Nice,” he said. And it was. Niall was starting to get attached to his older half brother. They’d known each other as kids but never suspected they were related until recently. Or, at least, Niall hadn’t suspected.
“In other words, yes, I can keep an eye on Mat, although I’m not sure what good I’ll be able to do.”
“I know.” It killed Niall to ask, to bare his soul to Shay, to admit he had a soft spot the very size and shape of Sheriff Mat Dempsey. “I know I’m overreacting. This… this is just harder than I thought it would be.”
“I’ll do my best.”
The multiple homicide Leo and Niall were assisting on had occurred deep in the heart of Idaho. The bodies had been discovered in Graniteville, in unincorporated Valley County, which meant the case fell to the county sheriff’s office.
Almost as soon as the sheriff arrived on the scene, he’d called for help. With only two deputies, much like Mat’s department—and none of them with any kind of forensics training—they wouldn’t be able to investigate properly. With budgets tighter and smaller these days, the smaller law enforcement offices had to make do with inexperienced applicants from community college or even vocational school. Niall wasn’t knocking them, it was just a plain, hard truth. Mat dealt with it every day.
As luck would have it, Sheriff Dawson had recently been to a conference where he’d learned about WCF, and he hadn’t been too proud to apply for aid—because there was also no way he could afford to bring them in on his meager budget.
So here Niall and Leo were, deep in the Payette National Forest, unraveling the how and why behind a double murder. The sheriff had done his best to keep the scene clean, but the bodies had been removed before they arrived, and Niall and Leo were relying on photographs of the scene.
For the past week they’d been in residence at the best the tiny town had to offer, a four-room motel with sketchy Wi-Fi and a collection of VCR tapes spanning two decades of the worst of Hollywood.
Niall stalked back into the local tavern, which was also their unofficial headquarters; Leo was seated at a heavy pine table waiting for him. A large framed photograph hanging on the wall above the table was a picture of the tavern from the 1920s. It hadn’t changed much since then, if at all. The tavern had better Wi-Fi than their motel, and the owner was letting them use the space before he opened in the evenings. He even made them coffee, although calling it that was generous.
“We need to hear back from that geologist,” Leo commented as Niall sat back down across from him.
Niall nodded agreement. Reaching for his cup, he took a sip of tepid coffee.
“Everything okay at home?” Leo asked.
Leo had seen Niall’s reaction to the slew of phone calls and was aware of the situation on Piedras.
“Yeah, for now.”
“If you need to go…”
As much as Niall wanted to race home and make sure Mat was safe and stayed that way, he was not bailing on his first job with WCF.
“No. I called in a favor.”
“Okay, then I’m going to talk to the hardware store guy again. Marcus Langley,” Leo said, standing up and pushing his chair away from the table.
“Okay.” Niall dragged one of the files Leo had been flipping through across the table so he could read it again as well—for the thirtieth time at least. He knew why Leo wanted to talk to Langley; he’d discovered the victims and called it in, but so far there was nothing but Leo’s and Niall’s gut feelings to connect him to the crime—which of course they were going to listen to, because Niall couldn’t count how many cases he’d solved by paying attention to his instincts.
The couple had been discovered in an ancient walk-in freezer in the kitchen of the R-K Ranch, just outside of town. The bodies had been frozen solid, so… there was that. The first thought had been murder-suicide, as there was a Smith & Wesson M&P340 on the floor next to the man’s body. The husband had confronted his wife in the freezer, and whatever the situation was between them, it had escalated, resulting in both their deaths. But Sheriff Dawson had thought the angle of the entry point on the man’s forehead was wrong.
It was wrong, and even though the bodies being frozen made the evidence a bit weird, Leo was a gunshot specialist. After examining the body and the photographs, he determined the size of the burn marks around the entry wound was too small for what was supposed to be a close-to-the-head shot—as a suicide might present.
No fingerprints except the victims’, but, hidden underneath an enormous plastic container of pickles, they’d found a partial footprint that didn’t match either of the couple’s shoes, as if maybe the killer had fallen against the container and then moved it back, not realizing he’d left evidence.
Leo and Niall were waiting on Ryder from the home office to (hopefully) identify the type of shoe. And on a forensic geologist Leo was recruiting, to see if she could tell them anything about the soil left behind.
Niall’s phone vibrated on the table. He checked the screen—not Mat. He took a deep breath to calm his heart rate before answering.
“Hamarsson.”
“Detective Hamarsson? This is Amelia Bjerke.”
“Good morning, Dr. Bjerke.”
“Good morning to you too, although I imagine you’re more interested in what I have to share with you.”
Niall knew from the tone of her voice that the forensic geologist had found something. He just hoped it was the something they needed.
“I’ll cut to the chase. The soil you sent me has traces of—” She interrupted herself. “Do you want all the scientific terminology or just the outline?”
“The outline is good; you can send the details in an email.”
While he listened to her speak, Niall stared at the black-and-white photograph of the Graniteville townspeople on the wall opposite him.
“Long story short, some of the sample you sent me comes from a very specific place in Idaho. The contents are not native to the region where the crime occurred, and there is no way for them to get there naturally.”
“What I hear you saying is that the only way the soil could have gotten here is on the bottom of a shoe, tire tread, something like that?” Niall clarified.
“Yes. This ore is rare, found only in Shoshone County, in a relatively small area of the flood plain of the Coeur d’Alene River around the town of Prichard. The chances of it being found in Payette National Forest are next to zero—it is very rare.”
“What about… a bird or animal?” Niall asked, because birds had messed up scenes for him before.
“No. I mean, I suppose a bird might carry a piece of ore in its beak, but not the three hundred miles from Prichard to Graniteville. Whoever left this at your crime scene stepped in a significant amount in Shoshone County and then carried it south with them in the sole of their shoe. I can tell you where it came from, within a mile or so.”
“So we find the footwear and we’ve got them?” His chest tightened. They were close to this guy; he could feel it.
“I imagine you’ll also find it in the footwell of whatever vehicle the perpetrator drove. If you don’t find the shoes, find the car.”
Niall nodded; Bjerke was right, of course.
“You can testify to all this?”
“Yes, sir. This is
my specialty.”
“Has Zelinsky convinced you to come aboard yet?” Niall asked.
She chuckled. “I’m considering it.”
With the folder he’d been looking at gripped in one hand, Niall stepped outside and glanced up the street. Graniteville Hardware was a bit up from the tavern and across the street, and Leo was just coming out the front door. He waved and jogged over to where Niall waited.
In another life, Niall might have found Leo attractive—before Mat eclipsed everything and everyone else. Leo wasn’t as tall as Niall and had blond hair a bit on the long side that gave him a boyish look, although Niall knew Leo was in his forties. He had a charming and disarming way about him. Niall was certain it had worked in his favor more than once when he was interviewing suspects.
“What’s up?” he asked when he reached Niall.
Niall waggled the folder in his grip. “Let’s find out who has ties to Prichard, Idaho.”
3
Monday—Mat
By five in the evening, Marshal hadn’t called Mat with his findings as promised. Mat’s fingers had twitched every time one of the phone lines in the station rang, sure it would be Marshal. But no, it had been calls about missing cats or parking tickets, and one from Stu Dennis asking if Mat had any comment Stu could post for the online newspaper.
The living took precedence over the dead, and if a patient had been admitted to the ER, Marshal would be dealing with that. Duane wasn’t going anywhere. Instead of giving in to the urge to call him, Mat left the station to head home and then to his mother’s, as he’d promised Niall.
First, though, he stopped at the marina. The station had fielded several calls from boat owners complaining about the gates being locked, and Mat knew he couldn’t keep the place locked down much longer. Not when they didn’t have any hard evidence Duane’s murder had taken place there: no blood, no smoking gun. That he could’ve been shot near the ferry terminal and floated over was just one scenario Mat had come up with.
A second walk-through revealed no new evidence. When he stopped in at the office, Tom Bellows was still there, and he pushed several paper grocery bags stuffed full of small brown envelopes into Mat’s arms. Mat stared down into the bags, wondering what he was looking at.
“Sorry,” Tom said, “it’s pretty casual here, kinda like camping. Folks just fill one of these out and pay cash for guest moorage.” The envelopes had spaces for owners to enter their names, addresses, and phone numbers; also the vessel name, length, and draft. Tom shrugged. “We don’t verify unless we get somebody who regularly skips out on paying. Or visits a lot, so we want to offer a discount and keep them coming.”
Mat sighed. There were hundreds of the crumpled envelopes; Hidden Harbor was a popular destination. Tomorrow he’d pass the bags to Birdy and have her track down and confirm each vessel she could: boring but necessary work. He could trust her with it; she wouldn’t do a half-assed job—the likelihood of them finding something useful in this bag was damn low, but you just never knew.
“Thanks for cooperating, Tom,” Mat said.
“Well, this kind of thing isn’t good for business,” Tom replied. “You got any leads yet?”
“Nothing I can share. As soon as we have something, we’ll make a public announcement.”
“It was Cooper, though?”
Mat figured that information wouldn’t have stayed secret very long. Birdy had already called Duane’s ex-wife with the news, also asking if she’d claim his body.
Mat was glad it had been Birdy, and not him, delivering the news. Duane had been AWOL for almost five months, and divorced for years, but Mat had heard the wail of anguish from the other end of the phone call.
“It was,” he confirmed. “When was the last time you saw him?”
Tom’s bushy gray eyebrows drew together. “He wasn’t here too much, not unless it was a police call. He moored his whale tour boat at the public dock by the ferry terminal or, I guess, at East Bay.”
East Bay was the marina that had burned down in April. That turned out to be the work of a jealous lover, but for a hot second Mat had considered Duane a top suspect.
Mat nodded. “Thanks again. If you think of anything or something comes up, don’t hesitate to call the station or me directly.”
After leaving the marina, there was nothing left for him to do but head to his mother’s house—after stopping at home for spare clothes.
It still felt a bit odd for Mat to turn in at the Hamarssons’ battered mailbox instead of continuing down the road to the home he’d shared with his mother for so many years. Mat, in fact, owned the house his mom, sister, and niece lived in. But, as soon as Ella’s divorce was final, he’d be changing that; Ella had grown up there too, therefore it was hers as much as his. Their other sister, while not estranged any longer, had no plans to ever move back to Piedras. Putting Ella on the deed was the least Mat could do for her.
Mat’s cruiser didn’t bump along the drive like it used to. A few months ago, Niall had had more gravel trucked in, smoothing out the bumpy, neglected driveway. He’d also replaced his grandparents’ burned-out cabin with a yurt. He claimed the structure wasn’t permanent, but Mat wasn’t so sure. Niall had been asking for Mat’s opinion about various cabin designs, but Mat felt awkward about weighing in. The burned-out cabin had been Niall’s grandparents’, not Mat’s—Niall should be the one making decisions about its replacement. Niall argued they were getting married, so it was both of theirs.
The yurt was basically a cabin anyway. It had a kitchen area, a bathroom, an open great room area, and a bedroom. A pine deck wrapped around the yurt, and Mat and Niall had spent most of their time at home this summer stretched out on loungers on it, watching the world go by. They watched sunsets. They watched the tide come and go. They watched Niall’s wolfhound, Fenrir, play in the waves with Mat’s niece, Riley. The Perseid meteor shower had been a highlight of midsummer.
It wasn’t the same with Niall gone, but Mat was going to have to get used to it. Niall was a driven investigator, and West Coast Forensics was the perfect fit for him. He’d be traveling a lot.
Mat slowed to a stop, parking his newly issued cruiser in his normal spot next to Niall’s Subaru. The wind picked up, as it often did this time of the day, gusting against the walls of the yurt and making the branches of the Douglas firs along the edge of the property dance. An impatient woof sounded from inside. Smiling, Mat climbed out and headed to the front door.
Fenrir gave him a toothy grin and a tail wag before loping off to do his business. Within minutes the big dog was back, nosing his way through the partially open front door.
“That was fast,” Mat said as he tossed some T-shirts and a couple pairs of jeans and whatnot into a duffel bag. “Do you want to go visit Riley?”
Fenrir twirled in pleasure at Mat’s words. If Mat was going to be staying at the family home, logically Fenrir would too—besides, Mat didn’t think he’d be let in the house if he didn’t bring Fenrir along.
Mat sat back in his chair. It creaked slightly under his weight.
“Thanks for feeding me, Mom,” he said, rubbing his belly and winking at her.
“Pfft, of course.” Alyson stood and began to clear the dishes.
“Let me do that, Mom. It’s the least I can do for imposing on you.”
“You’re not imposing,” she insisted.
When he’d arrived, Mat had shared what he could about the discovery of Cooper’s body and how Cooper turning up made Niall nervous because it meant an unsub might still be out there gunning for Mat.
Mat took the plates from his mom’s hands and stacked them on the counter next to the sink. Riley and Fenrir were in the backyard. It had slipped Mat’s mind that his sister was away too; she’d traveled back to Texas to pack up the things she wanted from her almost ex-husband. It was part of the divorce negotiations. Mat found it sad that what’s-his-name cared more about possessions than he did about his daughter.
Turning, he leaned one hip aga
inst the counter and asked a question that had been on his mind lately. “Mom, was it hard being married to a law officer?” He’d never considered the question before; he’d never thought he would be getting married.
Alyson snorted and raised an eyebrow at him. “It’s a little late to be asking that question, isn’t it? Both you and Niall are in law enforcement; you both walk into danger every day. On top of that, you worry about Niall, and I know he worries about you. I can’t even imagine how it feels for you. You’re magnets pushing and pulling at the same time.
“But yes, it was hard for me. Your dad believed so hard in what he did. He thought he could make a difference in the community, and he did. He loved being able to help people, to catch the bad guys—not that there was a lot of that here then, mostly petty crime. Still, I worried. I thought I knew what I was getting into when we got married, but in all honesty, it does take a toll.”
“You always seemed happy,” Mat remarked.
“We were happy. Happier than most, I think.”
“But…”
“But worry takes its toll.” She cocked her head. “If you want some advice from your old mom, make time for yourselves. Take those holidays, use up your personal time. Cherish every moment. Let Birdy Flynn carry some of the load; see if the county will let you hire a few more deputies.”
“The county has agreed to hiring someone, so there’s that.”
“Well, that’s good.”
Mat turned on the faucet so he could rinse their dishes. This was a comforting evening routine, something he’d done for years before moving in with Niall. Alyson used to wait for him, and they would stay up talking about their days.
“Flynn is going to be in charge while we’re on our honeymoon.”
“Have you two decided on a venue yet?” His mom tried to sound casual, but Mat heard the repressed curiosity in her tone.
Mat released a sigh but smiled. It was killing his mother not to be in charge of all the details. But he and Niall were firm about it: they were going to plan their wedding themselves—and now he chuckled, because they sounded like a pair of three-year-olds. “We’re thinking about getting married in Hawaii, then having a reception here on the island later.”
